Penny reached the street to find that the police car had gone and Louise was nowhere to be seen. Deciding that her chum had grown tired of waiting, she hastened to a nearby drugstore to telephone the Star office.
Editor DeWitt answered, and Penny gave him the story straight and fast.
“Hamilton Rhett, the banker!” he exclaimed. “Sure you got the name right?”
“Positive!”
“This is apt to be a big story, especially if the man was kidnapped or walked off with the bonds! Grab a taxi and run out to the Rhett estate. Get all the dope you can from Mrs. Rhett, and don’t forget pictures! We’ll want one of Rhett. Better take all she has of him to keep the Times from getting them! Got that straight?”
“I think so.”
“Okay, go right to town on the old gal and learn everything you can about her quarrel with Rhett! I’ll send a photographer out there as soon as I can round one up.”
Penny felt a trifle weak as she hung up the receiver. Editor DeWitt took it for granted she would bring in a bang-up story when she returned to the newspaper office. But from what she had learned of Mrs. Rhett, she surmised that an interview might not be granted willingly.
Looking up the address of the Rhett estate, Penny hailed a passing taxi. As the cab sped along the winding river boulevard, she speculated upon how best to approach Mrs. Rhett.
“I wish I were more experienced as a reporter,” she thought, nervously examining her pocketbook to be certain she had paper and pencil. “Something tells me this story will be hard to get.”
The only daughter of a distinguished newspaper owner and publisher, Penny considered herself an essential part of the Star office. Even as a youngster in pigtails, she had haunted the big noisy newsroom, pecking at the typewriters and making a pest of herself.
From her father, Editor DeWitt, Jerry Livingston, a star reporter, and the printers who adored her, the alert girl had gleaned much useful information. But there were yawning gaps in her newspaper experience. No one realized it better than she.
Gazing thoughtfully toward the river, Penny recalled the first story she ever had written, carried in the paper under the title, “Tale of the Witch Doll.” Another yarn, “The Vanishing Houseboat,” also had been bannered across the front page of the Star, but in acquiring that story Penny and Jerry had nearly lost their lives.
Slight wonder that Mrs. Maud Weems, the Parker housekeeper, was reluctant to see the girl she loved so dearly take up a journalistic career. Sadly she declared that Penny’s nose for news and mystery would lead her into serious trouble. Mr. Parker, however, did not worry. “Penny has good horse sense,” he said. “And she was born with printer’s ink in her blood stream!”
The taxi stopped with a jerk in front of a large red brick mansion. Large acreage was enclosed by a wooden rail fence flanked by tall untrimmed bushes.
“Shall I wait?” inquired the cab driver as Penny alighted.
She shook her head, started to pay him, then thought of a better idea. “Charge this to the Star,” she instructed.
The cab driver looked a trifle worried as if he were fearful of losing the fare, so Penny flashed her press card again. It worked like magic.
“Okay, a charge it is,” he agreed. He shifted gears and drove away.
No sooner had Penny dismissed the cab than she regretted it. Although she expected to catch a ride with the Star photographer back to the paper, the mansion had a deserted look. As she walked up the gravel path, she noticed that many of the shades were drawn.
“There’s no one here,” she thought. “I’ve wasted my time coming.”
Nevertheless, Penny walked on to the front door to ring the doorbell. Instead she found a brass knocker in the shape of an ugly carved face. She stared at it a moment, then let it fall against the brass plate.
As Penny had feared, no one came to admit her. She was turning away in defeat, when she fancied she saw a shade move in one of the upstairs rooms. Encouraged, she knocked again.
Still there was no answer, but distinctly she saw the curtain flutter. Stepping back a pace, she gazed upward.
A dark face was visible in a circular window of one of the tower rooms. For a moment appraising eyes focused upon her. Then the curtain jerked convulsively, and the man was gone.
CHAPTER 3
A THATCHED ROOF COTTAGE
Satisfied that the house was not deserted, Penny hammered harder on the massive oaken door with the brass knocker. Still no one came to admit her.
“Someone is here,” she thought, intensely annoyed. “Well, if he can be stubborn, so can I! I’ll make such a nuisance of myself, they’ll have to let me in.”
She hammered steadily with the knocker for a half minute, then she experimented with pattern knocks, in interesting combinations of dots and dashes.
Suddenly, the window above her head flew open, and the same dark-faced man peered angrily down at her.
“What you want?” he demanded in an unpleasant voice.
“Why, I should like to see Mrs. Rhett,” Penny replied politely. “She’s here, isn’t she?”
“Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t,” was the sharp retort. “Who are you?”
Resenting the man’s unfriendly attitude, Penny nevertheless answered that she was from the Riverview Star and desired to interview Mrs. Rhett about her missing husband.
“Madam not seeing anyone. Go ’way now!”
The window slammed shut.
Convinced that the man, evidently a servant, had acted upon instructions from Mrs. Rhett, Penny wondered what to do. She considered returning to the Star office to explain to Editor DeWitt.
But in Mr. DeWitt’s dictionary there was no such word as failure. He would cock an eyebrow at her, growl: “So you couldn’t get in, eh?” and promptly send a more aggressive reporter to the mansion.
“I could force my way in, but that’s trespassing,” she reflected with deepening gloom. “If I were thrown into jail, Mr. DeWitt probably wouldn’t even bother to bail me out! He’d say I didn’t use my head in an emergency.”
Penny decided to wait for the Star photographer, who also had been sent out. In a tight pinch, photographers nearly always could come up with a picture. Between them they might think of a means of getting into the mansion.
“I hope Salt Sommers is sent here,” she thought. “He’s a good scout. He’ll help me get the story.”
Penny glanced hopefully toward the highway, but the press car was not to be seen. With a sigh, she slowly circled the house.
The building, no longer new, once had been one of Riverview’s finest homes. Now the red brick exterior had become discolored, and trees and bushes disclosed lack of skilled care. A hedge flanking the walk had been trimmed unevenly. The lawn was badly mowed, with many weeds going to seed.
Nevertheless, the estate was impressive, and Penny walked along a sloping path to a pool of water lilies. Seating herself on the cement rim, she dabbled her hand in the water. A moment later, raising her eyes, she caught a flash of color at one of the mansion windows.
“I’m being watched,” she thought. “Perhaps if I poke around here long enough, Mrs. Rhett will decide to see me.”
However, there was no further movement at the window, and presently Penny wandered around to the rear of the house. Two interesting architectural features drew her attention. At each side of the house were circular tower rooms, each with two tiny round windows which resembled human eyes.
From the rear of the mansion, several paths led in diverse directions. One, which was weed-choked, apparently angled toward the river beach. Years before, when the Heights Yacht Club had been in operation, many sailboats plied the waters at this particular point.
Now, except for an occasional fisherman, few boats ever came so far upstream. As the once fine neighborhood had deteriorated, householders gradually had moved away. Penny judged that the Rhetts, isolated from their neighbors, probably were the only socially prominent people remaining.
Selecting a pat
h which led away from the river, deeper into the grounds, Penny presently found herself some distance from the road and the boundary fences.
Hedging the cinder trail were high, untrimmed bushes which completely screened her view. After walking a short distance, she paused, uncertain whether to keep on or return to the road.
“This exploration isn’t helping me get a story,” she reflected. “If the Star photographer should come while I’m here, I might miss him.”
However, the trail had a fascination for Penny and she was reluctant to turn back. In a tiny clearing a short distance ahead, she saw what appeared to be a thatched roof cottage. Only a moment or two would be required to investigate it, she thought. Then she would return to the road to await the photographer.
As Penny started eagerly on, she stubbed the toe of her shoe on a stone, and nearly tripped. By quick footwork, she saved herself a fall, but as she paused to recover breath, she plainly saw the bushes at the left hand side of the trail move convulsively. Only a slight breeze had rippled the tree leaves.
Penny was certain that someone stood behind the bush, watching her movements.
“Probably it’s that dark skinned man who called to me from the window,” she thought.
The knowledge that she was a trespasser on the Rhett property made Penny slightly uneasy. Likewise, it was unnerving to know that her every move was being watched. Admitting to herself that she should turn back, she nevertheless kept on down the path.
Without appearing to do so, she kept her eyes on the bushes at the left hand side of the trail. Now and then a slight jerk of the foliage convinced her that the one who watched was following and keeping pace with her.
Penny hastened her steps as she moved through a cool, densely shaded woodland. Frost had tinted many of the leaves with red and gold, but the arresting beauty of the foliage was completely lost upon her. She was only aware of those soft footsteps behind her.
Then unexpectedly, Penny came to the clearing. Scarcely seventy-five yards ahead, stood the thatched roof cottage which had attracted her interest from afar.
So quaint was the building that for a moment she gave it her entire attention, forgetting the one who watched from the bushes.
From where she stood, the cottage appeared to be about the size of a large room, and resembled a native hut. No windows were visible. The door was closed, and across it was painted in black and red a symbol which even from afar could be distinguished as a serpent-like figure.
The cottage fascinated Penny. At first glance she assumed it to be a large playhouse, but the serpent painting convinced her the building never had been intended for use of children.
A garden or tool house perhaps? She dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. Into her mind flashed a recollection of the drawing that had fallen from Mr. Rhett’s desk in the First National Bank. The paper had borne a plumed serpent, apparently a counterpart of the painting on the door of the thatched roof cottage!
Forgetful of the person who crouched in the bushes, Penny started eagerly forward, intending to examine the strange drawing at close range. Something whizzed past her, to embed itself in a tree trunk six inches from her head.
Brought up short, she saw that it was an arrow which had narrowly missed her. Had it been shot from the bushes behind her, and by the person who had stealthily followed her along the trail?
In cold fury, Penny jerked the arrow from the tree. Only then did she notice a folded sheet of notebook paper attached to it with a bit of string. She broke the knot and freed the paper. Across its crumbled face had been penciled a message. The lead had smeared and the words were hard to read. But she made them out.
The warning note said: “Do not approach the thatched roof cottage. To do so is to endanger your life.”
CHAPTER 4
BEHIND THE BUSHES
Having read the warning message, Penny whirled around to gaze toward the bushes on the left side of the path. All now was still, with not the slightest movement of leaves to reveal the presence of the one who had shot the arrow.
“It’s that man who talked so unpleasantly to me from the mansion window!” she thought. “Why, he might have struck me with the arrow! I’ll put an end to his target practice!”
Acting impulsively, she made a sudden dive for the bushes, jerking them apart to expose the one who had followed her. No one was there.
The grass, however, was trampled, and some distance away, she heard a scurry of footsteps.
“Trying to get away!” she thought grimly. “Not if I can prevent it! I’ll have it out with him and learn why he’s warning me my life is endangered!”
The footsteps fast were dying away. Listening intently, Penny decided that the person who had shot the arrow was stealing through the bushes toward the river path.
Seeking the intersection of the two paths, the girl stole noiselessly down the cindered trail sloping toward the beach. She had guessed correctly. In a moment she heard an agitation in the bushes nearby and knew that the person she sought was struggling through a tangle of underbrush.
Soon the bushes parted and a thin girl in blue shirt and slacks stepped out onto the cindered path. In one hand she carried an Indian bow with a quiver of arrows, while with the other, she brushed dry leaves from her long, dark hair.
Having expected to see a man, Penny was startled. As she opened her lips to speak, the girl saw her and was brought up short. She gasped in dismay, turned, and with astonishing speed darted down the path leading to the beach.
“Wait!” called Penny.
Keeping her face down, the girl raced on.
Determining that she should not escape without an explanation, Penny gave chase. The runner had an excellent start, but on coming to a series of wooden steps, her heel caught in a small hole. Down she went, and before she could arise, Penny had overtaken her.
Observing that the fall had not injured the girl, she said sternly:
“Now little Miss Robin Hood, will you kindly explain why you tried to exterminate me with that arrow?”
Sitting up, the girl ruefully rubbed an ankle and gazed at Penny with hostile brown eyes.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she retorted. “I had no intention of hitting you. My aim is perfect.”
“Modest, at any rate,” observed Penny, smiling despite a determination to appear very stern. “You did write the warning note?”
“Naturally.”
“Why, may I ask?”
“Because in the first place, you have no business being on our property. Secondly, I didn’t want you to go to the thatched roof cottage.”
“May I ask your name?”
“I’m Lorinda Rhett.”
“Hamilton Rhett’s daughter!”
“Stepdaughter,” the girl corrected.
“You’re just the person I want to see!” exclaimed Penny, overjoyed at her good fortune. “Your stepfather—”
“I’ll answer no questions about him,” the girl interrupted. “You may as well spare your breath. Mother and I want no reporters here.”
“So you know who I am?”
“How could one help knowing? You nearly broke our door down with your pounding, and I heard you talking to Antón.”
“Your servant?”
“My stepfather’s,” Lorinda corrected with a slight inflection which suggested that she did not entirely approve of Antón. “Now will you stop asking questions and go away?”
“All in good time. First, I’m relieved to know that the thatched cottage isn’t really dangerous. You only wrote that to be rid of me.”
Lorinda gave her a long, steady look but said not a word.
“Or perhaps there is some mystery about the cottage,”Penny went on. “After all, your stepfather’s disappearance was very queer. But the police, no doubt, will get at the bottom of it when they come here.”
Lorinda scrambled to her feet. “The police!” she gasped. “We’ll not have them here prying around!”
“Whether or not you like it, I’
m afraid you will have the police on your doorstep. A man of Mr. Rhett’s prominence can’t disappear without a few questions being asked.”
Lorinda lost much of her defiance. “But this is our own private affair,” she protested. “My stepfather will return—at least, I think he will.”
“And the missing bonds?”
“Missing bonds?”
“Didn’t Albert Potts, the bank secretary, inform your mother that $250,000 in negotiable securities also had disappeared?”
“Why, no! At least I knew nothing of it! Surely you don’t think my stepfather would stoop to the theft of bank securities?”
“I have no opinion in the matter. I’m merely here to get the true story. For some reason you and your mother have been unwilling to cooperate.”
Lorinda did not reply, but seemed to be thinking deeply.
“Do you have any idea where your stepfather is now?” Penny inquired, hoping that a direct approach might glean information.
“No, of course not.”
“You haven’t seen him for the past ten days?”
“That is true,” Lorinda acknowledged with great reluctance. “But it’s not so unusual. My stepfather frequently goes away on trips.”
“Without telling anyone where he is going?”
“I’ll not answer that question,” Lorinda said with a proud uptilt of her chin.
“I’m afraid you don’t like reporters very well,” observed Penny pleasantly. “Nor do you seem especially fond of your stepfather.”
“That’s not true! I do like my stepfather. Why, he was the one who taught me how to shoot with a bow and arrow! He gave me this bow which is a valuable collector’s item!”
She offered it to Penny who inspected the fine workmanship with keen interest.
“Mr. Rhett is a collector?” she inquired.
“Yes, he’s traveled all over the world, but most of his time was spent in the jungles of Africa, Brazil, and other places in South America. That was before he married Mother, of course.”
“Your stepfather was especially interested in ancient religious cults?”
The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels Page 162