"What is there?" asked Delehanty.
"Eighteen or twenty foot drop, sir."
"Any gutter pipe or lightning rod?"
"No, sir."
"Close the window."
Pen breathed again.
The bare room offered but few places of concealment, under the bed, within the washstand, a shallow clothes closet in the wall. They even looked in the bureau drawers. Finally Delehanty with a grunt, moved towards the door. Pen's heart swelled big with triumph.
She glanced at Delehanty's cigar. "Would you mind leaving the window open?" she said cuttingly.
At a nod from the chief, one of the men flung up the sash. Pen felt a little quiver of inward laughter. There was something humorous in making the enemy transmit one's signals. All left the room and Pen locked the door. She handed the key to her father.
"Please put it where you got it."