“But what about my roadster?”
“I’ll call up the nearest service station and get them to send a trouble wagon for it,” he said, stepping out of the car. “Don’t worry, I won’t be long.”
Anne watched him make his way slowly across the long grass to the fence. “Keep to the right,” she called, and he waved his hand to indicate that he heard and understood. She was still watching him when a car, coming from Rockville, dashed past and took the turn to the left.
The house was fully a quarter of a mile from the road and Curtis walked with care. Anne stared after him anxiously until the darkness hid him from view, then turned around in her seat—to find a masked man standing on her running board.
Anne stared at him in paralyzed silence. Slowly his right hand came into view and a revolver touched her breast.
“Make no noise,” he commanded, and his voice had a terrifying sound coming from behind the black cloth which dropped below his chin. “Give me that key.”
“The key!”
“The key!” with stern emphasis. “Be quick or I’ll—” And the revolver pressed against her side.
Mechanically Anne dragged out her gold chain. It hung suspended in her hand in the light from the dash lamp. Anne gazed at the empty ring of the safety catch, where the key had been fastened, as if hypnotized.
“It’s—gone—gone!” And the horror in her eyes as she raised them to the masked man was more convincing even than her words.