A skeleton key clicked in the lock. She tried three in succession. It was the fourth that unlatched the door.
Bertha Cool pushed the door open, then stood perfectly still, waiting to see if the dark interior of the house offered anything of menace.
She heard no sound. Her flashlight showed her nothing, although she mechanically depressed the beam over towards the left-hand corner in order to see if the sinister red stains were still on the carpet. They were.
Bertha switched out the flashlight.
Abruptly she heard motion in the room. Her ice-cold thumb fumbled with the switch of the flashlight. She was conscious of something coming toward her; then bony fingers seemed to clutch her throat.
Bertha lashed out in front of her with a frenzied kick. She swung her left fist and groped with her right, trying to find the wrists of her assailant.
Her hands encountered nothing. Her kick merely threw her off balance. She knew she had given a half-scream.
It wasn’t until Bertha Cool had screamed that reason reinstated itself. The object at her throat abruptly left. She heard a fluttering sound, and caught the dim glimpse of a sinister shape flitting past her into the darkness.
“Freddie!” she muttered under her breath. “It’s that damn bat.”
She turned, the beam of her flashlight exploring the room while Bertha tried to, convince herself there were no more death traps planted in the house against the return of the blind man.