“I may advise her to do it by Friday night,—if nothing happens in the meantime.”
“But look here, Penny,” Zizi said, after a thoughtful moment, “if your theory is the right one, why didn’t Betty scream out, ‘I am Betty Varian!’ and take a chance that somebody in the crowd would rescue her?”
“It would seem a natural thing to do, unless the girl had been so cowed by threats of punishment or even torture if she made any outcry when allowed to go for a walk. I’m visualizing that girl as kept in close confinement, but not in any want or discomfort. She is most likely treated well as to food, rooms and all that, but is not allowed to step out of doors except with a strict guard and under some terrible penalty if she attempts to make herself known. With Betty’s love of fresh air and sunshine she would agree to almost anything to get out of doors. Then, too, if she merely formed those words without sound, the chance of their being read by a lip reader was really greater than the chance of doing any good by crying out aloud.
“Had she done that, whoever had her in charge would have whisked her away at once, and no one would have paid any attention to the slight disturbance.”
“It’s all perfectly logical and, oh, I hope Rodney gets some clue to the place where the picture was taken.”
“I hope so, Ziz, but they’ve probably moved Betty away from there by now.”
“Did you find out, Penny, what that stain on my frock was?”
“I did.”
“Well?”
“Yes, my dear, you’ve struck it! You got that stain while you were down the well.”