The opposing party gave in gracefully, when they found his advent was inevitable. All but Milly, that is. She spent her time alternately crying her heart out in Wynne's arms, and bracing herself up for a calm and indifferent attitude before the new investigator. "Keep a stiff upper lip," Braye advised her. "Remember not to give out any information, Milly. Let him find out all he can, but don't help him." "All right, Rudolph; and, anyway, I know Wynne is innocent,----" "Of course he is! That goes without saying. But if he is suspected, say, if Stebbins or Thorpe or anybody else puts Wise up to suspicion, it may mean a bad quarter of an hour for all of us. So, just be quiet, dignified, pleasant-mannered and all that, but don't say anything definite. For it might be misconstrued and misunderstood, and make trouble. At least, that's the course I'm going to pursue, and I think it's the best plan." "Oh, I know it is," Milly agreed. "In fact, that's just about what Wynne told me; he thinks if I try to help, I'll only make mistakes, so he, too, told me to keep quiet. Eve is awfully angry, because that man is coming. She's not saying so, but I know her! And, Rudolph, she's afraid of something. I don't know what, exactly, but she's fearfully afraid of developments." "We all are, Milly. If the detective pins it on any human being,--that means trouble, and if he decides it's spooks, after all,--I think I'll be more afraid of them than ever!" "I can't be any more afraid of them than I am!" Milly shuddered. "Oh, Rudolph, how I wish we had never come up here!" "We all wish that, Milly, but as we're in for it now, we must see it through." Pennington Wise arrived the next afternoon. He came into the hall like an army with banners. A tall, well set-up man, of about thirty-three or four, thick chestnut hair, worn à la brosse, clear blue eyes, a clean-cut, fine-featured face, and a manner that proclaimed generalship and efficiency to the last degree. "Here I am," he announced, setting down several pieces of hand luggage and whipping off his soft gray felt hat. "You are the hostess?" His quick-darting eyes had picked out Milly, and he greeted her as a distinguished visitor might. "Who is that?" exclaimed Milly, looking at a slight, black-haired girl who followed quietly in Wise's footsteps. "That? oh that's Zizi,--part of my luggage. Put her any place. Is there a housekeeper person? Yes? Well, turn Zizi over to her, she'll be all right." Hester was peeping in at a rear door, unable to restrain her curiosity as to the commotion, and Zizi glided toward her and disappeared in the shadows.