They found Dorothy ready for bed, but Tavia insisted on telling the story of the “poisoned candy.”
“What utter nonsense!” declared Dorothy. “Perhaps it did not belong to Jean Faval at all.”
“But the note,” insisted Cologne. “That seemed to belong to her, and it was in the boxes.”
“At any rate,” spoke Dorothy, “I want to go to bed, and I’ll be glad to excuse the invaders. Tavia, if you so much as drop a handkerchief, I shall report you, for I am not only tired, but have a headache.”
Edna and Cologne got up from the rug they had been sitting on. Cologne had allowed her heavy brown hair to fall to her waist, and Edna had likewise made that same preparation for retiring.
Tavia stifled a yawn. “I’m not a bit sleepy,” she declared. “And I think, after all, I’ll just take a chance at those chocolates. I’m starved for sweets.”
“Oh, Tavia! Don’t!” implored Edna. “I think we got off well enough to leave well enough alone.”
But Tavia was already poking her head out of the door.
“There she goes,” she whispered, “I just caught a flash of that fire-alarm kimono. Now wait till we hear her shut her door, and then for the sweets.”
Cologne made a move to grasp Tavia’s skirt but failed. Dorothy sat up and shook her head helplessly. “I may as well give up sleep until that girl knows all about those plagued chocolates,” she said with a sigh. “I can’t see why she is so interested.”