ns," I urged. "But will you not trust me to make a
light and give what help I can? You are welcome to use the house as you
please. Or, if you are lost or stormbound, my car is in the old barn and
I will drive you anywhere that you say. Let us not spoil our adventure
by suspicion. In good faith----"

I opened my hand, releasing the lovely rope by which I had detained my
prisoner. Then, with a quickening pulse, I waited. Would she stay? Would
she spring up and escape? Would she thank me, or would she reply with
some eccentricity unpredictable as her whim to tell me that tale?

She did none of these things. The braid of hair, freed entirely,
continued to lie supinely across my open palm. The coolness of the blade
still lightly touched my wrist. She might be debating her course of
action, I reflected. Well, I was in no haste to conclude the episode!

When the silence had lasted many moments, however, I began to grow
restive. Anxiety tinged my speculations. Suppose she had fainted? Or did
she doubt my intentions, and was her quietness that of one on guard? I
stirred tentatively.

Two things happened simultaneously with my movement. The braid glided
away from me, while the knife slipped from its position and tinkled upon
the floor. I started up, perception of the truth seizing my slow wits,
and reached for my flashlight.

There was no one in the room except myself. Down my blanket was slipping
a severed braid of hair, perhaps a foot in length, jaggedly cut across
at the end farthest from my hand. Leaning over, I saw on the floor
beside the bed a paper-knife of my own; a sharp, serviceable tool that
formed part of my writing kit. Before going to bed, I had taken it from
my suitcase to trim a candle-wick, and had left it upon the bookstand.

Now I understood why her voice had sounded more distant than seemed
reasonable while I held her beside me. No doubt she had hacked off the
detaining braid almost as soon as I grasped it. The knife she had
pressed against my wrist to keep me where I lay while she made ready for
flight; or amused herself with me. Flight? Say rather that she had
leisurely withdrawn! Perhaps she had not even heard my magnanimous
speech offering her the freedom that she already possessed. If she had
stayed to hear me, probably she had laughed.

Perhaps she was still in the house.

I rose and lighted a candle, under the impulsion of that idea, reserving
my flashlight for the search. But there was no one i