The door stuck and she rattled the knob sharply. Then the
explanation dawned on her.
The door was locked!
Could it have a spring lock? she wondered. Then she remembered a day
when, on exploration bent, a group of girls had made the trip to the roof
and the kindly Dave McGuire had taken a key from his pocket and unlocked
the door of the little room for the more adventurous ones who wanted to
climb up and see the inside.
"It was a flat key, like a latch key," Betty reflected. "The girls must
have had the door unlocked for me to-night, but I don't think they would
follow me and lock it. That would be mean!"
However, the door was locked and she was a prisoner. It was inky black
and at every step she seemed to knock over something or stumble against
cold iron. Gradually her eyes became accustomed to the lack of light, and
she made out the outlines of something against the wall.
"Why, there is a window--I remember!" she said aloud. "I wonder if I can
reach it."
Cautiously she felt her way around and stretched up tentative fingers.
She could barely touch the lower frame.
Then, for the first time, Betty felt a little shiver of fear and
apprehension.
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