The screw removed, she eagerly raised the skylight and looked out. But at the sight which met her eyes her tears once again overflowed. All her work was unavailing. She was no better off.
Away from her the smooth slates of the roof stretched in every direction, from the ridge above to the gutter beneath and to the capping of the eaves to right and left. From where she stood the roof seemed like a great sloping tableland suspended in midair. It had no visible connection with the earth, which appeared beyond the gutter, far below and a long way off. She thought she must be at the back of the house for there was no road or drive in sight. She was looking down into fields, behind which was a wood, forming the horizon. No human being was in sight nor even a house. So far as she could see, she might be the only remaining human being in the world.
No chance of escaping that way. She could not stand on that slope. With a thrill of horror she imagined herself climbing out, letting go the skylight frame, slipping down the smooth slates to the gutter, gripping it frantically, missing it … She shuddered. No, there was no hope that way. Nor was there any use in her making signals of distress. No one was there to see them.
Bitterly disappointed, she stood staring out, watching lest by chance some wanderer might appear in the fields whose attention she might be able to attract. But no one came.
Presently it occurred to her that the time for the evening meal must be near. Useless as this open skylight seemed, it would be wiser to keep the knowledge of it to herself. She therefore closed the sash, put back the screw loosely, replaced the furniture, took her screwdriver to pieces, and lay down on the bed.
Only just in time! She had scarcely settled down when Gwen appeared with the meal.
Then followed a perfectly interminable night. This time she had not had the necessary physical fatigue to make her sleep and she tossed restlessly during the long, dark hours. But morning came at last and with it breakfast and the prospects of another endless day.
She wondered what the plans of the trio could be. Gwen’s threat as to her end coming before the previous evening had not been fulfilled. Either their plans had miscarried or Gwen had been bluffing. Reassuring, for what it was worth. But they could not keep her alive and a prisoner indefinitely. They must, she imagined, be waiting for some development, though what form it might take she could not imagine.
Like a century the day dragged out its weary course. Lunch came, then Gwen with water, then supper, and still no ray of light or hope appeared to the girl. Then just as she was preparing for another long night of wakeful tossing, she got another idea.
It was far more in the nature of a forlorn hope than the last, still, she reminded herself, it was a hope. But if she were to carry out her plan she must lose no time. It would be dark in less than an hour.
Now breathlessly excited, she jumped from the bed, took Christina Wyatt’s old manuscript book, and cutting the thread which bound it, carefully withdrew some of the unused sheets. The double pages were of fair size, some fifteen inches by nine. Now, could she remember how to fold them? Once down the middle, the long way; then two corners back to the middle fold; then … For a time she experimented until at last there lay before her a dart like those she had made in hundreds in her schooldays. Eagerly she stood up and threw it. It floated gently across the room.
Mass production was now the order of the day. There were thirty-seven clean double pages in the book and in a few minutes thirty-seven darts lay in a little pile on the bed. As she folded, Molly thought out the message they would bear, so that by the time they were ready she had decided on the wording. Taking her fountain pen, she wrote on the top of each: “Finder for God’s sake phone Victoria 7000 that Molly Moran is in this big house. Her life at stake.”
By this time it was getting dusk. As quickly and silently as possible Molly rebuilt her tower beneath the skylight, withdrew the screw and opened the frame. Then taking up a bunch of darts, she began to launch them one by one.
There was a gentle wind blowing towards the left. This picked up the darts and carried them well away from the house, over towards the fields. They floated well, and though most of them disappeared from view below the line of the roof, she saw some actually strike the ground.
The thirty-seven disposed of, she stood looking out, hoping against hope that someone would appear and get her message. But though she waited till it was quite dark, no one appeared. At last with a profound sigh she closed the skylight, put the furniture in its place and lay down once more.
The reaction from her previous excitement had now set in and her depression became greater than ever. The darts, she felt, were no good. No one would find them and if anyone did he would think the message some child’s prank and take no notice. Or, and this was a disaster which she had not thought of before, Gwen or Style might find them. What would happen to her then? And all the time in the background was the feeling of sick dread and horror when she thought of the fate of Thurza Darke. In the daytime there had been the excitement of what was happening to keep her up. Now there was nothing. She learned the awful loneliness of fear.
Fortunately from
