Bertha listened for a reply and could hear none.
She was feeling her way along close to the wall now, trying to avoid any creaking boards. To be caught in that corridor would add a fatal complication to the predicament in which Bertha found herself — a predicament in which all avenues of escape were being closed to her.
Carlotta said, “I’m not too keen about cats myself. I’m going to get rid of this one. He always did hate me. I’m going to get some hand lotion. I get smelly handling him.” Abruptly, and before Bertha realized the full impact of the remark, the knob on the door turned and a wedge of light from the kitchen shot into the back corridor.
Bertha shifted her flashlight over to the left hand which held her shoes, doubled her right hand into a businesslike fist. But Carlotta didn’t go after the hand lotion immediately. She apparently changed her mind, and Bertha heard her move back away from the door. Through the half-opened door, Bertha could hear the steady lap — lap — lap of the cat’s tongue as it drank up the milk Carlotta had poured into its saucer.
There was no time for caution now. Bertha moved swiftly along the corridor, heedless of creaking boards, down the passage to the garage. She opened the door and heaved a sigh of relief as the musty darkness enveloped her.
She sat down on a tool chest to put on her shoes. Sheer nervousness made her hand tremble slightly. She switched out the flashlight and put on her shoes in the dark, angry with herself because of that nervous tremor which shook her hands.
Bertha got her shoes on, took a couple of steps across the cement towards the garage door, and suddenly halted. The front corner of the garage showed a peculiarly weird illumination, a light which seemed to be coming from behind a copper-covered gasket which hung from the wall on a nail. Bertha gently removed this gasket and found a neat hole approximately an inch in diameter.
Through this hole light was coming, but Bertha, applying her eye, could see nothing save a vague obstacle in front of the hole.
For the moment, Bertha forgot all risk of discovery. The detective in her came to the forefront. Evidently someone had used the garage for the purpose of spying on the interior of the house. That light would be at just about Mabel Belder’s bedroom. Bertha picked up a screw-driver from the workbench, inserted it through the hole. The bit of the screw-driver encountered an obstacle on the other side. Bertha pushed against it tentatively and realized that it was a picture hung on the wall of Mrs. Belder’s bedroom so that it effectively concealed the hole from that side. If she could push that picture to one side, she would have an unobstructed view of the bedroom. Someone must have utilized this as a means of spying on Mrs. Belder. Therefore, it should be possible to move the picture easily to one side and then in case there was any danger of discovery, let it drop back into position.
Bertha tentatively pushed at the picture and shoved the long bit of the screw-driver gently to one side. The picture moved, then slid back across the edge of the screw-driver. Bertha heard the sound of a door opening and closing, low voices, a surreptitious whispering.