“You will be quite safe and comfortable here,” he said, backing toward the door. “The fire will miss the lodge by many miles. As soon as I am well away I will mail the key to one of the rangers. Good evening.”
He slipped swiftly out the door. A key turned in the lock.
Making a quick appraisal of his prison, Flash saw that it was one of the few inside rooms of the lodge, a small den with no windows. The only exit was through the door. Its panels were heavy oak and could not be rammed even with a piece of furniture.
Quiet settled over the lodge. After a short time Flash heard a car drive out of the yard. There was a shuffling of shoes through the gravel, then a heavy step outside the door.
“Fleur!” he shouted, pounding on the panel.
“Take it easy, young feller, take it easy,” the caretaker called soothingly. “It won’t do you no good to try to pound your way out o’ there. Mr. Rascomb’s gone for the doctor.”
“Let me out of here, Fleur!” Flash pleaded. “Rascomb will get away! You don’t know who he is! He’s Albert Povy, a spy—”
“You’re plumb out o’ your head just as Mr. Rascomb said,” Fleur returned sadly. “It must of come from what you went through during the fire. Just take it easy.”
“Listen, Fleur, I’ll pay you well to let me out of here!”
“Mr. Rascomb’s orders are to keep you in there until he gets back with the doctor. I wouldn’t dast to do different even if I was a mind to.”