But there were not. They could not raise the windows from the bottom, either, although they could lower them slightly from the top for air. They climbed up and peeped over, only to discover that they were seven stories from the ground, and looked only into a light-well. The flat across from them was unoccupied.
They looked at their watches. It was ten o'clock—even then the churches were chiming out the hour.
"Let us look for a note, or some intimation of what to expect," said Mary. "I wonder if they are going to keep us here all night."
"It's a trick," said Gertrude. "There's no knowing how long we may stay—nor what will happen to us. I'm glad I thought of this before I started out alone tonight." And she produced a small revolver from her coat pocket.
"Mercy!" cried Mary, "do you carry that? Would you know how to use it?"
"I carried it when father and I walked through the Pyrenees a few years ago," answered Gertrude. "I used it once—to good advantage—and I could again, if I had to," she added. "Now, let us see what the gods—or the other thing—have provided."
Another search showed them that their flat was well-provisioned, well-furnished, heated and lighted. There were a few books and magazines, a piano, a writing desk, even a pack of playing cards.
"We may have to resort to solitaire yet," laughed Mary. "Though nothing short of imprisonment could induce me to fool away my time with the silly game."
"Well, they have provided for an indefinite stay, I fear," said Gertrude. "Somehow, I have a feeling that we are not going to get out easily. We must think up some way of letting our friends know we are here."
But their jailers had looked out for that. They could hang towels from their upper windows, but to what end, since these could not be seen?