Karlov did not speak as he opened the door of the House for her. His expression was Buddha-like.
"This way, miss," said the chauffeur, affably.
"You are an American?"
"Whenever it pays."
Presently Kitty found herself in the attic, alone. They hadn't touched her; so much was gained. Poor little fool that she was! It was fairly dark now, but overhead she could see the dim outlines of the scuttle or trap. The attic was empty except for a few pieces of lumber and some soap boxes. She determined to investigate the trap at once, before they came again.
She placed two soap boxes on end and laid a plank across. After testing its stability she mounted. She could reach the trap easily, with plenty of leverage to spare. She was confident that she could draw herself up to the roof. She sought for the hooks and liberated them, then she placed her palms against the trap and heaved. Not even a creak answered her. She pressed upward again and again. The trap was immovable.
Light. She turned, to behold Karlov in the doorway, a candlestick in his hand.
"The scuttle is covered with cement, Miss Conover. Nobody can get in or out."
Kitty got down, her knees uncertain. If he touched her! Oh, the fool she had been!
"What are you going to do with me?" she asked through dry lips.
