At once I was alive to the situation. All the stories of kidnappings and white slavery that I had ever read rioted through my head. I felt like calling out a warning. Garrick had his finger on the switch.
"Since I have been ill, Mademoiselle, I have been doing some embroidery—handkerchiefs—are they not pretty?"
It was coming. There was not time for an instant's delay now.
Garrick quickly depressed the switch.
Clear as a bell his voice rang out.
"Miss Winslow—this is Garrick. Don't let her get that handkerchief under your nose. Out of the door—quick. Run! Call for help! I shall be with you in a minute!"
A little cry came out of the machine.
There was a moment of startled surprise in the room below. Then followed a mocking laugh.
"Ha! Ha! I thought you'd pull something like that, Garrick. I don't know where you are, but it makes no difference. There are many ways of getting out of this place and at one of them I hare a high-powered car. Violet—will go—quietly—" there were sounds of a struggle—"after the needle—"
A scream had followed immediately after a sound of shivering glass through the vocaphone. It was not Violet Winslow's scream, either.