“I tried no trick,” declared Dorothy, “and if you do not at once let us out of this place it will be the worse for you. My father is Major Dale of North Birchland—”
“What!” interrupted the man, with his hand on the door.
“Yes, he is,” repeated Dorothy, seeing the effect her words had on the old officer, “and I know something about false imprisonment. What did we do that you should put us in a cell?”
“You helped that girl escape and there’s a big reward out for her. What do you suppose Constable Stevens will say when he comes back and finds the prize gone?”
“I don’t care what he says,” Dorothy almost shouted. “But I do care about being shut up here, and if you do not liberate us at once I’ll see what the Borough of North Birchland thinks of you as an officer.”
It was plain the man was scared—the very name of Major Dale had startled him.
He had his hand on the big black lock.
“And how am I to know that it was not a put-up job?” he asked foolishly.
“By the usual method—a trial,” ventured Dorothy, feeling no hesitation in saying anything to this ignorant man.
All this took time, and it was getting late in the afternoon.