Sneaking back to the open window in the Witherbee House was out of the question; anyhow, it was probably shut and fastened by this time. She wondered if there was a way to get into the boat-house.
Back she went, armed with the dock lantern, and began an inspection of the lock. It was a solid-looking padlock, but Miss Chalmers thought the staple through which it was passed showed signs of weakness. She looked about for an instrument and finally found a stick that seemed as if it might do.
The stick broke several times during the process of prying the staple loose, yet she made headway. Under most conditions an impatient and somewhat imperious young lady, Miss Chalmers was curiously persistent when she set her hand to any mechanical task. She labored uncomplainingly at the staple for fifteen minutes, and gave a satisfied little nod when it fell loose from the woodwork.
The interior of the boat-house was not inviting. A rowboat and two canoes were piled along one side, with a lot of loose gear, a collection of ill-smelling paint-pots and some oars and paddles.
At the farther end was a pile of canvas. She tilted her nose slightly, but did not retreat.
"It's a roof at any rate," she observed. "I'll sleep on the canvas. Nothing can hurt this gown now. It's gone."
She put down the lantern, sat on the canvas, and slipped off her twenty-dollar shoes. Then she lay down and attempted to convince herself that the bed was comfortable.
It was an entirely laudable effort at self deception, but quite useless. The bed was anything but comfortable. It had some pulley-blocks under it, for one thing.
Nevertheless she became drowsy. This ordinarily delicious sensation crept upon her with unwelcome quickness. She wanted time to think about to-morrow morning. It might require considerable planning, she feared.
"Oh, well," she murmured in a resigned tone, "I guess it will come to me better after I sleep a little."