reached over to switch off her headlights.
Her hand paused in midair. She thought she had heard the slam of a door.
Kerrie twisted in her seat and looked back. The doors of her garage were shut.
âThere wasnât any wind,â she thought, puzzled. âI guess they just swung shut by themselves after I drove in.â And, without turning off her lights, she got out of the roadster and snapped the switch on the wall which operated the ceiling-light.
Then she went to the double-door, pressed down the latch, and pushed. And as she pushed, she heard the click of the lock which was attached to the hook-and-staple on the outside of the door.
Kerrie stood still.
The thought seeped into her mind that, while doors may swing shut of themselves, locks cannot. Her lock required a human hand to slip it through the ring. A human hand to slip the ring through the slit in the staple. A human hand to snap the lock shut.
âYou out there!â she called. âYouâve locked me in! I was just about toââ
There was no answer.
And Kerrie did not finish. She knew it was useless to cry out, and why it was useless to cry out. And her heart catapulted into her throat.
But it was so stupid. To lock her in. Sooner or later some one would come to release her. Even if she had to stay all night.â¦
But another attack, a voice whispered. Viâs gone to bed. The butler wonât remember. No one else knows youâre hereâno one that cares. Another attack.â¦
Kerrie laughed aloud, nervously. That was absurd. For whoever had locked her in had locked himselfâof herself, she thought darklyâout at the same time. There was no opening in these walls large enough to admit a mouse. Not even a window. High in the right-hand wall of the compartment there was a radiator-grille; it ran through to the next garage, the one for the station-wagon. But the coils of the radiator were between the two garages, behind the grilles; only a fly or a bug could go from one garage to the other by that route.
âLet me out!â She pounded on the heavy doors. They did not even shake. âLet me out!â
She pounded until her hands were raw.
And then she became conscious of an undertone, a peculiar roaring hum, which seemed to come from the garage on the right ⦠where the station-wagon stood.
She stopped pounding to listen.
It was the motor of the station-wagon. Some one had turned it on. And pulled out the throttle. It was roaring away. The penetrating stench of its exhaust came to her nose, floating through the grilles.
âHelp!â cried Kerrie. âWhoeverâs in there!â She raced back and shouted up into the grille. âIâm locked in the next garage! Help!â
There was an answer, but it was not in human accents. The doors of the adjacent garage slammed shut. And over the roar of the racing motor Kerrie heard retreating footsteps.
And now she knew. Now she remembered death, when it was too late.
Some one had imprisoned her in the garage, turned on the motor of the car in the next compartment, locked the doors, and fledâleaving her to die slowly as the odorless fumes of the deadly carbon monoxide gas being generated next door seeped through the radiator-grilles.
NOW that death showed its face again, openly, Kerrie stopped shouting, stopped pounding the door, collected her thoughts with a cold deliberation that astonished the vague, fluttering, helpless part of her that was wilting and crumpling inside.
The garage was far from the house, from the servantsâ quarters. The sole building within hailing distance was the stable, and only the horses would be there at this time of night. It was useless, then, to scream.
As a matter of fact, she thought, sitting down suddenly on the running-board of the roadster, she had better save her breath. She had better conserve the air in the garage. Mustnât exert herself in the slightest. It would probably help to remain
Her hand paused in midair. She thought she had heard the slam of a door.
Kerrie twisted in her seat and looked back. The doors of her garage were shut.
âThere wasnât any wind,â she thought, puzzled. âI guess they just swung shut by themselves after I drove in.â And, without turning off her lights, she got out of the roadster and snapped the switch on the wall which operated the ceiling-light.
Then she went to the double-door, pressed down the latch, and pushed. And as she pushed, she heard the click of the lock which was attached to the hook-and-staple on the outside of the door.
Kerrie stood still.
The thought seeped into her mind that, while doors may swing shut of themselves, locks cannot. Her lock required a human hand to slip it through the ring. A human hand to slip the ring through the slit in the staple. A human hand to snap the lock shut.
âYou out there!â she called. âYouâve locked me in! I was just about toââ
There was no answer.
And Kerrie did not finish. She knew it was useless to cry out, and why it was useless to cry out. And her heart catapulted into her throat.
But it was so stupid. To lock her in. Sooner or later some one would come to release her. Even if she had to stay all night.â¦
But another attack, a voice whispered. Viâs gone to bed. The butler wonât remember. No one else knows youâre hereâno one that cares. Another attack.â¦
Kerrie laughed aloud, nervously. That was absurd. For whoever had locked her in had locked himselfâof herself, she thought darklyâout at the same time. There was no opening in these walls large enough to admit a mouse. Not even a window. High in the right-hand wall of the compartment there was a radiator-grille; it ran through to the next garage, the one for the station-wagon. But the coils of the radiator were between the two garages, behind the grilles; only a fly or a bug could go from one garage to the other by that route.
âLet me out!â She pounded on the heavy doors. They did not even shake. âLet me out!â
She pounded until her hands were raw.
And then she became conscious of an undertone, a peculiar roaring hum, which seemed to come from the garage on the right ⦠where the station-wagon stood.
She stopped pounding to listen.
It was the motor of the station-wagon. Some one had turned it on. And pulled out the throttle. It was roaring away. The penetrating stench of its exhaust came to her nose, floating through the grilles.
âHelp!â cried Kerrie. âWhoeverâs in there!â She raced back and shouted up into the grille. âIâm locked in the next garage! Help!â
There was an answer, but it was not in human accents. The doors of the adjacent garage slammed shut. And over the roar of the racing motor Kerrie heard retreating footsteps.
And now she knew. Now she remembered death, when it was too late.
Some one had imprisoned her in the garage, turned on the motor of the car in the next compartment, locked the doors, and fledâleaving her to die slowly as the odorless fumes of the deadly carbon monoxide gas being generated next door seeped through the radiator-grilles.
NOW that death showed its face again, openly, Kerrie stopped shouting, stopped pounding the door, collected her thoughts with a cold deliberation that astonished the vague, fluttering, helpless part of her that was wilting and crumpling inside.
The garage was far from the house, from the servantsâ quarters. The sole building within hailing distance was the stable, and only the horses would be there at this time of night. It was useless, then, to scream.
As a matter of fact, she thought, sitting down suddenly on the running-board of the roadster, she had better save her breath. She had better conserve the air in the garage. Mustnât exert herself in the slightest. It would probably help to remain
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