LITMIR.BIZ

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you played ghost.”

      “Why,—I—that is,—they left a window open——”

      “They did not!” Zizi shot at him, “and you know it! How did you get in?”

      But old Stebbins persisted in his story of entrance by an overlooked window.

      “There’s heaps of windows in that house,” he declared. “Land, I could get in any time I wanted to.”

      “Sure you could,” retorted Zizi, “but not through a window!”

      “How, then?” said Stebbins.

      “That’s what I asked you. I know.”

      “You know! How do you know?”

      “Your mama told my mama and my mama told me!” Zizi’s mocking laughter so incensed the old man that he shook with fury.

      “You don’t know!” he cried, “’cause there’s nothin’ to know! Land! All them folks up there has hunted the place for secret entrances, and I ruther think you have too,” and he nodded at Wise.

      “I have,” said Wise, frankly, “and I’ve discovered none as yet. But, listen here, friend Stebbins, if there is one, I will find it,—and that’s all there is about that!”

      Zizi said nothing, having returned to her taciturn rôle, but the glance she threw at Stebbins, he said afterward, made his blood run cold.

      “She’s a witch-cat!” he declared to his cronies, when telling the tale, “she ain’t all human,—or I’m a sinner!”

      On their way to see Dan Peterson, Wise inquired concerning Zizi’s knowledge of a secret way to get into the house.

      “A small bluff,” she said, carelessly. “I dunno how he got in, I’m sure. But I don’t believe those people left a window conveniently open, unless—they did it on purpose. Who does the locking up, do you know?”

      “Mr. Landon, I believe.”

      “Quite so! It’s a pity, isn’t it Pen, how everything appears to wind around back to that nice Mr. Landon!”

      “Well, what now?”

      “Well, if he and Stebbins were in cahoots——”

      “Hold up, Zizi, don’t run away with yourself! You’re a day ahead of the fair. Now, are you going to talk, in here at Peterson’s, or sit like a bump on a log,—smiling at grief?”

      “I dunno; which would you?”

      “Talk,” said Wise, succinctly, and Zizi talked.

      Indeed, she carried on the main part of the conversation, which was exactly what Wise had meant for her to do.

      She charmed Peterson with her bright, alert air and her pleasant, quick-witted way of putting things.

      Together they went over the known details, and then she cleverly drew from Peterson his deductions and decisions.

      At first, inclined to resent the advent of this all-wise detective, he now began to think that if they could work together, he would shine by reflected glory, that is, if the new chap succeeded in solving the mystery, which to him was inexplicable.

      “I can’t suspect the Thorpes or Mr. Stebbins,” Peterson finally declared: “I did think I could, but though Eli did cut up some tricks, they were harmless and merely in fun. And, too, he has absolute alibis for all the spook appearances after a certain date. And that’s the date when that Miss Carnforth saw a ghost. As near as I can make out, that ghost was Stebbins himself, but no spooks after that was Stebbins’ doings. Now, I give you that straight and simple, Mr. Wise, but it took me a long time to ferret it out. I suspected it, but I’ve had hard work to get Stebbins to admit his tricks, and also to check up his alibis after that particular night.”

      “These perfectly attested alibis are sometimes manufactured very carefully,” said Zizi, fixing her black eyes on Peterson.

      “Yes, they are. That’s why I checked up Eli’s so carefully. But they’re all true. I’ve got an exact list of the spook performances from the people at the house. I got the data from different ones, at different times, so’s to be sure they were all there. Then, I looked up Stebbins’ whereabouts on each occasion, and as I tell you, after the night he owns up to playing ghost, he never did it again.”

      “Then did he arrange for the Thorpes or one of the waiting-maids to do it?” queried Zizi.

      “That I can’t say. I think he must have done so, but I can’t find a scrap of proof, nor is there any motive. Stebbins is a good old sort and he honestly wanted to give his tenants the ha’nts, as he calls ’em, that they wanted. But why, on this good green earth, he should want to kill two of them is unanswerable. No, take it from me, Eli Stebbins is no murderer. I’ve looked up his record and his life story, and there’s no indication that he knew any of these people before they came up here, so he couldn’t have had any old grudge or family feud or anything of that sort. Stebbins isn’t the criminal, no sir-ee!”

      “I never thought he was,” said Wise, quietly. “You’ve done good work Mr. Peterson, and you’ve saved me a heap of trouble in getting these facts so undeniably established. I thank you, and I shall be glad of your coöperation in my further work.”

      “Good for you, I’ll be right down glad to work with you. And this young lady, Mr. Wise, is she one of us?”

      “She is us,” returned Wise, simply. “Don’t bother about her, Mr. Peterson, she’s the sort that looks after herself. Report to me, please, if you discover anything new.”

Chapter XV.

       Tracy’s Story

       Table of Contents

      “Now I wouldn’t say,” Wise observed, “that there is no such thing as occult phenomena——”

      “What do you mean by phenomena?” interrupted the Professor. “Not one person in ten uses that word correctly.”

      “I’m that single and unique one, old top,” Wise assured him, “for my exact meaning, see Webster; but I was going to say, even granting the possibility of the two deaths being due to supernatural causes, I’m not going to accept that solution of the mystery until I’ve exhausted all other available means of finding a flesh and blood murderer, which same I strongly expect to find.”

      “He’ll do it,” said Zizi, addressing the others, while her black eyes looked at Wise as at an inanimate object. “He’s an effective detective, first, last and all the time. And I’m the little cog that makes the wheels go round. So, I think, Tecky-teck, that I’ll carry out a plan I’ve just thought of. I’ll move from the pretty little bedroom I now occupy, and sleep in the Room with the Tassels.”

      “Oh, don’t!” cried Norma. “Something might happen to you!”

      “That’s what I’m flattering myself. And it’s nice of you, Miss Cameron, to speak out like that.” Zizi’s eyes flashed a quizzical glance at Eve, who was nodding satisfaction at the proposed plan.

      Eve coloured and dropped her eyes, and Zizi went on. “You see, people, Mr. Wise can’t size up these ghosts of yours unless he sees them,—and for me to see them is the same thing. So I’m going to take the haunted room for my own and if the Shawled Woman appears, I’ll pin a tag on her shawl.”

      Norma shuddered. “Don’t talk like that,” she begged. “You don’t know what risk you run. Milly, don’t let the child sleep there.”

      But all objections were overruled, and Zizi quietly transferred her few simple belongings to the Room with the Tassels.

      At

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