"In the first place," she reasoned, "I am not seriously hurt. That
fellow, whoever he was, just thrust me into this room. And it was no
ghost, either," she went on, as she felt her arm, which she was sure had
been bruised by the grasp of the mysterious one. "I'd better make a
light, I think. Then I can see where I am. Oh, but what can have
happened to the others? I hope he didn't get them, too!"
The thought was terrifying. She dismissed it.
Mollie was a practical girl, as must needs be one who drives an auto.
She had pockets--a woeful lack with many--and matches.
It was the work of but a few seconds to set aglow the extinguished
lantern, and how Mollie blessed the thought that had prompted taking
both side lights with them. Otherwise she would have had to remain in
the gloom. The lantern had not broken in the fall, and soon a cheerful
glow made the room less gloomy, though it was a large apartment, and
there were many flickering shadows, while the corners seemed in total
darkness.
"But there's nothing there--can't be," decided Mollie, as she rose to
her feet. "I just won't let myself be frightened."
Flashing the light about the room, the girl-prisoner made it out to be a
large apartment, void of anything save a few broken sticks of furniture,
and a litter of papers. The paper on the walls was mildewed and hanging
in strips. There was a damp and musty smell in the place, but--joy of
joys to Mollie--no rat holes.
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