Relieved of the burden of the girl’s weight, Mr. Eckenrod collapsed on the floor of the crevasse again, moaning with pain.
“Oh, Mr. Eckenrod!” Penny was aghast.
“Go on!” he urged in a stern voice. “You can make it now! Climb on out and bring help! And be quick about it!”
CHAPTER 10
MR. ECKENROD’S SECRET
Thus urged, Penny scrambled up the slippery, sloping side of the wall and reached the top safely.
Completely spent, she lay there a moment resting.
“Don’t give up!” she called to Mr. Eckenrod. “I’ll get back as fast as I can!”
The closest house was the artist’s own cabin in the woods. Plunging through the big drifts, the girl pounded on the door.
Almost at once it was opened by a middle-aged woman with graying hair and alert, blue eyes. Seeing the girl’s rumpled hair and snow-caked skiing suit, she immediately understood that something was wrong.
“You’re Mrs. Eckenrod?” Penny gasped.
“Yes, I am. What has happened?”
“Your husband has had a bad fall and his leg may be broken! We’ll need a rope and a sled.”
Mrs. Eckenrod won Penny’s admiration by the cool manner with which she accepted the bad news. After the first quick intake of breath, she listened attentively as Penny told her what had happened.
“You’ll find a long rope in the shed,” she directed.
“And a sled?”
“The only one we have is a very small one my grandchildren use when they come here to play. It will have to do. You’ll find it in the shed too. While you’re getting the things, I’ll telephone a doctor to come right out!”
“We’ll need a man to help us!”
“No one lives within miles except those folks who moved into the monastery.”
“We’ll get no help from there!” Penny said bitterly.
“I’ll call Riverview for men!”
“We don’t dare wait, Mrs. Eckenrod. Your husband is half frozen now. We’ll have to get him out ourselves somehow.”
“If we must, we can,” replied the woman quietly. “I’ll telephone the doctor and be with you in a moment.”
On her way to the shed, Penny looked hopefully across the darkening hills for a glimpse of the lone skier she had seen earlier in the afternoon. He was nowhere visible.
By the time Penny had found a rope and the sled, Mrs. Eckenrod joined her. The woman had put on a heavy coat, galoshes, and carried woolen blankets.
“How did the accident happen?” she asked, as they plodded through the drifts together.
Penny related the unfortunate argument involving the theft of firewood.
“Oh, dear! It’s Vernon’s dreadful temper again!”Mrs. Eckenrod exclaimed. “He is a wonderful man, but ready to quarrel if anyone crosses him!”
“In this case, I think he was in the right,” Penny replied, helping her companion over a big drift. “I saw the hunchback take the wood, and I heard the argument.”
“When those new people moved into the monastery, I was afraid we would have trouble with them. Something queer seems to be going on there.”
“How do you mean?” Penny asked, recalling that she had expressed the identical thought at home.
“Well, the house is so quiet and deserted by day. Come night, one hears all sorts of weird noises and sees roving lights. Last night I distinctly heard a woman scream twice. It was most unnerving.”
“Have you noticed anyone except the hunchback and his master leaving the building?”
“Only a young girl.”
“Then I didn’t imagine it!” Penny exclaimed.
Mrs. Eckenrod stared at her, puzzled by the remark.
Penny did not take time to explain, for they now had reached the crevasse. Anxiously, the rescuers peered down into the darkening hole.
“Vernon!” his wife cried.
At sound of her voice, he stirred and sat up.
Relieved that he was still conscious, Penny stretched out prone at the lip of the crevasse. Rapidly, she lowered the rope.
“Knot it around your waist!” she instructed.
Mr. Eckenrod obeyed and with a supreme effort, got up on his good leg.
“Now up you come!” Penny shouted encouragingly. “If you can help just a little, I think we can make it.”
Mrs. Eckenrod was a solidly built, strong woman. Even so, it was all the two could do to pull the artist up onto the overhanging ledge. Completely spent, he lay there for a while as his rescuers recaptured their breath. Then, the remaining distance was made with less difficulty.
Penny and Mrs. Eckenrod rolled the man onto the sled, covering him with warm blankets. Even then, their troubles were not over. To pull the sled through the drifts to the cabin, took the last of their strength.
“We did it!” Penny cried jubilantly as they made a saddle of their arms to carry the artist into the warm living room.
Mrs. Eckenrod threw a log on the fire and went to brew hot coffee. Penny sponged the blood from the artist’s head but did not attempt to bandage it, knowing a doctor was on the way.
Twenty minutes later, Dr. Wallace arrived from Riverview. After carefully examining the artist’s leg, he placed it in a splint and bandaged it.
“You’ll be on crutches for a few days,” he told Mr. Eckenrod. “The bone may be cracked, but there is no break.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard today!” Mr. Eckenrod declared in relief. “I’ve got some important business to take up with a certain party!”
“Vernon!” remonstrated his wife.
After the doctor had gone, Mr. Eckenrod was put to bed on the davenport. But he refused to remain still. As the pain in his leg eased, he experimented walking with the aid of a chair.
“I’ll be using my pins in three days at the latest!” he predicted. “Just as soon as I can get around, I’m going to the monastery and punch that hunchback’s nose!”
“Vernon!”
“Now don’t ‘Vernon’ me,” the artist glared at his wife. “The man richly deserves it! He’s a thief and bully!”
Penny gathered up her mittens which had been drying by the hearth. “You may have trouble getting into the monastery,” she remarked. “If Winkey sees you first, he’ll probably lock the gate.”
“You think that would stop me?”
“How else could you get in? Over the fence?”
“I know a way,” the artist hinted mysteriously.
“Not another gate?”
“No.”
“A secret entrance?”
Mr. Eckenrod’s quick grin told Penny that her guess had been right.
“You did me a good turn today, so I’ll let you into the secret,” the artist said. “Help me hobble into the studio, and I’ll show you something that will make your eyes pop!”
CHAPTER 11
MAP OF THE MONASTERY
“Here, lend me a shoulder!” Mr. Eckenrod ordered as Penny hesitated. “Or aren’t you interested?”
“Oh, I am—but your leg.”
“Stuff and nonsense! The doc said it wasn’t broken, didn’t he? I’ll be walking as well as ever in a few days.”
Supported on one side by Penny and on the other by his wife, the artist hobbled to the adjoining studio.
On easels about the room were many half completed paintings. Several fine pictures, one of the artist’s wife, hung on the walls. A paint-smeared smock had been draped carelessly over a statue.
“Vernon,” sighed his wife, reaching to retrieve the garment, “you are so untidy.”
“Without you, my dear, I should live like a pig in a sty and revel in it,” chuckled the artist.
At a desk, amid a litter of letters and papers, were several large sheets of yellowed drawings.
“These are the original plans of the monastery,”Mr. Eckenrod said, placing them in Penny’s hands. “They show every detail of the old building before it was remodeled by later owners.”
“How did
you get these plans, Mr. Eckenrod?”
“The present owner of the building let me have them to study at the time I planned to buy the property. He would have sold the place to me too if that soft-talking fellow who calls himself Father Benedict hadn’t come along!”
“Vernon, you mustn’t speak that way of him!” reprimanded his wife in a shocked tone. “I’m sure he’s a good, kind man of religion. Just because you had a quarrel with his servant—”
“Father Benedict has less religion than I’ve got in my little finger!” the artist growled. “You said yourself only last night that something’s wrong at the place! What of those screams we heard?”
“It was explained to me that a simple-minded woman named Julia works at the monastery,” Penny volunteered. “She is supposed to be easily upset.”
“Humph!” muttered Mr. Eckenrod. “All I can say is, Father Benedict surrounds himself with mighty queer people.”
“It’s really none of our affair, Vernon,” said his wife mildly.
“What goes on there is my business until the paintings are finished! But Father Benedict and ten hunchbacks can’t keep me away! With these plans I can always outwit them!”
“What do they show?” Penny could not make much from the dim lines.
“The building is built on the pattern of Sherborne in England,” Mr. Eckenrod explained. He pointed out the main part of the church with nave, south and north transepts, choir and chapel. “This section is a ruin now, but could be restored. Unfortunately, the roof has caved in and all paintings and statues were long ago destroyed.”
“Show me the cloister,” requested Penny.
“Here it is.” The artist pointed with a stubby thumb. “Passages radiate from it. One leads to the old chapter house. North of the cloister is the refectory, used as a dining room. Behind is the abbey’s kitchen.”
“The sleeping rooms?”
“They’re above the refectory and also to the west of the cloister. Under the refectory are the cellars. They also extend beneath the old chapel.”
“Have you ever visited them, Mr. Eckenrod?”
“The cellars? I have. Also the burial crypt. A few of the old tombs remain in fairly good state of preservation.”
“But where is the secret passageway?” asked Penny.
“Through the crypt. It leads into the churchyard to the west of the building.”
“Do many people know about it?”
“I rather think I’m the only one. The building owner never bothered to study the plans, because he wasn’t interested. Father Benedict may have learned the secret, but if so, he stumbled onto it by accident.”
“Is the passageway well hidden?”
“Very cleverly. From the churchyard, one enters an empty tomb above ground. A passageway leads down to the crypt beneath the old chapel.”
“Not a very pleasant way to enter or leave a building,” said Penny with a shudder.
“But convenient in a pinch,” chuckled Mr. Eckenrod. “If Father Benedict is stubborn about allowing me inside, I’ll bide my time and slip in to finish my paintings one of these days when he is away.”
Poring intently over the plans, Penny remarked that she would like to explore the passageway sometime.
“Wait a few days until my leg is strong and I’ll take you through!” the artist offered.
“And if Father Benedict should catch us?”
“We can handle him!”
“Vernon, you shouldn’t put Miss Parker up to such tricks!” his wife protested. “When it comes to playing pranks, or getting even with folks, you’re just like a child!”
“It was no child’s play pushing me into the crevasse!” the artist exclaimed. “As soon as I can hobble to town, I’ll swear out a warrant for that hunchback’s arrest!”
“And involve us in an endless feud with our neighbors,” his wife sighed. “Vernon, you must forget it!”
The discussion was brought to an abrupt end by Penny who declared that she must leave immediately. The Eckenrods thanked her again for her timely assistance, urging her to visit them again soon.
“Don’t forget our date!” the artist added with a chuckle. “I’ll be walking in a day or two. Then we’ll explore the crypt.”
“I’ll not forget,” promised Penny.
Shadows were deepening into early darkness as she set off across the fields, guided by a flashlight Mrs. Eckenrod insisted she take.
The motor of her car was cold, the oil heavy. After two attempts she started it and soon was entering the outskirts of Riverview.
“Wonder if Dad’s still at the office?” she thought. “If he is, I may as well give him a lift home.”
By the time Penny had parked and climbed the stairs to the Star editorial room, the hands of her wristwatch were nosing six o’clock.
The first edition had rolled from the presses, and reporters, their feet on the desks, were relaxing for a few minutes.
Mr. DeWitt, the city editor, sat scanning the paper, noting corrections or changes to be made in the next edition.
“Hi, Mr. DeWitt!” Penny greeted him as she paused by the desk. “Dad here?”
“Hello there, Penny,” the editor smiled at her. “He was a minute ago. Yes, here he comes now.”
Mr. DeWitt jerked his head sideways toward the publisher’s private office. Mr. Parker had on his hat and topcoat and would have left by the rear exit without having seen Penny had she not overtaken him.
“Want a lift home, Dad?” she inquired.
“Why, hello, Penny!” he said, pausing in surprise. “I certainly do. I left my car at home today.”
Beside them, an unhooded Western Union teletype bell began to ring insistently.
“What’s that for?” Penny inquired curiously.
“An incoming telegram,” her father explained. “We have a direct wire with the Western Union office now. It saves sending so many messenger boys back and forth.”
The carriage of the machine began to move and the telegram was typed on the long roll of yellow copy paper.
“Why, it’s for you, Dad!” Penny said in surprise. “A wire from Chicago.”
“Chicago?” Mr. Parker repeated. “Guess we’d better wait and see whom it’s from. By the way, how did you and Mr. Ayling make out this afternoon at the monastery?”
“I haven’t seen him since yesterday, Dad. When I went to the hotel to meet him, he wasn’t there.”
“Busy with other matters perhaps.”
“I suppose so,” Penny agreed, “but he might have notified me. He missed a lot of excitement by not going along.”
Before she could tell her father about the skiing accident, the teletype message was completed. Mr. Parker ripped it from the machine. He whistled softly.
“Why, this wire is from Mr. Ayling!”
“Then he’s in Chicago!”
“Apparently so. Listen to his message: ‘CALLED HERE UNEXPECTEDLY BY TELEGRAM SIGNED MRS. HAWTHORNE. TELEGRAM PROVED A FAKE. RETURNING TO RIVERVIEW IMMEDIATELY TO RESUME SEARCH.’”
CHAPTER 12
THE LOCKED DOOR
“Well, what d’you know!” Penny exclaimed as she peered over her father’s shoulder to reread the telegram. “So that explains why Mr. Ayling didn’t meet me today!”
“If he takes the first train back, he should get in early tomorrow,” her father said. “I wonder who tricked him into going to Chicago?”
“Whoever did it probably figured he’d give up the search for Mrs. Hawthorne in disgust,” Penny added excitedly. “Dad, this case is getting more interesting every minute!”
Mr. Parker smiled but made no comment as he pocketed the telegram. Together he and Penny went downstairs to the waiting car.
“Maybe I could help Mr. Ayling by inquiring around the city if anyone has seen Mrs. Hawthorne or her granddaughter,” Penny suggested as she drove with skill through dense downtown traffic.
“I thought Mr. Ayling checked all hotels.”
“Only the larger ones, I imagi
ne. Anyhow, I might run into interesting information.”
“Go ahead, if you like,” her father encouraged her.
Early the next morning, Penny set off alone to visit a dozen hotels. At none of them had anyone by the name of Hawthorne registered.
“She may have used an assumed name,” Penny thought, a trifle discouraged. “In that case, I’ll never find her.”
Hopeful that Mr. Ayling might arrive on the morning train, she went to the Union Railroad Station. Among those waiting on the platform for the incoming Chicago Express was Winkey, the hunchback.
He did not see Penny, and in the large crowd, she soon lost sight of him.
Finally, the train pulled in. But Mr. Ayling did not alight from either the coaches or pullmans. Feeling even more depressed, Penny went home for lunch.
Several times during the afternoon, she telephoned Mr. Ayling’s hotel to inquire if he had arrived. Each time she was told he had not checked in.
“Wonder what’s keeping him in Chicago?” Penny mused. “I hope he didn’t change his mind about coming back here.”
Throughout the day, she kept thinking about the monastery and its strange occupants. The skiing incident of the previous afternoon had convinced her that Winkey at least was cruel and dishonest. As to Father Benedict’s character, she could not make up her mind.
“Possibly he doesn’t know how surly and mean his servant acts,” she thought. “Someone ought to tell him!”
Penny longed to return to the monastery, but hesitated to go there for the deliberate purpose of reporting Winkey’s misbehavior.
“Mr. Ayling may return here tomorrow,” she told herself. “Then perhaps we can drive out there together.”
However, a check of the Riverview Hotel the following morning, disclosed that the investigator still had not arrived in the city.
Decidedly mystified by his failure to return, Penny clomped into the Parker kitchen after having spent an hour downtown. To her surprise she saw that during her absence a bulky package had been delivered.
“It came for you a half hour ago,” Mrs. Weems explained.
“For me! Must be a mistake. I’ve ordered nothing from any store.”
Plainly the package bore her name, so she tore off the heavy wrappings. Inside was a pair of new hickory skis.
The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels Page 192