“You seem anxious to get away from Belton City,” Penny smiled. “You’re not trying to escape from any creditors?”
“Nothing like that,” laughed Mr. Nichols. “I’m just sick and tired of the Nichols Detective Agency. For two weeks I intend to forget everything remotely connected with investigation work. Why, if a thief broke into the house tonight and stole our diamonds, I’d not interest myself in the case!”
“That’s what you say now,” chuckled Penny. “Anyway, we haven’t any diamonds.”
“Inspector Harris tried to tempt me with a case only today,” the detective went on, his face becoming serious again. “I told him I couldn’t take it.”
“You’ve earned the right to your vacation,” Penny declared.
Mr. Nichols glanced quickly at his daughter.
“You’re not very anxious to go to Knob Hill, are you, Penny?” he asked.
“Why—what makes you think that?” Penny stammered. The question had caught her off guard.
“I pride myself that I’ve learned a few simple things during my twenty years as a detective. Faces aren’t hard to read—especially yours.”
“Dear me,” said Penny, “I didn’t suppose I was an open book. Just what does my face tell you?”
“That you’re bored at the thought of going to a dull place such as Knob Hill. It’s selfish of me to drag you along—”
“No, it isn’t, Dad!” Penny broke in. “You’ve needed this rest for years and I’d not think of letting you go off by yourself. Why, for all your wonderful detective ability, you can never find your own slippers!”
“That’s so,” Mr. Nichols chuckled. “Well, I hope the two weeks won’t turn out to be too monotonous for you.”
Penny left her father to finish cleaning the car and ran into the house. Mrs. Gallup, the kindly housekeeper who had looked after the girl since the death of her mother, was preparing luncheon in the kitchen.
“I’ve laid out all your things on the bed,” she told Penny. “And your suitcase is down from the attic.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Gallup,” said Penny. “I’ll soon have everything packed.”
By the time she had completed the task, the housekeeper announced luncheon. Throughout the meal Mr. Nichols laughed and carried on in a high mood, declaring that he felt like a youngster let out of school.
“What shall I do about your mail, sir?” inquired Mrs. Gallup when it was time for Penny and her father to leave.
“Forward letters to me at Knob Hill in care of Judd Kilkane,” the detective instructed. “But don’t give anyone my address unless it is a matter of great importance.”
“I’ll be careful about that,” Mrs. Gallup promised. “And I do hope you have a good rest in the country, Mr. Nichols.”
She watched from the doorway until the car disappeared down the street.
Penny settled herself for a long ride. She switched on the radio and from force of habit turned the dial to the police station broadcast.
“Not that station,” said Mr. Nichols.
“I forgot, Dad,” laughed Penny. “My mistake.”
She tuned to a program of band music and they both listened to it as they drove along. An hour’s ride brought them into high hills. From then on they went more slowly, enjoying the view.
Approaching dusk found Penny and her father still several miles from Knob Hill.
“I thought we’d be settled in our cottage by this time,” said Mr. Nichols, frowning. “Perhaps we ought to spend the night at a hotel.”
“We can decide about that when we reach Knob Hill,” Penny replied. “But let’s stop somewhere for an early supper. Otherwise, we’ll have to buy supplies and carry them with us.”
Mr. Nichols turned in at the next roadside cafe. He and Penny enjoyed an excellent meal and then went on once more toward Knob Hill.
It was nearly dark by this time. As they rounded a sharp curve, Mr. Nichols reached down to switch on the headlights. At the same moment Penny gave a little cry of alarm.
“Oh, Dad! There’s a car in the ditch!”
Mr. Nichols slammed on the foot brake, for he had seen the wreck at the same instant. A high-powered blue sedan lay on its side in the rain-gutted ditch to the right of the road. One tire was down, and Mr. Nichols judged that a blow-out had caused the accident.
“I wonder if anyone was hurt?” Penny gasped.
Just then a short, squat little man in a long gray overcoat and felt hat stepped out from behind the overturned car. He held up his hand as a signal to Mr. Nichols.
“I see you’ve had an accident,” said the detective as he brought his own car to a standstill at the side of the road. “Anything we can do to help?”
Penny could not see the stranger’s face clearly, for his soft felt hat was pulled low over his eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was husky.
“Sure, you can give me a lift if you will. My tire blew out when I was doing seventy. First thing I knew I was in the ditch.”
“You’re lucky it wasn’t a worse accident,” replied the detective.
“What’s lucky about it?” demanded the stranger irritably.
“Your car doesn’t appear much damaged,” replied Mr. Nichols, studying the man curiously. “And you don’t seem to be hurt. You easily might have been killed traveling at that speed.”
“What is this—a lecture in motor safety?” asked the man angrily.
“Not at all,” said Mr. Nichols. “Did you say you wanted a ride?”
“Yes; how far are you going?”
“Only to Knob Hill.”
“I’ll ride along that far anyway,” said the stranger.
“My name is Christopher Nichols,” the detective introduced himself, “and this is my daughter, Penny.”
“Pleased to meet you,” muttered the man, without looking directly at either of them. He hesitated, and then added: “I’m Walter Crocker.”
“The name sounds familiar,” commented Mr. Nichols.
“You may be thinking of my uncle, Herman Crocker. He’s well known in these parts.”
“I don’t believe I know him,” replied the detective.
“I’m on my way to see him now,” said the man. His voice was bitter. “Herman Crocker is a disreputable crook, even if he is my uncle. He’s been stealing from me for years, but it’s at an end now! I’ll force him to give me my inheritance even if I have to tear him limb from limb—”
“I’d not get so excited if I were you,” interrupted Mr. Nichols calmly. “You’re probably upset because of the accident.”
“It did shake me up a bit,” replied Crocker, with an abrupt change of tone.
“Just climb in and we’ll take you to town with us,” Mr. Nichols invited.
Penny started to move over so that the man could sit beside her.
“Never mind,” he said quickly. “I’ll ride in the rumble.”
“It’s not very comfortable,” Mr. Nichols warned.
“No matter. I’d rather sit back there.”
He climbed into the rumble and Mr. Nichols drove on down the road. Now and then when Penny would glance back through the glass she could see the man gazing intently at her. His scrutiny made her feel very uncomfortable. She wondered if her father shared the feeling. Mr. Nichols was paying close attention to the road, and his masklike face revealed none of his thoughts.
Soon the car drove into the little sleepy village of Kendon which had been settled at the foot of Knob Hill.
“Look for Judd Kilkane’s real estate office,” the detective told Penny.
“There it is!” she cried a moment later. “On the north side.”
Mr. Nichols parked the car in front of the building.
“I’ll be back in just a minute,” he said to Walter Crocker. “I want to get the key to our cottage from Judd Kilkane.”
The man in the rumble made no reply. He sat hunched over in the seat, head bent low.
“Wait a minute, Dad,” called Penny. “I’ll go with you.”
T
hey entered the building, which was little more than a one-story frame shack. The door had been left unlocked, yet Judd Kilkane’s office appeared to be deserted.
“This is annoying,” said Mr. Nichols. “He’s probably out to supper, but it means we may have a long wait.”
“We ought to tell Walter Crocker,” returned Penny. “Dad, I don’t like that fellow. He gives me the creeps.”
“He is a bit queer,” the detective admitted with a short laugh.
“Dad, do you suppose—”
“No,” interrupted Mr. Nichols, “I don’t think he’s an escaped crook or anything of the sort. Even if he were, I’d not be interested. This is my vacation.”
“Oh, all right,” laughed Penny. “I was just thinking aloud.”
Mr. Nichols opened the door and they walked toward the car together. Suddenly Penny halted, staring toward the rumble seat.
“Why, Dad!” she exclaimed. “Walter Crocker has gone!”
CHAPTER II
Helping a Stranger
Christopher Nichols saw for himself that the rumble seat was empty. He looked quickly up and down the village street. Walter Crocker was nowhere to be seen.
“Well, that fellow certainly did a speedy disappearing act,” the detective commented. “We weren’t inside the real estate office five minutes.”
“He might at least have thanked us for the ride,” said Penny. “Dad, I suppose you’ll say this is silly, but I thought he acted as if he were afraid we’d recognize him.”
“What made you think that?”
“In the first place he insisted upon riding in the rumble seat. And he kept pulling his hat down over his eyes.”
“I’ll agree he did act queerly,” the detective admitted. “But he’s gone now, so we’ll just forget about him.”
“Oh, all right,” laughed Penny. “I keep forgetting that this is your vacation.”
A well dressed gentleman in gray came walking leisurely down the street. He gazed curiously at Penny and her father, and they immediately guessed that he might be the missing Judd Kilkane.
“You weren’t looking for me by any chance?” the man asked.
“We are if you’re Mr. Kilkane,” replied the detective.
“That’s my name all right. Come on into the office. I stepped out for a minute to buy an evening paper at the drugstore. Say, you’re not Nichols from Belton City?”
“Yes,” agreed the detective. “You rented me a cottage.”
“Old man Crocker’s cottage,” the real estate agent said as he opened the office door. “I have the key for you.”
“Did I understand you to say we are renting the Crocker cottage?” questioned Mr. Nichols quickly.
“Yes, it’s owned by old Herman Crocker up on Knob Hill. Do you know him?”
“Oh, I’ve merely heard his name mentioned,” replied the detective carelessly.
“I guess just about everyone has heard tell of Herman,” chuckled the real estate man. He sat down at his desk and motioned Penny and her father into near-by chairs. “He’s an eccentric character.”
“I trust that his cottage is at least habitable,” said Mr. Nichols.
Mr. Kilkane looked puzzled. Then his face lighted and he declared heartily: “Oh, you’ll find the place to your liking. There’s nothing wrong with the cottage. If everything isn’t perfectly satisfactory I’ll have Herman Crocker fix it right up for you.”
“And shall we pay our rent to him?”
“No, I’ll take care of that,” replied the agent. “Herman said he’d rather not have you coming to the house with the money. As I say, he’s something of a recluse.”
“We met his nephew this evening.”
“His nephew?” asked Mr. Kilkane raising his eyebrows. “That’s a new one on me. I didn’t know Herman had one. But then, he’s close mouthed.”
“We gave this fellow a ride in our car,” Mr. Nichols said. “Then he went off somewhere. I suppose he’s on his way to see his uncle.”
“Did you say that Herman Crocker’s home is close to our cottage?” inquired Penny.
“Yes, Miss. They’re about a quarter of a mile apart on the Knob Hill road.”
“Will we have many other neighbors?” asked the detective.
“None at all,” replied the agent, staring at him. “Oh, you’ll find it lonely up on Knob Hill. But you said in your letter that you wanted a quiet, isolated place—”
“That’s right, Mr. Kilkane. I’m not complaining, merely inquiring. However, it might be wise for us to spend the night at a hotel and pay our first visit to the cottage by daylight.”
The real estate agent tapped his pen against the desk and frowned.
“We never had but one hotel here and it went out of business three years ago. I could put you up at my house—”
“No, we don’t wish to cause you any trouble,” Mr. Nichols said quickly. “Penny and I will just drive on to the cottage.”
“You can’t miss the place,” declared Mr. Kilkane eagerly. “I’ll loan you my lantern too.”
“Will we need a lantern?” gasped Penny.
“Well, you might, Miss. The cottage is wired for electricity but sometimes the company is slow about getting it turned on.”
Penny and her father exchanged a quick glance but offered no comment. Mr. Nichols wrote out a check for the rent and in return received the key to the cottage. Mr. Kilkane carried the lantern out to the car for them and told Mr. Nichols how to reach the place.
“Remember now,” he said in parting, “if everything isn’t right at the cottage, just let me know.”
Mr. Nichols drove through the village and turned up a dark, narrow road which led to the summit of Knob Hill. The highway was densely lined with tall trees whose branches crashed in the wind. Penny and her father could see only a short distance beyond the headlights.
“I don’t see how you ever found such an isolated place as this, Dad,” Penny remarked as the car labored up the steep incline. “We’ll practically be hermits up here.”
“So much the better,” laughed the detective.
The car rounded a curve in the road, and Penny saw a large, rambling old house with many cupolas, set back amid a grove of evergreen trees.
“That must be Herman Crocker’s home,” she remarked, turning her head to stare at it. “A gloomy old place.”
“Young Walter Crocker had quite a walk if he came up here tonight,” said the detective. “Too bad he didn’t wait. We could have hauled him right to his door.”
“I’m just as glad he went off,” declared Penny. “Somehow I felt very uneasy when he was riding with us.”
The car bumped on until Mr. Nichols saw a narrow lane leading to a tiny cottage on a knoll.
“This must be our little nest,” he said, turning in.
The cottage was a plain white frame building with a cobblestone chimney overgrown by vines. Even at night the grounds appeared unkempt. Several loose shutters flapped in the wind.
Penny and her father stepped from the car and stood staring at the cottage. The low whistle of the wind in the evergreens added to the depressing effect.
“How much rent are we paying for this mansion, Dad?”
“Fifteen a week. But everything is supposed to be furnished.”
“Including cobwebs and atmosphere,” laughed Penny. “Well, any sum for this tumble-down, antiquated wreck would be robbery! Why, the cottage looks as if it hadn’t been occupied in a dozen years.”
“I may have been stung,” the detective admitted ruefully. “But let’s hope it’s better inside.”
Mr. Nichols carried the suitcases up the weed-choked path. He fumbled in his pockets for the key and finally found it. Mr. Kilkane had told them to enter by the kitchen door.
As it swung back on squeaking hinges, Penny and her father caught a whiff of stale air.
“Just as I thought!” exclaimed Penny. “The place hasn’t been opened up in weeks.”
Mr. Nichols passed through the doorway into t
he dark kitchen. He groped about for the electric light switch and could not find it.
“Wait here,” he told Penny. “I’ll have to go back and get Mr. Kilkane’s lantern.”
“I’ll wait outside the door. It’s too stuffy in here.”
Penny stood on the sagging porch until her father returned with the lighted lantern. The bright beam illuminated a wide circle of barren kitchen. An old cook stove occupied one corner of the room; there was a plain table with four chairs and a make-shift sink with old-fashioned pump. The floors were without carpet or linoleum. Every piece of furniture was covered by several inches of dust.
“Wait until I see that man Kilkane!” said Mr. Nichols indignantly. “Why, the electricity hasn’t even been turned on. We can’t live in a place like this!”
“Let’s look at the other rooms, Dad.”
There was no dining room, as the builder evidently had intended that the occupants should eat in the kitchen. The living room had a large fireplace but no other item of comfort. The three chairs were all straight-backed, the carpet was moth-eaten and dusty, and a small table still bore a vase filled with shriveled flowers which someone had forgotten to throw away.
“Come along, Penny,” said Mr. Nichols starting toward the door. “We’ll not stay here.”
“But where will we go?” Penny placed a detaining hand on his arm. “There’s no hotel in the village.”
“It would be more pleasant sleeping in the car.”
“You know we’d be stiff in every muscle if we tried that, Dad. Let’s open a few windows. It won’t seem so bad then.”
Mr. Nichols raised several windows and they were then able to breathe more freely. An inspection of the adjoining bedrooms left them somewhat encouraged. The mattresses were fairly soft, and Penny found clean linen in one of the bureau drawers.
“I can have these beds made up in just a few minutes,” she said cheerfully. “And we can bring in our own blankets from the car.”
“Maybe that would be best,” the detective agreed. “But we’ll leave in the morning.”
Penny was abroad at daybreak the next morning. While her father still slept, she explored the grounds, discovering a deep and rather lovely ravine not far from the cottage door. To the right stretched a dense wood and only a short distance on up the road was the summit of Knob Hill.
The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 229