Bertha once more brought her flashlight into action. On her hands and knees she again studied every inch of the closet floor and walls.
So engrossed was she in her task that she forgot her surroundings, so that the sudden slamming of a door somewhere in the house was as terrifying as the repercussion of a revolver shot.
Snatched back to the circumstances of the moment and the peculiar position in which she had placed herself, Bertha crouched on the closet floor listening.
Plainly she could hear steps, the distant subdued sound of feminine voices — then silence.
Bertha debated the possibilities of escaping through the back door. She tiptoed out of the closet, stood in the bedroom, listening. She could hear the voices more plainly now. The persons who had entered the house had gone out to the kitchen. She heard the sound of a plate being scraped along the edge of another plate and the slamming of a cupboard door.
In all probability Carlotta and Mrs. Goldring had returned to the house and were getting a snack in the kitchen.
Bertha, forced to dismiss the back door as a means of escape, thought of the possibilities of the front door, but realized the dangers of moving the length of the corridor. Then she thought of the garage and the passageway on the side of the maid’s bedroom that led to the garage. She decided to try it.
Bertha slipped her shoes off, put them under her arm, cautiously crossed the bedroom, stepped out into the corridor. She could hear the dishes and voices much more plainly now, and heard, equally plainly, the impatient “meow” of a cat.
So that was it. They were feeding the cat.
Bertha heard the sound of an icebox door opening and closing, then Carlotta’s voice, sounding very plain, saying, “I tell you, Mother, they’re going to convict Everett Belder of those murders. And I’m glad of it. They can count on my help. Hanging is too good for that man.”