Mr. Parker nodded absently, so Penny started across the room. She was only midway to Potts’ table, when the bank secretary raised his eyes and saw her approaching.
A startled, almost dismayed expression came upon his face. He spoke hurriedly to his wife. She looked puzzled, but both arose and walked quickly toward the exit.
Penny started to follow, then thought better of it.
“Mr. Potts knows I’m a reporter,” she reflected. “Probably he doesn’t care to be annoyed by having to answer questions. On the other hand, is it possible he doesn’t want to be recognized in this night club?”
Mr. and Mrs. Potts obtained their wraps at the checkroom and left the building. Somewhat crestfallen, Penny returned to her own table to find her father chatting with acquaintances.
Under the circumstance, she had no opportunity to speak of Mr. Potts’ queer behavior. Soon, dinners were brought and after that the floor show began.
Not wishing to keep his daughter out late, Mr. Parker insisted that they leave in the middle of the entertainment. However, the drive home gave Penny time to tell him about the bank secretary. The incident did not seem to impress her father greatly.
“If I were you I wouldn’t pester Potts too much,” he advised. “He probably doesn’t enjoy being the center of public attention.”
Penny slept late the next morning, and because it was Sunday, did not visit theStaroffice. The paper that day was voluminous. But in going through it she could find no new facts about the Rhett case. No word had been received from the missing banker; there had been no ransom demand received; and neither had Albert Potts nor Mrs. Rhett shed the slightest light on what might have become of him.
After breakfast, Penny telephoned Jerry Livingston to inquire if he had heard from the Cherry Street landlady.
“Not a word,” he reported. “I dropped back there late last night, but the man we’re looking for apparently never returned.”
Disappointed that the case had reached a dead end, Penny next telephoned the Rhett home. No one answered.
“I’m certain someone is there,” she thought. “Mrs. Rhett probably has given orders not to answer the phone.”
At a loss to know what to do, Penny spent the morning at home, had dinner, then went down the street to see Louise Sidell. However, her chum had gone to visit an aunt for the day.
“What miserable luck!” Penny muttered. “No one with whom I can talk over the Rhett case! Nothing to do!”
Suddenly it dawned upon her, that she might call on Albert Potts at his home, and perhaps induce him to reveal a few helpful facts about the missing banker.
From a telephone book she obtained the secretary’s address. Thirty minutes later found her standing before a modest cottage on Berdan Avenue. In response to her knock, the same woman Penny had seen the previous night at the Gay Nineties, came to the door. Now she looked very plain and frowsy in a messy housedress, and her hair hung in untidy streamers.
The woman stared at Penny without recognition.
“Is Mr. Potts here?” the girl inquired.
“No, he’s not,” Mrs. Potts answered without cordiality, her voice coarse and unattractive. “Anything I can do?”
“I wanted to talk to him. Will he return soon?” Penny moved inside the door.
“When he goes off, I never know when he’ll get back. He went to the bank, I guess.”
“On Sunday?”
“Al’s had a lot of work lately. I tell him he ought to let up. He’s getting so jumpy he doesn’t sleep at nights. Just tosses and keeps me awake.”
Before Penny could ask another question, a boy of ten, who had Albert Potts’ sharp features, came racing across the yard up to the door.
“Has the bicycle come yet, Ma?” he shouted.
“No, it hasn’t, and I wish you’d quit pestering me!” she snapped. “There won’t be any deliveries today.”
To Penny, the woman explained: “My husband bought Eddie a new bicycle and he won’t give us any peace until it comes. Deliveries take such a long time these days. None of the things we bought have come yet.”
Penny did not mean to be inquisitive, but instantly it struck her as unusual that the Potts’ family should be indulging in a sudden orgy of spending. Nor had she forgotten the couple’s hasty departure from the Gay Nineties club.
“Eddie is getting quite a few new things, I take it,” she observed casually.
The woman became more friendly. “Oh, yes, my husband ordered a trapeze set for him, and an electric train. But he bought me a lot too! A new piano and a living room rug. We have a new refrigerator on order, a vacuum cleaner and a bedroom suite!”
“Imagine!” exclaimed Penny. “Your husband must have come into a small fortune.”
“He was given a raise last week at the bank. I don’t know exactly how much, but it must have been a big one, because Al says we’ll have enough now for everything we need.”
“I think I’ve seen you before, Mrs. Potts,” Penny remarked, seeking additional information. “Weren’t you at the Gay Nineties last night?”
“Yes, we were! But we didn’t stay long. Before we had ordered our dinner, my husband remembered an important appointment he had made. We had to leave suddenly. It was awfully disappointing. I never went to a night club before and I wanted to see the show!”
Mrs. Potts paused, obviously waiting for Penny to leave. “I’ll tell my husband you called,” she said. “You didn’t give me your name.”
Edging out of the door, Penny pretended not to hear the latter remark. Calling over her shoulder that she would try to see Mr. Potts at the bank next day, she retreated before the woman could learn her identity.
Walking toward the bus stop, the girl reflected upon what she had learned. The financial good fortune of the Potts’ family was very puzzling. Apparently the bank secretary’s salary had been increased since the disappearance of his employer, Mr. Rhett.
“It seems a queer time to raise the man,” she mused. “If his duties have become so much heavier, I suppose the bank board may have granted a compensating wage increase. But it must have been an enormous one to enable him to buy everything in the stores!”
As Penny waited at the street corner for a home-bound bus, she saw one approaching which was headed for the outlying section near the Rhett estate area. Impulsively, she decided to go there to see Lorinda.
“I may not get into the house,” she thought. “My luck is running badly today. Anyway, I’ll give it a try.”
It was nearly four o’clock by the time Penny alighted from the bus and walked to the Rhett estate. Her heart sank as she noticed that curtains were drawn in nearly all of the front windows of the house.
“No one here,” she thought. “Lorinda and her mother may have left town to escape questioning by reporters and the police.”
Because she had come so far, she knocked on the front door. No one came. Giving it up, she wandered around the house, into the garden.
Curiously she gazed toward the thatched roof cottage, wondering if anyone were there. The whispered warning she and Salt had heard the previous day, remained unexplained. She longed to investigate, yet hesitated to trespass.
As she debated, Penny observed a small column of black smoke rising from amid the shrubbery. Someone apparently had built a bonfire on the beach.
Seeking the steps which led down to the river, Penny presently saw that her guess was correct. A small fire of driftwood had been built on the sands. Lorinda, in slacks and an old sweater, was so engrossed in feeding the flames that she did not hear when her name was called.
Descending the steps, Penny hastened to the beach to join the Rhett girl. Lorinda did not hear the approaching footsteps. Deeply absorbed in what she was doing, she stirred the flames with a stick until they leaped merrily.
Then, from a paper sack she withdrew a queer wooden object which even from the distance Penny could see was a doll. Its body appeared to be tightly wound with scarlet thread.
Lorinda held the doll gingerly in her fingers. She stared at it a moment, shuddered, and then with a gesture of abhorrence, hurled it into the crackling flames.
Penny quickened her step. “Lorinda!” she called again.
The girl at the bonfire whirled around. Seeing Penny, she gave the wooden doll a shove with the toe of her shoe, trying to bury it beneath a pile of burning wood.
Penny was not to be so easily deceived. Reaching the fire, she asked directly: “Lorinda, what in the world are you doing?”
“Why, nothing.”
“You’re burning something you don’t want me to see!”
“It’s nothing. Just an old doll.”
The wooden object had not yet caught fire, and Penny could still see it plainly.
“Why, it’s an effigy doll!” she exclaimed, then observing the face clearly, she added in a shocked voice: “A likeness of your mother!”
The scarlet string around the doll’s body caught fire, and soon tongues of flame began to consume the wood. Only then did Lorinda speak.
“Now it is destroyed! But I cannot so easily destroy the evil that threatens my mother!”
“Why, Lorinda! What do you mean? Why are you burning this doll?”
Lorinda sank down on the sand, her eyes upon the fire. “I hadn’t intended anyone to know. You swear you will never tell Mother?”
“Of course not.”
“I found this doll in a downstairs coat closet. You saw for yourself that it was an effigy of Mother and that it was wrapped with string?”
“Yes, but I fail to understand its significance.”
“That scarlet wool string is known as a life-thread. Each day a little of the thread is unwound until finally it all is gone. Then the person dies.”
“Not your mother, Lorinda! Surely, you don’t believe such a crazy superstition!”
“I don’t,” Lorinda answered, her voice barely above a whisper. “But Mother willif she learns about the doll. That is why she will die, unless I can do something to break the spell.”
To Penny the words seemed fantastic, but she realized Lorinda was deadly in earnest and convinced that she was speaking the truth.
“Let’s get to the bottom of this, Lorinda. How did the doll come into the house?”
“I only wish I knew. Obviously, it was brought by someone who hates my mother. The doll was carved in her image, and no doubt deadlybasikoanddayamaincantations were chanted as the string was wrapped tightly about the body.”
“Who told you all this lingo?” Penny demanded suspiciously. “Your stepfather?”
“I learned a little of it from him,” Lorinda admitted, “but most of my knowledge came from Celeste and Antón.”
“Superstitious natives!”
“Laugh if you like, but this form of dark magic which is practiced in the jungles, is a sort of hypnotism. The victim weakens and dies because hebelieves that he is doomed.”
“Then the antidote is simple. Just don’t put any stock in such rot.”
“Easily said, but the victimalways believes.”
“You think your mother will put faith in all this?” Penny scoffed.
Lorinda gave her a strange look. “I know she will, if she learns about the doll. That’s why I’m burning it.”
“A very sensible act. The doll is destroyed. We’ll keep this strictly to ourselves, and the spell is broken!”
“You make it sound very easy.”
“Your mother hasn’t seen the doll?”
“No, I only found it a few minutes ago.”
“Then she’ll never hear about it. Haven’t you any theory as to how the effigy got into the house?”
“No,” Lorinda replied, after a slight hesitation.
“Would your stepfather have had a hand in it?”
“Oh, I don’t think so! It would be such a vicious, wicked thing to do!”
“He and your mother always got on well together?”
“No, they had frequent disagreements,” Lorinda admitted, squirming uncomfortably. “All the same, my stepfather was not a cruel man.”
“Do you have utter confidence in Antón and Celeste?”
“They have been fairly efficient servants. Mother always has treated them well. What reason could they have for hating her?”
“I’m sure I can’t see any. Yet someone brought the doll into the house after carving it in your mother’s image.” Penny thought a moment, and then asked: “Could the Zudi drum have anything to do with it?”
“That angle occurred to me,” Lorinda nodded. “From the first, I’ve been afraid that natives would trail my stepfather here and try to revenge themselves upon him for taking the drum.”
“Celeste and Antón are not members of the Zudi cult?”
“No, else they never would have aided my stepfather in acquiring the drum. I understand he never would have heard of it if Celeste hadn’t told him of its existence.”
“It’s all a queer puzzle,” Penny commented. “While I suppose it’s possible natives could have followed your father to America and now seek revenge upon his wife, such a theory doesn’t quite ring the gong.”
“Celeste thinks we should get rid of the Zudi drum. Unless we do, she’s convinced Mother will die a slow lingering death.”
“Celeste seems to have implanted quite a few ideas in your mind,” Penny observed dryly. “If you ask me, I should say she’s a sinister influence on the household.”
“Oh, Celeste means no harm. And the last few days since my stepfather disappeared, she’s been very devoted to Mother, waiting on her as if she were a baby.”
“Your mother must be terribly worried. You’ve heard nothing from your stepfather?”
“Not a word. Mother cries half the time, and this morning she refused to leave her room. Even now I’m afraid she is ill.”
“Now Lorinda!” reproved Penny. “I’m afraid you’re the one who has become hypnotized by that doll!”
“I hope it’s just that I’m silly, and that there’s nothing to it. But I’m afraid—terribly afraid.”
Penny picked up a stick and poked the dying embers. She could find only a charred piece of the doll left on the fire. Flames soon consumed it.
“There, it’s gone!” she exclaimed. “Take my advice, Lorinda, and forget this entire incident. Don’t tell your mother, Celeste, or anyone.”
Lorinda scrambled up, brushing sand from her slacks.
“All right, I’ll do as you say,” she agreed. “This shall be our secret. At any rate, by burning the doll, I should have put an end to its evil.”
Extinguishing the few remaining flames by covering them with sand, the girls slowly climbed the steps. Penny inquired whether or not the police had called at the mansion. Lorinda told her that they had spent nearly two hours questioning Mrs. Rhett.
“By the way,” Penny remarked as they approached the house, “do you know Albert Potts?”
“My stepfather’s secretary? I’ve met him a few times. Why?”
“He was quite a favorite with your stepfather, I suppose?”
“A favorite?” Lorinda chuckled. “On the contrary, he couldn’t stand him! Potts was always at his elbow, trying to tell him what to do, and what not to do. In his way he was efficient—too efficient, if you know what I mean.”
“I do,” agreed Penny. “That was why I was surprised to learn he had been granted a substantial salary increase after your stepfather disappeared.”
Lorinda turned her head quickly. “A pay raise? By the board, you mean?”
“I don’t know who gave it to him.”
“I can’t imagine anyone giving old Potts a raise, certainly not the board. The members meet only once a month, on the fifteenth. Of course, it’s possible a special session was called because of my stepfather’s absence.”
“That may have happened,” agreed Penny. “At any rate, Mr. Potts seemingly has come into money.”
Rounding a twist in the path, the girls came within view of the mansion terrace where Mrs. Rhett, in white, reclined.
“Why, Mother is downstairs!” Lorinda exclaimed in surprise.
The woman did not see the girls until they were very close. But as they reached the terrace, she raised her eyes, and smiled in a brief, sad manner. Penny instantly noted the pallor of her face.
“I appreciate your efforts, Lorinda,” she said before either of the girls spoke. “But it is useless.”
“What is useless, Mother?” inquired her daughter.
“I saw smoke rising from your fire on the beach.”
Lorinda glanced quickly at Penny, laughed nervously and said: “Oh, that! I was burning a little driftwood.”
Mrs. Rhett held her daughter’s eyes in a steady, knowing gaze.
“It is useless to try to deceive me,” she said quietly. “I know you burned the doll.”
“Whatever gave you such an idea, Mother?”
“I know,” replied the woman with quiet finality. “First the burnt match ends and now the doll! My life thread is reaching its end, and I shall slowly weaken and die.”
“Mother, how did you learn about the wooden doll?” Lorinda gasped. “And where did you get such a crazy idea that you will weaken and die?”
“I have known it ever since my husband went away.”
“But that’s impossible!” cried Lorinda, fairly beside herself with anxiety. “I’m sure the doll wasn’t in the house until today. Someone is putting these notions in your head! Is it Celeste?”
“Celeste is doing her best to help, but there is nothing she can do,” Mrs. Rhett said sadly.
“Mother, snap out of this! You’re worried about Father and it has made you morbid. Nothing will happen to you. The doll has been destroyed, and in any case, we know it’s only a stupid effigy.”
Dropping her head wearily on the chair back, Mrs. Rhett smiled and said nothing. Closing her eyes, she relaxed for a moment. Penny and Lorinda thought she might be dropping off to sleep, so they moved quietly away.
Mrs. Rhett’s eyes opened then and she said: “Oh, Lorinda!”
“Yes, Mother.”
“There’s something I wish to mention—about my will.”
“Your will?” the girl repeated with distaste. “Why talk about that—now of all times!”
“There may be no better time,” Mrs. Rhett said. “As you know, my will is kept in the safe. It leaves this house and nearly all of my property to Hamilton.”
“Let’s not talk about it,” Lorinda pleaded nervously. “At the time you made the will, we decided it was very fair.”
“I thought so then, because you have substantial income in your own name. Hamilton, on the other hand, has nothing—scarcely a penny except his salary at the bank.”
“You were right in leaving money to him, Mother. I never objected.”
“The situation has changed now,” Mrs. Rhett continued. “My husband may never return. If I should die suddenly, the estate would be left to him, but he might not appear to claim it. To my knowledge, he has no relatives. It could all become an awkward legal muddle.”
“You certainly are borrowing trouble, Mother! Father will be found, and everything will be the same as before.”
“I wish I could think so, Lorinda.”
“Forget about the will.”
Mrs. Rhett shook her head. “I think I shall change it. And soon. However, at this moment, I don’t know how I wish to dispose of some of my property. Nearly everything I own is tied up in real estate.”
The woman arose, and remarking that she had a severe headache, started into the house.
“I’ll lie down for a little while,” she murmured. “I feel so weak and tired.”
Lorinda waited until her mother was well beyond hearing. Then she turned to Penny with stricken eyes.
“You heard what she said! She must have learned about that hideous doll from Celeste!”
“But how did Celeste know of it? You told her?”
“Oh, no! But Celeste has a way of knowing everything that goes on in this household. What ought I to do?”
“If I were in your place I would get rid of Celeste and Antón. Send them packing!”
The suggestion seemed almost shocking to Lorinda.
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” she answered. “In the first place, my stepfather would be furious if he returned and found them gone. Secondly, I doubt that they would go on my orders. They’re very independent.”
“Then I don’t see what you can do.”
“If only my stepfather were here! Unless he returns soon I’m afraid something dreadful will happen to Mother. Did she look well to you?”
“Well—” Penny hesitated, and then said truthfully: “She seemed pale and listless. But one can understand that, considering what she has been through.”
“I heard her give orders about her food this morning. She told Celeste she would have trays served in her room, andno food is to be cooked with salt.”
“Is that especially significant?”
“My stepfather once told me natives who believe a hex orouangehave been put on them are afraid to eat salted food. The salt is supposed to turn to poison in their bodies!”
Penny would have laughed had the matter not been so serious.
“Lorinda, you’re as superstitious as a little savage!”
“I don’t believe such a thing myself,” the girl denied. “But Mother apparently does. She always was afraid of everything remotely connected with cult practices. She never wanted my stepfather to have books on the subject in the library, yet recently I saw her reading them.”
“You said they disagreed about his interest in ancient cult practices?”
“Yes,” Lorinda admitted. “Otherwise they got on quite well together. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this, but two days before he went away, they had a violent disagreement. Mother wanted to discharge Antón and Celeste, and he refused. Then on the last day my stepfather was seen, Mother went to the bank to talk to him. She never told me what happened there.”
“According to Albert Potts, they had another quarrel.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” Lorinda sighed. “And now Mother’s attitude toward Celeste is so changed—she actually clings to her. Oh dear, it’s all so upsetting.”
“You’re trying to take too much upon your shoulders,” Penny said kindly.
Conversation lagged. Lorinda could not throw aside the deep mood of depression which possessed her. Penny knew she no longer had an excuse to linger, yet she was unwilling to leave without asking a few questions about the thatched roof cottage.
“Lorinda, why did you try to keep me from visiting it the other day?” she inquired.
“Well, I didn’t know you then. My stepfather’s trophies all are kept in the cottage, and I didn’t want anyone prying about.”
“Then actually it’s not a place of evil?”
Lorinda hesitated and answered indirectly: “I almost never go to the cottage myself. Once I was badly frightened there—it was nothing—but for a silly reason, I’ve always dreaded going back.”
“You didn’t by chance hear whispering from within the walls?”
Lorinda gave her companion a quick, startled look. “Why do you ask, Penny?”
“Because I visited the cottage yesterday with Salt Sommers. We distinctly heard a voice which seemed to come from the wall itself. When we went outside to investigate, the door slammed shut and locked.”
“It has an automatic catch,” Lorinda explained. “I never heard voices there, but I had a strange feeling when I was in the room—as if the walls had eyes and I was being watched.”
“The cottage always is kept locked?” Penny inquired.
“Yes, my stepfather’s trophies are valuable, and we can’t risk having them stolen. How did you get inside?”
Penny had the grace to blush. “Well, to make a long story short, we went in through the window,” she admitted. “It was a dreadful thing to do, and I’m heartily ashamed.”
“I don’t blame you,” Lorinda laughed. “Naturally you were curious after I tried so hard to keep you away. Would you like to see the cottage again?”
“Indeed, yes!”
“I’ll get the key,” Lorinda offered.
She vanished into the house and was gone so long that Penny wondered what could be delaying the girl. When she finally appeared on the veranda, her face was as dark as a rain cloud.
“The key is gone!” she exclaimed. “It’s always been kept in the top drawer of the dresser in my stepfather’s room. I couldn’t find it anywhere.”
“Perhaps he took it with him that last day he went to the bank,” suggested Penny.
“Possibly,” agreed Lorinda, though without conviction. “I hope nothing has been stolen from the cottage.”
Alarmed at being unable to find the key, the girls walked hurriedly along the wooded path to the trophy house. From afar, Lorinda saw that the door was open a tiny crack.
“Either the place has been ransacked, or someone is there now!” she declared excitedly.
They approached swiftly but with noiseless tread. Lorinda suddenly flung open the cottage door.
The room was deserted. Trophies were exactly as Penny had seen them the previous day.
“That’s funny,” Lorinda commented, entering, “I was certain I’d find someone here. Perhaps you and your friend failed to lock the door after you left yesterday.”
“It locked itself. We tried it, and couldn’t get in. Anyway, even if we had left the door open, that still leaves the question of what became of the missing key.”
Lorinda nodded thoughtfully as her gaze swept the room.
“Everything seems to be here,” she remarked.
“What does the chest contain?” Penny inquired curiously. “Salt and I wanted to peek inside yesterday, but didn’t have a chance.”
“I’ll show you,” Lorinda offered.
Pulling out the chest, she raised the lid. The top compartment tray was empty. Looking a trifle puzzled, Lorinda jerked it from the wooden container. The lower section of the chest also was empty.
“Why, everything is gone!” she cried. “My stepfather kept an altar cloth, a feathered head dress, two carved knives, several rattles, and I don’t know what all in this chest! They’ve been stolen!”
Penny dropped down on her knees beside Lorinda, peering into the empty wooden box.
“I hope you don’t think Salt and I took anything when we were here,” she murmured uncomfortably. “We never even opened the chest.”
“Of course I know you didn’t,” Lorinda replied. “Such a thought never entered my mind. But it’s disturbing to know these things are gone. Why weren’t the other trophies taken also?”
“Possibly, because the person who stole them thought the objects inside the chest would not be so quickly missed.”
Lorinda nodded as if in agreement, and closed the chest. As she straightened up, a tense, strained expression came over her face, and she stiffened.
“Listen!” she whispered.
From behind the walls of the house came a muffled dum—dum—dum of a drum. Even as the girls tensely listened, the sound died away.
“Could this cottage have a secret panel?” Penny asked in an excited voice.
“I don’t think so.” Badly frightened, Lorinda tried not to show it. “At least I never heard of one.”
Penny began tapping the walls, none of which gave off a hollow sound. The section by the fireplace appeared somewhat thicker than the others. However, if it contained a moveable panel, she could not locate it.
Her gaze fell upon the cocoanut shell lamp, its bowl nearly exhausted of oil.
“Lorinda,” she inquired, “is this room usually lighted?”
“Why, no.”
“When Salt and I were here, we saw the cocoanut shell lamp burning. A little oil is left in it now.”
“I can’t imagine how it came to be there,” Lorinda said in a hushed voice. “My stepfather may have filled it long ago, but he certainly never spoke of it.”
Hurriedly the girls left the cottage, closing the door tightly behind them. Lorinda tested it twice to make certain the lock had caught.
“The sound of those drums—” she murmured. “Penny, did I imagine it?”
“I assure you, you didn’t. I heard them too.”
“Then the sound came from the beach,” Lorinda declared firmly. “It couldn’t have been otherwise. No one is anywhere around here.”
“Let’s go to the beach and look around,” Penny proposed.
Almost at a run, they cut across the garden to the steps which led to the river’s edge. Reaching the beach they paused to listen. No sound of drums could be heard and no one was in sight.
“It couldn’t have come from here,” Penny said. “Lorinda, that drumming definitely was tied up with the cottage.”
“But the sound was muffled and far away.”
“The cottage may have a passageway connection.”
“I never heard of such a thing.”
“How long ago was the cottage built, Lorinda?”
“The summer after Mother and my stepfather were married. I remember, Mother and I went away for a month to visit a cousin. When we returned, the cottage was finished. My stepfather ordered it done while we were away. Mother didn’t like it one bit.”
“Then you actually weren’t here when the cottage was built? For all you know, a secret passageway or false panels in the walls, may have been put in?”
“I suppose it could have been done,” Lorinda admitted reluctantly.
“Who would know about the cottage except your stepfather? Did you learn the builder’s name?”
“I’m not sure there was one. I think my stepfather and Antón did most of the work themselves.”
“Let’s talk to Antón,” suggested Penny. “Perhaps he can shed light on the mystery of those whispering, drum-pounding walls!”
Antón, however, was nowhere to be found. After searching for him in the house and on the grounds, the girls abandoned the search.
By this time it was growing late, so Penny regretfully bade her friend goodbye, and returned home.
Try as she would, she could not forget the strange events of the afternoon, nor Mrs. Rhett’s obsession that she would have a long and fatal illness.
“Even now that woman is mentally ill,” she thought. “I do hope Lorinda calls in a doctor without delay.”
Although removed from the depressing mansion atmosphere, Penny found it impossible to forget the effigy and the conviction Lorinda had of its powers.
“Dad,” she said abruptly that night when dinner was over. “Do you believe in black magic?”
“I don’t believe in any kind of magic, black, red, pink or green,” he answered absently. “What’s on your mind now?”
Penny told him of her adventure at the Rhett estate. She confidently expected her father to make light of the entire affair, but to her surprise he listened with flattering attention and asked many questions.
“It’s fantastic!” he exclaimed when she finished. “Utterly fantastic! Yet I’ve read of cases where natives have been taken ill and although doctors declared not a thing was the matter with them, they weakened and died. Is Mrs. Rhett an hysterical type of woman?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Then she may be in real danger! Obviously, something underhanded is going on at the mansion!”
Pulling himself out of a comfortable chair, Mr. Parker went to the hall closet for his hat, coat and cane.
“You’re not going to the police station, are you, Dad?”
“No, I want to talk this over first with a man of my acquaintance who is better versed in cult practices and superstitions than anyone I know. He’s Professor Kennedy of Riverview College. He spent many years in Africa, Egypt and along the Amazon river.”
“May I go with you, Dad?”
“Come along,” he invited. “You know all the facts, and I may get them mixed up.”
Twenty minutes later Penny and her father were in the cozy study of Professor James Kennedy on Braemer Drive. An elderly man with a very soft voice, he greeted the Parkers cordially and displayed keen interest as they revealed the purpose of their call.
“I once met Mr. Rhett at a dinner party,” Professor Kennedy remarked. “He is a highly intelligent gentleman and we had a very animated conversation.”
“Did Rhett impress you as a man who might dabble in black magic practice to gain his ends?” Mr. Parker inquired.
Professor Kennedy dropped a log on the fire before he answered. Considering his words carefully, he said:
“Undoubtedly, Mr. Rhett would have the knowledge, but he struck me as a man of unusual character. Suppose you explain more fully what you have in mind.”
Professor Kennedy listened soberly as Penny recounted her many observations while at the Rhett mansion. He frowned slightly as she told how Mrs. Rhett had found the burnt match ends tied with scarlet string. When she disclosed how Lorinda and she destroyed the wooden doll, he no longer could remain silent.
“Indeed, you are correct in thinking someone may be trying to practice a little jungle magic!” he exclaimed. “Mrs. Rhett may be in grave danger unless we take counter-measures.”
“But why should anyone seek to harm her?” Penny inquired. “You don’t think she’ll actually be physically hurt?”
“Her mind will be influenced—poisoned,” the professor explained. “Oh, I don’t mean a drug will be used, but there are subtle and just as effective ways. Now those burned match ends and the doll are only symbols, harmless in themselves, yet they are a means by which Mrs. Rhett may be made seriously ill.”
“Merely by the use of suggestion?”
“Yes.”
“But it’s all such nonsense!” Penny protested.
“To you—yes. But not to Mrs. Rhett. Tell me, does she know that the doll existed?”
“Yes, she learned about it—probably from Antón or Celeste.”
The professor nodded. “The intended victimalways knows,” he declared. “By one means or another he is informed through those who seek his ruin. To be effective, the person must fear the mumbo-jumbo hocus-pocus.”
“Mrs. Rhett does fear it,” Penny confirmed. “What’s worse, she already believes herself marked for long illness. She actually looked ill today.”
“She is mentally sick, and the symptoms will develop, unless counter-measures quickly are adopted.”
“What do you advise, Professor?” asked Mr. Parker. “Perhaps if Mrs. Rhett were sent away from Riverview for a short while—”
“It would be of no avail, for the basic belief that she is ill would remain in her mind. No, this thing, must be plucked out at the root. The doll has been burned. That is good! Now the one who seeks to will this sickness upon Mrs. Rhett must be found and confronted with his crime.”
“We don’t know who is behind it,” said Mr. Parker.
“I read in the papers Mr. Rhett has vanished. However, I wonder, is it not possible he actually is still in Riverview?”
“But you said yourself, Mr. Rhett doesn’t appear the type of man to do such a ghastly thing,” broke in Mr. Parker.
“So I did, but we dare not close our eyes to such a possibility. I believe you mentioned two servants, Antón and Celeste, who also are versed in cult practices, no doubt.”
“Celeste is the one I suspect!” cried Penny. “But she has no good reason for hating Mrs. Rhett who seemingly always has been kind to her.”
“Regardless, my advice is that the two servants be watched closely. And when the guilty person is found, as he must be, ordinary threats or punishments are likely to prove useless in dealing with him. He must be fought with his own superstitious weapons.”
Mr. Parker and Penny talked on and on with the professor whose discussion of the effects of auto-suggestion only served to heighten their anxiety regarding Mrs. Rhett. When they left the house at midnight, Penny was deeply depressed.
“It’s all very well for the professor to say ‘find the guilty party and fight him with his own weapons,’” she declared, “but how can we do it? In the first place, Lorinda is our only contact with the Rhett household.”
“Secondly, we’re not gifted in all this hocus-pocus. It’s a case for the police,” added her father.