“I can’t believe it!” declared Amy.
“It is a girl. I am sure it is a girl. Oh, Amy!” 144 gasped Jessie. “Suppose it should be the girl whom we saw carried off by those two awful women?”
“Bertha Blair?”
“Yes. Of course, I suppose that is awfully far-fetched––”
“Wait! Here it comes again,” whispered Amy.
“Come and find me! Help! I am a prisoner! The red barn and the silo with the two fallen trees.”
How many times this was repeated the girls did not know. Suddenly something cluttered up the airways—some sort of interference—and the mystery of the ether died away. No matter what Jessie did to the tuning coil she could not bring that strangely broadcasted message back to their ears.
“What do you know about that?” demanded Amy, breathlessly.
“Why—why,” murmured her chum, “we don’t know much of anything about it. Only, I am sure that was a girl calling. It was a youthful voice.”
“And I feel that it is Bertha Blair!” exclaimed Amy. “Oh, Jessie, we must do something for her.”