“What is it?” answered that young lady’s voice from the library. “George told me to stay in this room.”
“George?” exploded Dorothy. She ran to the door and looked in. Betty was toasting her soaking pumps from a chair before the fire. She turned her head when Dorothy appeared and beckoned toward the blaze.
“Yes—George Conway,” she explained smilingly. “He owns this house, you see.”
Dorothy’s fingers pressed the wall switch and the electric lights went out.
“Well, you are a fast worker—” was her comment. “Dash over to those windows and see that they’re fastened. Then pile some of these chairs and tables in front of the French doors—anything will do, just so it’s heavy. Hurry—and when you’ve finished, go into the hall and stay there.”
Betty stared through the darkness. “But George says—”
“I don’t care what George says! The hall is the safest place right now.”
“Well, why can’t you help me?” grumbled Betty. “Suppose those awful men come before I’ve—”
“They won’t if you snap to it. I’m off to fasten the windows in the rest of the house.”
This last was thrown over her shoulder as she tore across to the dining room. After making the rounds in there she went into the kitchen. Here she found a window open and the back door unlocked. It took her but a moment to remedy this, and she was passing back to the dining room when there came a terrific crash and reverberation from the floor above, followed by screams and curses from outside.