“Of course it was she who was in here the night of your birthday party.  Papa,” said Billie.  “I must have shot two people instead of one.”

This was actually the case, as Onoye explained to her later.  Onoye had hidden herself behind the curtain that night to watch the couples strolling about in the moonlight.  Mme. Fontaine came very swiftly into the room and blew out the lights.  She carried a little electric dark lantern.  Onoye was too frightened to make her presence known, and had crept along the edge of the room hoping to reach the door.  Then Billie had come in and somehow they had all drifted together in the dark and the pistol had gone off.  The bullet must have pierced Mme. Fontaine’s arm and lodged in Onoye’s wrist.  How she managed to hide the wound with a scarf until she got her long wrap from one of the bedrooms was a marvel to them all.

“Anyhow the mystery is all cleared away now,” cried Nancy joyfully.  “I suppose you must have thought strange things about me, Mr. Campbell?”

“We had every reason to think them, Miss Nancy, but this loyal young person here wouldn’t let us.  It looked like some pretty convincing evidence for a while, but she wouldn’t budge from the stand she had taken.”

Once again the two friends embraced.  They were radiantly happy.  It was just as if Nancy had died and come to life again.

“I think I’ve learned a good lesson,” she admitted at last.  “It all happened because I wanted to be silly and romantic and meet people in the garden and write notes.”

“People?” asked Mary.

Nancy laughed and dimpled in her old charming way and everybody laughed, even the reserved young detective.  Old Nedda, who had followed them into the room, carne tottering over to where Nancy sat beside Billie.  The aged animal whined and wagged her tail, as if she, too, wished to take part in the general thanksgiving.

“Dearest old great-grandmama,” cried Nancy, kneeling beside the aged pug and hiding her face in the tawny coat, “are you really glad to see me, too?”

CHAPTER XXII.

GOOD-BYE, SUMMER.

A string of glowing lanterns festooned the piazza of the Campbell villa, while within the warm reflection of wood fires and shaded lamps made each window a square of hospitable brightness.  The house inside was a blaze of color.  Splendid bunches of scarlet maple leaves and chrysanthemums of amazing size and beauty filled the vases and jars.

The Motor Maids, dressed in their very best party frocks, had gathered in the drawing-room early before the arrival of the three guests.  Each maid sat in a large chair and gazed about her from side to side.  The riot of color, the scarlets and oranges, the tawny browns, pale pinks and delicate yellows seemed to bewilder them.

“I suppose it wasn’t truly Japanese to decorate a room with all these masses of flowers and leaves,” said Billie.  “But I don’t care.  It’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen and since this is our last night here we want to make it a festive one.”