XVI
Left to Starve
When the sound of the footsteps had died away, Nancy Drew was overcome with panic. A feeling of desperation came over her. She realized that the robber had dared to carry out his ugly threat. He had locked her in the closet and had left her there to starve.
At first Nancy was too frightened to think logically. She beat frantically upon the door with her fists, but the heavy oak panels did not give.
“Help! Help!” she screamed.
At last, exhausted by her efforts to force the door open, she fell down upon the floor, a dejected, crushed little figure.
“Maybe those men will come back later and let me out,” she tried to encourage herself. “Surely, they can’t be so heartless as to leave me here to starve.”
But even as the thought came to her, she heard the muffled roar of a heavy truck as it passed the Topham bungalow on the way to the road. With a feeling of utter hopelessness, Nancy heard the van depart. She knew for a certainty the cruel, hardened rascals were indifferent to her plight. They had abandoned her to a horrible fate.
The house was as silent as a tomb. Although Nancy had little hope that there was anyone within miles of the cottage, she again raised her voice and shouted for help. Her cries echoed through the empty house and seemed to mock her.
“Oh, why didn’t I have sense enough to tell Helen Corning where I was going!” she thought miserably. “She believed I was starting for home. The girls will never dream that I came here.”
And her father thought that she intended to remain at the camp for a week! He would not become alarmed over her absence until it was too late. Oh, if only she had never left her home in River Heights!
“Someone may find my roadster at the side of the road,” Nancy reasoned, “but it isn’t very likely. Few persons pass this way so late in the season.”
What had become of Jeff Tucker, the caretaker? Certainly she could expect no aid from that quarter. The robber had hinted that he had done away with the old colored man, and, knowing the character of the rascals, it was impossible not to believe the worst.
As the full significance of the situation dawned upon the girl, panic again took possession of her. In a desperate attempt to break down the door, she threw her weight against it again and again. She pounded upon the panels until her fingers were bruised and bleeding.
At last she sank down on the floor to rest and tried to force herself to reason calmly.
“I’m only wasting my strength this way. I must try to think logically. If I don’t, I’m lost.”
Nancy Drew recalled that she had once read that it was possible to pick a lock with a hairpin. Feeling in her hair, she found a heavy wire one and began to work at the lock. But in the darkness she could not see and she made little progress. After fifteen minutes she gave the task up in disgust.
“It’s no use,” she decided miserably, “I’m afraid I’ll never get out.”
She began to think of her father, of Helen Corning, and other dear friends. Would she ever see them again? As despondency claimed Nancy she was dangerously near tears. Resolutely, she tried to shake off the mood.
“This will never do,” she told herself sternly. “Surely, there is a way to get out of here. I must keep my head and try to think of something.”
After a time, as a new idea occurred to the girl, she began to rummage about in the closet, hoping that by some lucky chance she might find a tool which would help her force the lock of the door. She searched carefully through the pockets of every garment which hung from the hooks. She groped over every inch of the floor.
She found nothing of value, and the cloud of dust which was stirred up made breathing more difficult than before. The closet had become uncomfortably warm by this time.
Then unexpectedly, Nancy’s head struck something hard. Quickly investigating, she discovered a narrow wooden rod suspended overhead. Evidently it had once been used for dress and coat hangers as it was fastened to either wall and ran the length of the closet.
“If I could get that rod down, I might be able to use it to break out a panel of the door,” Nancy thought hopefully. “It feels strong and it’s about the right size.”
She tugged at the rod with all her might. To her satisfaction, one side gave. Another hard jerk brought the rod down on her head.
To her bitter disappointment, Nancy found as she examined the rod that it was too long to use as a ram. But after a little experimentation, she discovered that she could press it into service as a wedge.
Inserting it in the crack between the hinges, she threw all of her weight against the rod. At first the door did not budge.
“Archimedes didn’t know what he was talking about when he said the world could be moved with a lever,” Nancy murmured. “I’d like to see him move this door!”
As she applied steady pressure to the rod a second time, she saw that the hinges were beginning to give. Encouraged, she applied more force.
“It’s coming!” she cried.
Once more she threw her weight against the rod. A hinge tore from the casing and the door sagged. It was now easy to insert the wedge, and Nancy knew that success would soon be hers.
Then, just as another hinge gave way, she was startled to hear footsteps. Someone came running into the bedroom, and a heavy body hurled itself against the door of the closet.
The unexpected action stunned Nancy. Could it be that one of the robbers had heard the noise she had made and had returned to make sure that she did not escape? She discarded the theory as quickly as it came to her. The robbers were far too wise to tarry, once their disgraceful work had been accomplished. Then, too, she had heard their moving van leave.
Frantically, Nancy rattled the door knob.
“Oh, you is a caged lion, dis time,” a rather unsteady voice remarked. “You is one o’ dese tough robber boys, is you? Well, you won’t do no mo’ pilferrin’, ’cause I done got you surrounded.”
“Let me out!” Nancy pleaded. “I’m not a robber!”
The sound of a feminine voice coming from the closet nonplussed the man.
“Say, robber boy, is you imitatin’ a lady’s voice to th’o’ me off de scent? If you is, it won’t do no good ’cause I’s a natural-born, two-legged blood houn’.”
Nancy thought of a way to convince him. She let go her longest and loudest feminine scream.
“Dat’s enough! Hold yo’ siren! I’ll let you out. Dar ain’t a man in de world could make a racket like dat! Dis way out, lady!”
Expectantly, Nancy waited, but the door did not open.
“My Lawdy!” she heard to her horror. “I’s done gone and misplaced de key!”