Terry and Prim had been racking their brains, feverishly trying to plan some way of escape from their prison. But late that afternoon their hopes were dashed to the ground. Just as Sally returned to the house and before she could tell them of her discovery, Jim Heron ordered his captives upstairs into a rear room under the roof. In one gnarled fist he held a key, a rusty antique fully eight inches long, which looked as if it had been meant for a dungeon.

Terry pleaded with the old man for she had a horror of being locked up. She frantically promised him money; more money than Bud Hyslop was giving him if he would let them go, but Jim Heron shook his head.

“Nothin’ doin’, young lady! You can’t raise as much money as Bud has promised; that I’m sure of. Anyhow I promised Bud Hyslop that I’d keep you under lock and key, and I’m goin’ to do it. I’m a man of my word. What I promise, I stick to!”

Jim threw out his chest as he boasted of his honesty, then he added sharply, “Look here, if you girls hadn’t wanted trouble, you shouldn’t have come all the way up here huntin’ for it. You should have stayed at home where girls belong.”

Then Terry threatened him with the law, when her friends found out what he had done to her, but Jim Heron only sneered and showed his yellow fangs. “Into the room you go!” he snarled. “I’m not afeared of the law. In Fish Cove, I’m the law! All the law there is!”

A glimpse of Sally’s excited face was the last thing that Terry and Prim saw before the oaken door closed on them and the key grated in the lock. The next moment the sisters were facing each other with puzzled and angry looks, for Sally’s voice came to them through the closed door. She was saying to Jim Heron, “That’s fine! Now we’ve got them where we want them. You can have your night’s sleep now. Just leave it to me; I’ll see that they don’t escape.”

And Jim Heron growled in reply, “I’m going to keep the key under my pillow tonight. You keep watch, for if they do get loose, I’ll skin you alive.”

“So that’s that!” stormed Terry. “Sally’s our jailer. And we thought we could trust that girl!”

Prim was on the verge of tears, and Terry continued wrathfully, “Aren’t we a couple of saps to be taken in by that lying little cat! We listened to her sad story and swallowed it all. How she must have laughed at us! Probably there wasn’t a word of truth in it. If you ask me, I think she’s Jim Heron’s daughter.”

“I’ll say we’re dumb!” replied Prim. “What makes me feel sore is that we told her a lot of our plans, thinking she was our friend. This ought to be a lesson to us, never to trust anybody again.”

But while Prim was raging, her sister suddenly burst out laughing. It was real laughter this time. There was nothing forced about it. She pointed to the roughly plastered wall opposite the windows where hung a framed motto worked in brightly colored wool yarn. It read, “Home, Sweet Home.”

Even in her anger, Prim had to smile at that innocent text. “So this is Home, Sweet Home!” she chuckled. “Can you tie that! Let’s see what it is like.”

The room was extremely plain, bare and ugly. Against the wall under the motto stood a broad, old-fashioned four-poster bed. There was a small table with a lamp on it and in one corner stood a shabby wash stand with a cracked mirror above it.

“We can thank our stars they gave us a lamp,” said Prim. “I’d be scared here in the dark. It’s a wonder they trusted us with a light. You’d think they would be afraid we would set fire to the house.”

“If the place were wood, I’d do that very thing,” declared Terry angrily. “Then they’d have to unlock the door!”

“Terry Mapes! Aren’t you ashamed to talk like that? You know well enough you’d never do such a thing. Anyway, you’ll never get a chance. This house is built of stone all through.”

“Worse luck! How are we ever going to get out? Are we to stay here for weeks and weeks until Bud Hyslop gets the ransom money out of Bennett Graham? It would take a long time to make the old skinflint part with his bankroll. In the meantime Syd and Allan may be injured, or even killed.”

“You shouldn’t say such things about Allan’s father. Bennett Graham will pay the money in a day or two. He just worships Allan. You know that. So there is nothing for us to do but wait and see what happens. We’re locked in this old prison, and here we will have to stay until everything is over.” Prim dusted a chair and sat down as if she were settled.

“Wait and see!” echoed Terry scornfully. “That kind of talk makes me mad! And I’m blue as can be, when I think of being kept prisoner in this terrible place.”

But Terry was not the kind of girl to stay depressed very long when she might think out a plan. “Now, Prim,” she exclaimed, “What’s to be done? The door is locked, the windows are too narrow to climb through. What will we do now?”

“Let’s count our blessings,” said Prim. “Mother says there is always something to be thankful for.”

“All right. Let’s begin.” Terry looked about the room. “Here’s a big bed. That’s something. It’s hard as a rock, but who cares! Let’s see what is under these home-made quilts. No wonder they were called crazy quilts. It makes you crazy just to look at them.”

While she chattered, Terry examined the bed. It was clean and spotless, and the mattress was filled with fresh straw.

“Things might be much worse,” answered Prim. “Look what the mattress rests on. No wonder it’s hard, for there are no springs at all but just a network of ropes stretched criss-cross. It’s a real antique.”

Terry exclaimed, “A rope! Just what a prisoner needs—in stories, that is! We might tie somebody with it while we escape. Or we might make a rope ladder and go out through the window. Rope is awfully useful in stories.”

“But in real life it’s not so good,” answered her sister. “As we can’t squeeze through these slits of windows, a rope ladder is no use. Let’s think of something else, Terry. There must be a way out if we could only find it.”

“Who says so? You needn’t overdo the business of being cheerful on my account.” Terry gave a toss of her head.

“We have the lamp to be thankful for,” insisted Prim. “Maybe you can find some old books in the closet, and we can read all evening and forget our worries.” But her teasing brought no smile from Terry, who remained steeped in gloom. Prim turned on her sharply. “Snap out of it, Terry Mapes! A girl like you ought to be able to think herself out of any kind of a scrape,” she cried. “If you are in the air and get into a jam, you always think fast and find a way out. Many a time I’ve seen you pull your plane out of a tailspin and make a perfect landing. And that is lots more dangerous than just being locked in this room. Now quit your nonsense and do some headwork.”

“All right,” answered Terry. “I’ll try, even if it does look hopeless.” She went once more to examine the windows. It was no use. Escape was impossible that way. The door was solid as a rock. Then she opened the door of the closet, which was dark and hung with old clothes. As her eyes got used to the darkness, she gave a little cry of excitement.

“Look up there, Prim. See that little crack of light. There must be a trap-door to the roof. Quick, give me a chair to stand on. No, the table is better. Quiet! Don’t let them hear us!”

Climbing on the table, which was dragged to the closet, Terry could reach the square trap-door and loosen the rusty iron latch that held it. She raised it a few inches and daylight streamed into the closet like a ray of hope.

“There’s our way to freedom!” exclaimed Terry. Quietly she lowered the trap-door and sprang to the floor. “Now let’s see about that rope,” she said. “First we’ll put the table back in its corner, in case Jim Heron comes back.”

The girls threw the mattress to the floor and examined the network of rope, which seemed good and strong. Quickly they removed it, leaving just enough strands to hold the mattress, and Prim coiled it neatly and hid it in the closet. There was nothing more to do until darkness fell. They sat close together discussing in whispers what they would do, once they were free. Where would they go first? What would they do? They agreed that their best hope of escape was to get to the Comet.

Suddenly a scratching sound at the door attracted their attention, followed by the patter of retreating footsteps. A paper had been shoved under the crack of the door and Terry snatched it up and read the message in a childish handwriting:

“Bud came back with another man in another plane. Don’t worry. When Jim is asleep tonight, I’ll try to get you out. Burn this letter. Sally.”

Terry sniffed disdainfully. “Nothing doing, you little cheat! We heard you talking to Jim Heron, and we know you’re a traitor.”

But Prim asked anxiously, “Who could that other man be? He came in a plane. Could it be Allan or Syd?”

“No such luck! It’s another enemy. The mystery grows every minute, but we’re going to win. We’ve got to win!”

They were interrupted by Jim Heron, who passed some food through the door. He looked around suspiciously but said nothing, only grinned in triumph and showed his snaggle teeth as he left.

The girls were too nervous to eat much. Carefully they made a parcel of the remaining food for future use. If they escaped, they might need it badly.

After hours of suspense, darkness came at last and then Terry whispered, “Let’s get out of here. I’ll choke if I stay another minute.”

As Terry dragged the table under the trap-door and raised it, her sister cried, “Oh do be careful!” but Terry answered, “Everything’s O. K. I’m on the roof already. Throw me the rope and I’ll help you up.” With a vigorous tug, she pulled Prim through the narrow door.

The girls breathed in the cool night air with relief. The fog had lifted. Stars were shining overhead.

“So far, so good!” Terry whispered. “Now help me fasten the rope to the chimney.”

Moving carefully on the steep roof, the girls made fast the rope, then Terry let herself to the eaves and looked over. It was a long drop to safety, for the rear of the house was built above a ravine, with only a narrow ledge of rock for a foothold. Yet escape from the front was impossible. Joe Heron might come out of the door and seize them.

“Are you game to try it?” asked Terry.

“I’m scared already, but I’ll go through with it,” Prim replied.

“I’m scared too. But it’s the only way,” said Terry.

“You’re never scared when you’re flying,” answered Prim. “You do loops and side-slips and all kinds of stunts, and you never seem to worry.”

“That’s different. In a plane I feel safe. I guess it’s because I’m a born flyer. Come on, Prim, let’s go!”

“Wait, Terry. We must go down hand over hand. Let’s tie knots in the rope for a hand hold.”

“Of course. Wasn’t I stupid to forget that!” Hastily the girls tied big knots at intervals, then let the rope down at the rear of the house. It seemed like a terrible distance to the ledge, and the ravine below it was dark and terrifying. Prim gasped:

“Oh, Terry. Let’s turn back. If you lose your grip, you’ll be killed.”

But for answer Terry swung off, over the eaves and began letting herself down, hand over hand. Without the knots she would have been lost and even as it was, the pain in her hands was terrible, but in a minute her feet touched the ground, and she gave a low whistle as a signal for Prim.

Terry waited for her sister with outstretched arms, and Prim almost fell the last ten feet, sinking limply into Terry’s arms.

“It was terrible,” she gasped. “I wouldn’t try that again for a thousand dollars.”

“Brace up,” whispered Terry. “We’re all right now. But Gee, I thought I was a goner!”

“So did I— Hush. What was that noise?”

A window had been raised in the house. Terry and Prim hugged the wall, hardly daring to breathe. Footsteps were heard in the house and someone opened the front door.

“Now we’re in for it!” whispered Prim. “Let’s run. It’s Jim Heron.”

But Terry looked around the corner of the wall and said softly, “It’s that girl, Sally Wyn. The little traitor! Keep still, she may not see us. If she does, we’ll fight her off and run.”

The sisters remained motionless and quiet while Sally went to an old shed and back, dragging something heavy. After she was out of sight, and the house was quiet, Terry pressed Prim’s hand, and said:

“Now is our chance. Come on.”

Tiptoeing along the hard ledge, the girls reached the front of the house. No one was in sight. They slipped along the path to the road, and Terry muttered, “Safe at last. We’re free!”

But at that moment a figure rose from the bushes beside them with a startled cry. It was Sally Wyn.

Terry flung herself upon the girl. “Little sneak!” she cried.

Holding one hand over Sally’s mouth to silence her, Terry dragged her to the road, and then she and Prim hurried away, with the girl between them. When they were some distance from the house, they stopped running and Terry took her prisoner by both arms, shaking her violently. “Why did you double-cross us?” she demanded angrily. “Why did you pretend to be friendly when you were helping Jim Heron? You little traitor!”

“I’m not a traitor. I’m not against you. I was out getting a ladder from the shed, to help you down from the roof,” Sally cried.

“Don’t tell me any more lies. We heard you telling Jim Heron it was a good thing he locked us up. You promised to stand guard over us. And before that you pretended to be our friend.”

“But Terry, I am your friend! I had to say that to Jim, so he would go to sleep tonight and leave me on guard. Can’t you see?”

Prim looked at the girl, who was now sobbing in distress, and said gently, “I believe you, Sally. You are telling the truth.”

Terry voiced her disapproval at first, but finally owned up that she had been mistaken. “I’m sorry, Sally,” she said. “Shake hands and forgive me. Now let’s get away from here.”

“I’ll take you to where the Comet is hidden,” said Sally. “Come on.”

In the darkness she led them up the trail and at the summit she whispered, “Not a sound!” and peered through the bushes. A small campfire glowed not far away, and beside it two men were sleeping.

While she watched, the stranger leaned forward to stir the campfire and as the blaze leaped up they saw a smartly dressed man of slight build whose black eyes glittered in the firelight. One of those jet-black eyes had a cast, which gave him a crafty and dangerous aspect. His thin lips denoted a cruel and grasping character. Terry clutched her sister’s arm in dismay.

“It’s Arnold! Joe Arnold!” she gasped. “Dad’s worst enemy!”