The clock struck eight. What would Blind Bobbie think—and Peggy? The woman might decide she had left her forever; but no, no, Peg couldn’t think that!
Childlike, she was hungry. If some one had intentionally imprisoned her, they must have left her something to eat. Investigation brought forth some cold meat, a bottle of milk, and some bread. Jinnie ate all she could swallow. Then for an hour and a half she paced up and down, wishing something would happen, some one would come. Anything would be better than such deadly uncertainty.
Perhaps it was the overwhelming stillness of the building, possibly a natural alertness indicative of her fear, that allowed Jinnie to catch the echoes of footsteps at the farther end of the corridor. But before she got to the 286 door, a key grated in the lock, and the man who had brought her there was standing beside her. Their eyes met in a clinging, challenging glance—the blue of the one clashing with the sinister grey, as steel strikes fire from steel. An insolent smile broke over his face and he asked nonchalantly:
“Did you find the food?”
Jinnie did not answer. She stood contemplating his face. How she hated his smile, his white teeth, and his easy, suave manner. Their glances battled again for a moment across the distance.
“Why did you bring me here?” she demanded abruptly.
He spread his feet outward and hummed, toying the while with a smooth white chin.
“Sit down,” said he, with assumed politeness.
Jinnie stared at him with contemptuous dread in her eyes.
“I don’t want to; I want to know why I’m here.”