“The door is screwed,” Christian answered absently.
“O Chris! We screwed it unscrewed; anybody who wishes shall come!”
Christian, leaning her chin in her hands, gazed at her thoughtfully.
“It will take a long time to cut these pictures out carefully; or, perhaps I can get them out without cutting. You must screw me up and go home. In the morning you must come early, when the gate is open, unscrew me again, and help carry the pictures.”
Greta did not answer at once. At last she shook her head violently.
“I am afraid,” she gasped.
“We can't both stay here all night,” said Christian; “if any one comes to our room there will be nobody to answer. We can't lift these pictures over the gate. One of us must go back; you can climb over the gate—there is nothing to be afraid of.”
Greta pressed her hands together.
“Do you want the pictures badly, Chris?”
Christian nodded.