As Rosemary attempted to creep between two great piles, one of these toppled to the floor with a resounding crash.
“Come!” Her tone was near despair. “We must find the way out!”
As for Jeanne, she was rapidly regaining her composure. This was not the only time she had been lost in an Opera House. The Paris Opera had once held her a prisoner.
“Yes, yes. The way out!” She took the lead. “I think I see a light, a tiny red light.”
For a second she hesitated. What was this light? Was it held in the hand of the unwelcome stranger? Was it an “Exit” light?
“It’s the way out!” she exulted. A quick turn, a sharp cry and she went crashing forward. Some object had lain in her path. She had stumbled upon it in the dark.
What was it? This did not matter. All that mattered were Rosemary and the way out.
Where was Rosemary? Leaping to her feet, she glanced wildly about. A move from behind demoralized her. One more wild dash and she was beneath that red light. Before her was a door. And at that door, pressing the knob, was Rosemary.
Next instant they had crowded through that door.
But where were they? Narrow walls hemmed them in on every side.