Enroute to Riverview, Penny and Mr. Ayling discussed all phases of their strange interview with Father Benedict.
“The man may be all right,” the investigator said. “Nevertheless, as a matter of routine I’ll check on him. Where was he before he came to Riverview?”
“I never heard.”
“And who are the members of his mysterious cult? Riverview people?”
“Not so far as I know. The only persons I’ve seen on the premises are Winkey, the one they call Julia, and a girl.”
“A girl? Who is she?”
“I don’t know. She peeped from behind a door while Father Benedict was giving the crystal ball reading. I started to speak and she motioned me to keep quiet. Then she slipped away.”
“Odd.”
“Yes, it was. For just a minute I thought she might be a girl I picked up on the road the other night in my car. The room was shadowy though, so I got no clear impression of her face.”
“I’d like to meet the girl—also the other members of the cult.”
“So would I! Why not visit there again soon?”
“We might try it tomorrow, say about this same time,” proposed Mr. Ayling. “I don’t plan to remain in Riverview longer than another twenty-four hours unless I obtain a clue to Mrs. Hawthorne’s whereabouts.”
“Maybe Winkey won’t let us in,” commented Penny dubiously.
“We’ll worry about that when the time comes. Perhaps if he makes trouble, we can find ways to persuade him.”
“Shall I pick you up at your hotel?” Penny offered.
“All right,” the investigator agreed. “Meanwhile, I’ll wire my office for photographs of Mrs. Hawthorne and her granddaughter which can be published in your father’s paper. Also, I’ll ask our company to check on Father Benedict’s past. He may be operating a quick money racket here.”
“Then you do distrust him!”
“Not exactly, but I’ve learned from past experience it pays to overlook nothing. Father Benedict is an eccentric. He may be all right and probably is. All the same, it will be interesting to learn more about him.”
A little later, after agreeing to meet the next afternoon at two o’clock, Penny dropped Mr. Ayling at his hotel. In a high state of excitement, she then drove on home to report the day’s adventure to Mrs. Weems and her father.
“Mr. Ayling’s awfully nice and smart too!” she declared at the dinner table. “Together we’ll find Mrs. Hawthorne and solve the mystery of the monastery!”
“What mystery?” teased her father.
“I don’t know yet,” Penny admitted with a chuckle. “But give me time! I’ll find one! I can feel it bubbling in the air!”
Mrs. Weems, who came into the dining room with a platter of roast beef, observed: “If you take my advice, you’ll stay away from that place!”
“Oh, Mrs. Weems!”
“You only invite trouble by going there,” the housekeeper said severely. “Furthermore, it will distract you from your school work.”
“School teachers’ convention this week!” Penny reminded her. “We’re off tomorrow and next day too! Don’t worry about anything happening to me at the monastery, Mrs. Weems. Mr. Ayling makes a dandy chaperon.”
“If you’re going with him, I suppose I can’t protest,” the housekeeper gave in. “Mind, you’re home before dark.”
“I’ll do my best,” Penny grinned. “No rash promises though!”
The next afternoon, sharp at two o’clock, she drove to the front entranceway of the Riverview Hotel. Mr. Ayling was nowhere to be seen. After waiting ten minutes, she parked and went inside to inquire at the desk.
“Mr. Ayling has room 416,” the clerk told her. “Doubt whether you’ll find him in just now. He left here late last night and hasn’t been back.”
“That’s queer,” thought Penny. Aloud she asked if the investigator had left any message for her.
“Nothing,” replied the clerk.
“He didn’t say where he was going?”
“No, but he evidently intends to be back. His luggage is still here, and he hasn’t paid his bill.”
To satisfy herself, Penny telephoned Room 416. No one answered.
“Wonder if he could have thought he was to meet me at the monastery?” she mused. “Guess I may as well drive out there.”
The sunshine was strong and the day slightly warm. Penny, who had worn heavy skiing clothes, shed her coat before she reached the monastery.
Pulling up at the barrier gate, she glanced hopefully about. Mr. Ayling was nowhere to be seen. If he had arrived ahead of her, undoubtedly he was inside the building.
As Penny hesitated, wondering what to do, Winkey’s ugly face appeared behind the iron spokes of the gate.
“You again!” he observed with a scowl.
“Yes, I’m looking for a friend of mine, Mr. Ayling, who was here yesterday.”
“You think we got him hid somewheres?” the gateman asked insolently.
“I thought he might have come here again.”
“Well, he didn’t. And Father Benedict ain’t here either. So you can’t come in.”
Though annoyed by the hunchback’s curt manners, Penny held her temper in check.
“I very much wanted to talk to your master,” she said. “I may ask him to allow me to join the cult.”
The hunchback’s eyes opened wide, and, as was his habit, he then blinked rapidly.
“You ain’t here just to snoop around?” he asked with distrust.
“Such an idea!” Penny hoped that her laughter sounded convincing.
“If ye want to join the cult, you can talk to Father Benedict later,” the hunchback said grudgingly. “But unless you got something to contribute, it’s no use trying to get in.”
“Money you mean?”
“Either cash on the line or jewels.”
“And what becomes of the money?”
“It goes for charity.” Winkey fast was losing patience. “Now cut out the questions!” he said crossly. “If you want to join the society, talk to the boss.”
“Are there any other girls staying here?” Penny had been leading up to this question.
“Talk to the boss, I said!” Winkey snapped. “Maybe he’ll be here tomorrow. Now go away and stop botherin’ me. I got work to do!”
Disappointed by her failure to find Mr. Ayling or extract information from Winkey, Penny returned to the car.
Driving along the road a few minutes later, she glimpsed, far over the hills, a skier who descended the steep slope at breakneck speed.
“It’s a wonderful day for skiing!” she thought, recalling that all of her equipment was ready in the car. “Why don’t I make the most of it?”
Pulling up, Penny got out skis and poles. Hastily waxing the runners, she put them on and set off across the fields toward the distant hill.
The loose snow had blown into deep banks and crevasses. Penny frequently had been warned by more experienced skiers that visible crevasses nearly always were a warning of hidden ones.
At first as she raced along, she kept alert watch for unexpected breaks or depressions in the snow. But as she drew near the hills to the rear of the old monastery, she frequently shifted her gaze toward the interesting old building.
Smoke curled lazily from the hooded chimneys. Otherwise, the premises appeared unoccupied.
Then, Penny saw a bent figure coming from the rear of the grounds, pulling a long sled behind him.
“Why, it’s Winkey!” she recognized him. “Now what can he be doing with that sled? Surely at his age he isn’t going coasting.”
More than a little interested, the girl set her course the better to watch the hunchback. Soon she saw him striking off toward a pine woods and a large, two-story log cabin some distance away.
At the edge of the woods, not far from the cabin, had been stacked several cords of seasoned logs taken from the forest.
Pulling his sled alongside, Winkey began to pile it high with the cut firewood.
“I wonder if that’s his wood?” thought Penny.
So absorbed had she become in Winkey’s actions that she neglected to watch the drifts ahead. Too late, she saw that her singing skis were taking her directly into a wide, deep crevasse.
Desperately, Penny swerved and tried to check her speed. The break in the snow was extensive and could not be avoided.
Over the brink she shot. Poles flew from her hand and she clutched wildly for a hold on the bank. Failing, she tumbled over and over, landing in an ungainly heap of splintered skis at the base of the deep pit.
After coming to a stop at the bottom of the crevasse, Penny momentarily was too stunned to move.
Gradually recovering her breath, she gingerly twisted first one leg, then the other. Though pains shot through them, no bones were broken.
Rolling over on her back, the girl gazed up at the narrow opening far above her.
“Served me right for being so careless!” she thought. “But the $64 question, is how am I going to get out?”
With fingers numb from cold, Penny removed her broken skis.
Walls of the hole into which she had fallen were sharp and firm with frozen ice, offering few if any handholds.
Unwilling to call attention to her plight unless absolutely necessary, she studied the sheer walls carefully, and then, grasping a projection, tried to raise herself to a ledge just over her head. The ice broke in her fingers, and she tumbled backwards again.
Penny now began to suffer from cold. Her clothes, damp from perspiration, were freezing to her body.
“This is no time to be proud!” she thought. “I’ll have to shout for help and hope Winkey hears me. He’s the last person in the world I’d ask voluntarily, but if he doesn’t help me, I may be trapped here hours! I could freeze to death!”
Penny shouted for help and was alarmed by the sound of her own voice. Not only was it weak, but it seemed smothered by the walls of the crevasse. She knew the cry would not carry far.
But as she drew a deep breath preparatory to shouting again, she heard voices only a short distance away.
Her first thought was that her cry for help had been heard and someone was coming to her aid.
The next instant she knew better. Those who approached were arguing violently.
“You stole the wood from my land!” she heard the accuser shout. “I saw you pile it on your sled, and you’re carrying it away now!”
Penny recognized the gruff voice of Vernon Eckenrod and guessed that he was talking to Winkey. Evidently the two were coming closer, for their argument was waxing louder.
Forgetting her own predicament, Penny listened intently. The pair were now almost at the brink of the crevasse.
“Say something!” Eckenrod roared. “What excuse have you got for stealing my wood?”
“Button your lip!” Winkey retorted. “The boss told me to get some wood for the fires at the monastery. So I done it.”
“He told you to steal, did he?”
“You’ll git your money.”
“Money isn’t the point! I cut that wood myself from my own land, and I want it for my own use! Here, give me that sled! You’re hauling it straight back where you got it!”
“Keep your hands off!”
Penny heard the sound of scuffling, and then above her, at the mouth of the crevasse, she saw the two men struggling.
“Look out!” she called.
Startled by her voice, Eckenrod turned and looked down. At that instant, when he was off guard, the hunchback struck him. Reeling backwards, the artist tried to recover balance and could not. With a shriek of fright and rage, he fell into the chasm.
Penny attempted to break the man’s fall with her body. She was not quick enough, and he rolled to the very bottom, ending up on a pile of broken skis. There he lay groaning.
If Penny had expected that Winkey would be aghast at his brutal act, she was to learn otherwise.
“That’ll teach you!” he shouted in glee. “Don’t never accuse me of stealing!”
“Help us out!” Penny called.
She knew Winkey heard her, for he stopped short and peered down into the crevasse to see who had appealed for help. Giving no sign he had seen her, he then disappeared.
“Maybe he’s going for a rope!” Penny thought. “But I’d quicker think he’s deserting us!”
Now thoroughly alarmed, the girl crept over the slippery ice to Vernon Eckenrod’s side. He was conscious but stunned. Blood gushed from a cut on the back of his head and one leg remained crumpled beneath him.
With a handkerchief, Penny attempted to stop the flow of blood. She was relieved to note that the wound was a superficial one.
“Try to sit up,” the girl urged. “If you lie on the ice your clothes will soon freeze fast.”
Eckenrod’s eyes opened and he stared blankly at her.
“Who are you?” he muttered. “How did you get down here?”
“I fell, the same as you. I’m Penny Parker, the girl you met yesterday at the monastery.”
With her help, the artist pulled himself up on an elbow.
“I remember you now,” he mumbled. “Did you see that hunchback push me down here?”
“Yes, I did. It was a brutal thing to do. I think now he may have gone for a rope.”
“Don’t you believe it!” Eckenrod said bitterly. “He wouldn’t help us if we were freezing to death! The man is a thief! He was stealing my wood! I’ll have the law on him!”
“First we have to get out of here,” Penny reminded him. “That’s not going to be easy.”
Eckenrod became sober as he studied the sharp walls of the crevasse. The only possible handhold was a ledge well above their heads.
“If you can boost me up, I think I can make it,” Penny said. “Then I’ll go for help.”
Eckenrod attempted to get to his feet, but his left leg crumbled beneath him. Pain and despair were in his eyes as he gazed at his companion.
“Broken,” he said. “Now we are in a fix.”
Trying not to disclose fright, Penny said the only thing to do was to call for help. However, after she had shouted until she was nearly hoarse, she too was filled with despair.
“Winkey isn’t coming back,” she acknowledged. “And no one else is close enough to hear our cries!”
In an attempt to ease Mr. Eckenrod’s pain, Penny tore strips of cloth from her underskirt, and used the broken skis to make a splint.
“There’s nothing wrong with my right leg,” the artist insisted. “It’s good and strong. If only I could get up on it, I think I could boost you to the ledge. We’ve got to do something!”
“Could you really do it?” Penny asked, hope reviving.
“I’ve got to,” the artist replied grimly. “Night’s coming on. We’ll freeze if we’re here an hour.”
With Penny’s help, Mr. Eckenrod after several attempts, managed to struggle upright on his good right leg. He weaved unsteadily a moment, then ordered:
“Now onto my shoulders!”
She scrambled up, grasping the icy ledge above. It broke in her fingers.
“Hurry!” muttered Mr. Eckenrod, gritting his teeth.
With desperate haste, Penny obtained another handhold which seemed fairly firm. She could feel Mr. Eckenrod sagging beneath her. Knowing it was then or never, she heaved herself up and rolled onto the ledge. Miraculously, it held her weight.
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!”
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!”
“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 theStareditorial 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.’”
“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 imagine. 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.
“Dad must have sent them!” she exclaimed. “Just what I need.”
However, the skis were not from her father. Among the wrappings she found a card with Mr. Eckenrod’s name.
“Try these for size,” the artist had scrawled in an almost illegible hand. “Thanks for pulling me out of a hole! My leg is mending rapidly, so don’t forget our date!”
“Oh, the darling!” Penny cried. “Mighty decent of him to replace the skis I broke! Only I’m afraid I won’t get to use them many times. It’s thawing fast today.”
Slipping her slim ankles through the leather bindings, she glided awkwardly about the polished linoleum.
“How soon’s luncheon?” she asked impatiently. “I want to go skiing right away!”
“I’ll put it on after I’ve telephoned Jake Cotton,” the housekeeper promised. “He failed to show up here today.”
“Jake Cotton, the carpenter?”
“Yes, your father ordered another bookcase for the den. Jake promised to build it last week. He’s always putting other jobs ahead.”
After telephoning, Mrs. Weems toasted sandwiches and made hot chocolate. Penny ate rapidly, as was her habit when thinking of other matters.
“You won’t need any help with the dishes,” she said hopefully when the meal was over.
“No, run along and ski,” Mrs. Weems smiled. “In spirit you’re already out there on the hills!”
Penny changed quickly into skiing outfit and telephoned Louise Sidell, inviting her to go along.
“Okay,” her chum agreed half-heartedly, “but I’m still lame from the last time.”
By the time the girls reached the hills near the Abbington Monastery, the weather had turned discouragingly warm.
Touring over the slopes, they discarded first their mittens, then their jackets. After Louise had fallen down several times, soaking her clothes in melted snow, she proposed that they abandon the sport.
“So early in the afternoon?” Penny protested. “Oh, we can’t go home yet!”
“Then let’s try something else. It’s no fun skiing today.”
Penny’s gaze fastened speculatively upon the distant chimneys of the old monastery visible through the pine trees. “I have it, Lou!” she exclaimed.
“We’re not going there!” cried Louise, reading the thought.
“Why not?” Already Penny was removing her skis. “I haven’t learned half what I want to know about that place and the people who live there.”
“It gives me the shivers to go near the property. Anyhow, that old hunchback never will let us inside!”