Terry exclaimed, “A rope! Just what a prisoner needs—in stories, that is! We might tie somebody with it while we escape. Or we might make a rope ladder and go out through the window. Rope is awfully useful in stories.”
“But in real life it’s not so good,” answered her sister. “As we can’t squeeze through these slits of windows, a rope ladder is no use. Let’s think of something else, Terry. There must be a way out if we could only find it.”
“Who says so? You needn’t overdo the business of being cheerful on my account.” Terry gave a toss of her head.
“We have the lamp to be thankful for,” insisted Prim. “Maybe you can find some old books in the closet, and we can read all evening and forget our worries.” But her teasing brought no smile from Terry, who remained steeped in gloom. Prim turned on her sharply. “Snap out of it, Terry Mapes! A girl like you ought to be able to think herself out of any kind of a scrape,” she cried. “If you are in the air and get into a jam, you always think fast and find a way out. Many a time I’ve seen you pull your plane out of a tailspin and make a perfect landing. And that is lots more dangerous than just being locked in this room. Now quit your nonsense and do some headwork.”
“All right,” answered Terry. “I’ll try, even if it does look hopeless.” She went once more to examine the windows. It was no use. Escape was impossible that way. The door was solid as a rock. Then she opened the door of the closet, which was dark and hung with old clothes. As her eyes got used to the darkness, she gave a little cry of excitement.
“Look up there, Prim. See that little crack of light. There must be a trap-door to the roof. Quick, give me a chair to stand on. No, the table is better. Quiet! Don’t let them hear us!”
Climbing on the table, which was dragged to the closet, Terry could reach the square trap-door and loosen the rusty iron latch that held it. She raised it a few inches and daylight streamed into the closet like a ray of hope.
“There’s our way to freedom!” exclaimed Terry. Quietly she lowered the trap-door and sprang to the floor. “Now let’s see about that rope,” she said. “First we’ll put the table back in its corner, in case Jim Heron comes back.”
The girls threw the mattress to the floor and examined the network of rope, which seemed good and strong. Quickly they removed it, leaving just enough strands to hold the mattress, and Prim coiled it neatly and hid it in the closet. There was nothing more to do until darkness fell. They sat close together discussing in whispers what they would do, once they were free. Where would they go first? What would they do? They agreed that their best hope of escape was to get to the Comet.
Suddenly a scratching sound at the door attracted their attention, followed by the patter of retreating footsteps. A paper had been shoved under the crack of the door and Terry snatched it up and read the message in a childish handwriting: