“Now, Lizzie,” he said, forcing himself to urbanity, “what did you really see?” “I told you what I saw.” His manner grew somewhat threatening. “You’re not trying to frighten Miss Van Gorder into leaving this house and going back to the city?” “Well, if I am,” said Lizzie with grim, unconscious humor, “I’m giving myself an awful good scare, too, ain’t I?” The two glared at each other as Miss Cornelia returned from her survey of the alcove. “Somebody who had a key could have got in here, Mr. Anderson,” she said annoyedly. “That terrace door’s been unbolted from the inside.” Lizzie groaned. “I told you so,” she wailed. “I knew something was going to happen tonight. I heard rappings all over the house today, and the ouija-board spelled Bat!” The detective recovered his poise. “I think I see the answer to your puzzle, Miss Van Gorder,” he said, with a scornful glance at Lizzie. “A hysterical and not very reliable woman, anxious to go back to the city and terrified over and over by the shutting off of the electric lights.” If looks could slay, his characterization of Lizzie would have laid him dead at her feet at that instant. Miss Van Gorder considered his theory. “I wonder,” she said. The detective rubbed his hands together more cheerfully. “A good night’s sleep and—” he began, but the irrepressible Lizzie interrupted him. “My God, we’re not going to bed, are we?” she said, with her eyes as big as saucers. He gave her a kindly pat on the shoulder, which she obviously resented. “You’ll feel better in the morning,” he said. “Lock your door and say your prayers, and leave the rest to me.” Lizzie muttered something inaudible and rebellious, but now Miss Cornelia added her protestations to his. “That’s very good advice,” she said decisively. “You take her, Dale.” Reluctantly, with a dragging of feet and scared glances cast back over her shoulder, Lizzie allowed herself to be drawn toward the door and the main staircase by Dale. But she did not depart without one Parthian shot. “I’m not going to bed!” she wailed as Dale’s strong young arm helped her out into the hall. “Do you think I want to wake up in the morning with my throat cut?” Then the creaking of the stairs, and Dale’s soothing voice reassuring her as she painfully clambered toward the third floor, announced that Lizzie, for some time at least, had been removed as an active factor from the puzzling equation of Cedarcrest. Anderson confronted Miss Cornelia with certain relief. “There are certain things I want to discuss with you, Miss Van Gorder,” he said. “But they can wait until tomorrow morning.” Miss Cornelia glanced about the room. His manner was reassuring. “Do you think all this—pure imagination?” she said. “Don’t you?” She hesitated. “I’m not sure.”