"Do what?" cried Eve, angrily. "What do you mean?" "Scribble notes, and pass 'em to somebody. I do, too. It's a habit I can't seem to break myself of." "I didn't!" and Eve's face flushed and her eyes glittered with a smouldering fire. "Oh, tra la la," trilled Zizi, and nonchalantly turned away. "Now for the Room with the Tassels," said Wise, and led the way to the fateful room. "Ghastly, ghostly and grisly!" he declared after a quick survey, "but no entrance except by door or windows." "And they were locked every time the room was slept in by any of our party," announced the Professor, positively. "That makes it easier," smiled Wise. "You see, I feared secret panels and that sort of thing,--not uncommon in old houses. But you've found none?" "None," asseverated Landon. "If your theory of a human 'ghost' is right, you've got to account for the forcing of the big bolts of those front doors or----" "Or suspect some of your household," concluded Wise, practically. "Well, I haven't suspected any one as yet; I'm just absorbing facts, on which to base my theories. Now, for the drawing room." The long sombre, old-fashioned room received scant examination. "Nothing doing, Zizi?" said Wise, briefly. "Only a Bad Taste Exhibition," the girl remarked, making a wry face at the ornate decorations and appointments. Then, with her peculiar, gliding motion, she slid across the hall again, and examined the knob and lock on the door of the Room with the Tassels. "Fascinating room," she said, with a glance round it. "But horrible," and her thin shoulders shrugged. "Those tassels are enough to make a hen cross the road!" Milly giggled, and for the first time since the day of the tragedies. Dinner was rather pleasant than otherwise. The detective, laying aside all thought or talk of his purpose there, was entertaining and even merry. He spoke somewhat of himself, and it transpired that he was an artist,--an illustrator of current magazine stories. "And Zizi is my model," he informed them, "that is, when I want a thin, scarecrow type. I don't use her for the average peach heroine. Look out Ziz, don't eat too much of that potato puff! You see, if she puts on a bit of flesh, she runs straight back to the movie studios." "Ah, a film star?" said Braye. "Not a star," and Wise shook his head. "But a good little actress for a brat part." Zizi flashed an amused smile from her black eyes and partook again of the forbidden potato puff. "Zizi! For the love of Mike!" expostulated Wise. "The love of Mike is the root of all evil," said Zizi, saucily; "but then, everything is." "Is what?" asked Eve, interested against her will in this strange child. "Is the root of all evil," was the calm reply. "Whew! this must be an evil old world!" exclaimed Braye. "And isn't it?" Zizi flashed back, her big eyes sparkling like liquid jet. "Are you a pessimist, little one?" asked the Professor, studying the clever, eerie face.