“Who—who’s there?” Her voice shook ever so slightly.
There came no answer. Instinctively the girl sprang toward the center of this tower room.
Perhaps this movement saved her. As she whirled about she saw to her horror that there, standing in the doorway, was the head hunter. She had not seen him before, but from Florence’s description she knew she could not be mistaken. There was the same short, stout body, the dark, evil face, the blood-shot eyes. That he recognized her as Florence’s friend she could not doubt. There was a look of savage glee in his eyes. His yellow teeth showed like fangs.
For a space of seconds the little French girl stood paralyzed with fear. Then as her eyes circled the room they caught sight of a second door. She sprang toward this.
The door swung open and banged shut. Like a flash she was away up a second flight of stairs.
“This leads to the top of the tower,” she told herself. “And when I’m out there?”
A bat, frightened from the beams, flashed by her, another, and still another. She hated and feared bats. But a greater terror lay behind. There came the sound of heavy steps.
Darkness lay before her. “A trap door.” Her frightened mind recorded these words. “What if it is locked?”
It was not locked. She was through it. It slammed behind her. There was no lock on that side. What was to be done?
Two heavy stones on the ledge beside her seemed loose. They were loose. Pushing more than lifting, she banged one down upon the door, then the other. She caught the sound of muttered curses as the second stone banged down.