Dorothy ran to a closet, drew forth a hat, and cried that she was ready.
"Throw those keys in the hall!" commanded Garrison, and young Robinson tossed them out as directed. "Now, then, over in the corner with the pair of you!"
The helpless Robinsons moved over to the corner of the room. Dorothy was already in the hall. Garrison was backing out, to lock the door, when Dorothy ran in again beside him.
"Just a minute!" she said, and, going to the bed, despite Garrison's impatience, she turned down the pillow and caught up a bunch of faded roses—his roses—and, blushing in girlish confusion, ran out once more, and slammed the door, which Garrison locked on her relations.
"Throw the keys under the rug," he said quietly. "We've no time to lose. The old man rang in an alarm."
Dorothy quickly hid the keys as directed. The face she turned to him then was blanched with worry.
"What shall we do?" she said, as he led her down the stairs. "In a little town like this there's no place to go."
"I provided for that," he answered; and, beholding her start as a sound of loud knocking at the door in the rear gave new cause for fright, he added: "Thank goodness, the old bearded woman has gone around back to get in!"
Half a minute more, and both were out upon the walk. Garrison carrying his book, his pistol once more in his pocket.
A yell, and a shrill penetrative whistle from the rear of the house, now told of Theodore's activities at the window of the room where he and his father were imprisoned. He was doubtless making ready to let himself down to the ground.