“So I’ve been told,” said the girl, scooping up her book from the seat of the chair. “Well, then. It’s about time for me to retire. I’ll leave you to your private contemplation.”

The girl turned to go, and then she paused, turned back. “If you do choose to solve the puzzle, be warned: It likes to play tricks.”

And then she was gone.

Miss Millie frowned at the now-empty room, frowned at the silver cube, vexed once again. The girl’s words made no sense. This whole evening made no sense. There seemed to be only one way to redeem it. Miss Millie snatched the cube from the table and tucked it into her reticule. The gemstones couldn’t be real, so the Morningstarrs wouldn’t miss the cube. But even if the cube was real, and the Morningstarrs did miss it, they had only themselves to blame. You can’t just invite anyone into your home. Maybe they’d think the girl in the gray dress had stolen it, whoever she was.

Now, that would be a clever trick.

Cheered, Miss Millie rejoined the dinner party in time for dessert, a lovely chocolate pudding. She forgot all about the puzzle cube in her purse until much later, when she was getting ready for bed. As she reclined in her soft feather pillows, she rotated the cubes, trying to match the stones on each face. After some time, she almost launched the useless thing against the wall, convinced it wasn’t a puzzle at all, when every gem clicked into place. She waited for the trick that the girl had mentioned, but nothing happened. She set the puzzle cube on the side table, imagining all the rings and bracelets and brooches she’d make once she had the cube melted down, and then fell fast asleep . . .

. . . and was awakened in the middle of the night by the strangest sounds. Clicking sounds. Scuttling sounds.

“Hello,” said a tiny voice.

Miss Millie sat up, gathering the sheets to her neck, trying to focus in the darkness. “Who is that?!” she said.

Giggles. “Hello.”

With trembling fingers, Miss Millie reached for the solar lamp on her bed table, flicked it on.

Hundreds of tiny silver spiders scuttled across her ceiling, over the furniture, on the floor. On the thinnest gossamer chain, a single spider inched down to dangle in front of Miss Millie’s shocked, white face. It had three emerald eyes, slightly off-kilter.

“Hello?” it said.

Miss Millie screamed. The spider zipped back to the ceiling. The other spiders raced in crazed circles on every surface of the room, hello, hello, hello.

The door flew open. Hair wild, Dr. Munsterberg stood with Mrs. Munsterberg right behind him. As they took in the scene, Mrs. Munsterberg screamed right along with her daughter, while Dr. Munsterberg grabbed at the spiders. He caught one in his fist, a ruby-eyed creature the size of a penny.