Elsie Powell had been nearly a week in confinement, under the care and at the mercy of the woman she called Mrs. Pike, but who was in reality the wife of Bass, the valet and general factotum of Fenn Whiting.
When Elsie had asked his name he had said Pike, on the spur of the moment, and Pike he had remained to her.
Elsie was not at all uncomfortably housed. She had comforts if not luxuries. She was allowed to go in the several rooms of the basement of the house, which were fitted up with more elaborate appointments than most basement floors are. Mrs. Pike, as Elsie knew her, was kind enough to the girl, except when she took it upon herself to advise her. This Elsie invariably resented, and there was war. For Elsie had a temper of her own, and when it was roused it was by no means inconsiderable.
There was a door at the foot of the basement stairs. This was always locked. From the time when Elsie had heard that shout the first night of her arrival, that door had never again been opened.
Elsie was positive that it had been Kimball’s voice, but the two Pikes denied it, and she thought she might be mistaken.
Every afternoon at four o’clock, Fenn Whiting came to talk with Elsie and urge her to marry him. But now, knowing that it was he who had brought her where she was, she vowed she would stay there till she died, rather than marry him! So angry did she become at mere mention of it, that she flew into passionate rage, and looked so wondrously beautiful with flaming cheeks and flashing eyes that Whiting was more infatuated than ever.
The days went by somehow. By turns, Elsie stormed, sulked, wept, coaxed and plead with her keeper, the imperturbable Mrs. Pike, but all to no purpose. The woman was adamant. She had been inclined to listen to Elsie’s suggestion of higher pay than they had been promised, but her husband had forbidden her any such ideas. And so the days went by, and Elsie wondered what would finally become of her.
And so came the twenty-ninth, the day before her birthday. Elsie resolved to make a final desperate effort with Mrs. Pike. She did, and she had the satisfaction of seeing that the woman was interested at least.
“If you’ll let me out,” Elsie begged her, “I’ll see to it that you shall never be blamed or punished in any way for what you have done, I’ll give you ten thousand dollars and I’ll find you a pleasant home somewhere in the country,—which I know you want.”
It was the mention of a home in the country that touched the woman most deeply, and for a moment she wavered. But even as she began to speak, Fenn Whiting arrived and the conversation was stopped.