CHAPTER PAGE
1 THE PLUMED SERPENT _1_
2 AN UNEXPLAINED DISAPPEARANCE _11_
3 A THATCHED ROOF COTTAGE _19_
4 BEHIND THE BUSHES _26_
5 AN EVIL CHARM _35_
6 MATCHES AND STRING _44_
7 WHISPERING WALLS _51_
8 GHOST OF THE DARK CORNERS _61_
9 JERRY ENTERS THE CASE _68_
10 CHEAP LODGING _79_
11 THE WOODEN DOLL _90_
12 SUPERSTITION _98_
13 MISSING FROM THE CHEST _106_
14 STORM WARNINGS _114_
15 MRS. RHETT'S ILLNESS _123_
16 AN OPEN WINDOW _133_
17 THE STOLEN WILL _139_
18 THROUGH THE WINDOW _147_
19 RISING WIND _154_
20 TWELVE STEPS DOWN _164_
21 CEREMONIAL CAVE _172_
22 STRANGER IN THE STORM _180_
23 IN THE PRESSROOM _188_
24 THE GRINNING GARGOYLE _196_
25 ON THE BALCONY _206_
CHAPTER
1
_THE PLUMED SERPENT_
Smoothly and with accurate aim, the slim girl in blue sweater and
swinging skirt sent the heavy ball crashing down the polished floor of
the bowling alley.
"Another strike, Penny!" cried her school companion, Louise Sidell,
watching the tenpins topple helter skelter and vanish out of sight.
"You're certainly going like a house afire today!"
"Lucky, that's all." Penny Parker's friendly grin widened as she chalked
up the score. Brushing aside a sandy-gold lock of hair which had dropped
over one eye, she suddenly squinted at the wall clock. "Ten minutes until
four o'clock!" she exclaimed. "Lou, unless we call it a day, I'll be late
for work!"
"You and your work!" scoffed Louise, but she quickly sat down to remove
her bowling shoes. "Why spend all your spare time at that old newspaper?"
"The _Riverview Star_ is the best daily in the city!" Penny shot back
proudly. "Anyway, I like being a reporter."
"I'll give you no argument on that point, my pet. You love it! Especially
poking that freckled little nose of yours into every big story or mystery
that comes along! Confess now, isn't it the excitement you like, rather
than the work?"
A twitch of Penny's lips acknowledged the truth of her chum's
observation. Off and on for several years she had served in many
capacities on the _Star_, a daily Riverview newspaper owned by her
father, Anthony Parker.
Many of the publication's best stories had carried her name. Now that
school had started again, she was unable to work full time, but on this
particular Saturday afternoon she had promised Editor DeWitt she would
report at two o'clock. She had no intention of being late.
"Let's go," she urged, picking up her coat.
Louise trailed Penny to a desk where the cashier was absently listening
to a short wave radio. As they paid their bill, the instrument suddenly
blared a police order:
"Patrol 34--First National Bank, Main and Front Streets. Repeating, First
National Bank, Main and Front Streets. See complainant. Patrol 34 in
service."
To Louise it was only a meaningless jumble of words but Penny instantly
pricked up her ears.
"Front and Main is just around the corner! Maybe there's been a robbery,
Lou!"
"I hope not," laughed Louise. "The First National's where I keep my
money. All $28.50 of it!"
Sweeping her change from the counter, Penny glanced again at the clock
and came to a quick decision. Doubtless, the _Star_ office would send a
reporter to check the police call, but considerable time might elapse
before anyone reached the bank.
"Let's jog over there and see what's doing," she proposed.
Louise nodded, hastily pulling a tight-fitting hat over her dark curls.
Penny was already out of the door, walking so fast that her chum was hard
pressed to overtake her.
Rounding the corner at Main and Front Streets, the girls were just in
time to see a patrol car park at the curb in front of the bank. A police
sergeant was at the wheel, but before Penny could hail him, he and a
companion vanished into the building. A third man posted himself at the
door of the bank.
Penny walked over to him. "Anything doing?" she inquired in a friendly,
off-hand way. "A robbery?"
"I wouldn't know," he replied curtly.
Fishing in a cluttered purse, Penny came up with a press card. "I'm from
the _Star_," she added, waving her credentials before him.
"You'll have to talk to the sergeant if you want to get any information,"
he said, relaxing slightly. "Go on in, if you want to."
Louise kept close to Penny's side as they started into the bank. But the
policeman brought her up short by saying: "Just a minute, sister. Where's
your card?"
"She's with me," said Penny with careless assurance.
"So I see," observed the patrolman dryly. "She can't go in without a
card."
Argument was useless. Decidedly crestfallen, Louise retreated to wait,
while Penny went on into the darkened building. Curtains had been drawn
in the big marble-floored bank, and the place appeared deserted. Teller
cages were locked and empty, for the bank had closed to the public at
noon.
Pausing, Penny heard the faint and distant hum of voices. She glanced
upward to a second story gallery devoted to offices, and saw two
policemen talking to a third man who leaned against the iron railing.
"Apparently this is no robbery," Penny thought, taking the marble steps
two at a time. "Wonder what has happened?"
Breathlessly, she reached the top of the stairs. A short, thin man with
glasses and a noticeably nervous manner stood talking to the two
policemen. The sergeant, his back to Penny, started taking down notes.
"I'm Sergeant Gray," the policeman said. "What's your name?"
"Albert Potts," the man replied.
"A clerk here?"
"Secretary to Mr. Hamilton Rhett, the bank president. I called the police
because a situation has developed which worries me. This afternoon I
talked to Mrs. Rhett who gave me no satisfaction whatsoever. I said to
myself, 'Albert Potts, this is a case for the police.' But there must be
no publicity."
"What's wrong?" Sergeant Gray asked impatiently.
"Mr. Rhett has disappeared. Exactly nine days ago at three o'clock he put
on his hat, walked out of the bank and hasn't been seen since."
Here indeed was news! Mr. Rhett was socially prominent and a very wealthy
banker. His disappearance would be certain to create a sensation in
Riverview.
"So Mr. Rhett walked out of here nine days ago," Sergeant Gray commented.
"Why wasn't it reported earlier to the police?"
"Because at first we thought nothing of it. If you will excuse me for
saying so, Mr. Rhett never has taken his bank duties very seriously. He
comes and goes very much as he pleases. Some days he fails to show up
until afternoon. On several occasions he has been absent for a week at a
time."
"Then why does it seem so unusual now?"
"Yesterday I telephoned Mrs. Rhett. She said she had no idea what has
become of her husband. I suggested notifying the police, but she
discouraged it. In fact, she hung up the receiver while I was talking to
her. Altogether, she acted in a most peculiar manner."
"That was yesterday, you say?"
"Yes, I told myself, 'Albert Potts, if Mrs. Rhett isn't worried about her
husband's absence, it's none of your business.' I should have dismissed
the matter thereupon, except that today I learned about the missing
bonds."
"Missing bonds?" inquired the sergeant alertly. "Go on."
"Mr. Rhett handles securities for various trust funds. At the time of his
disappearance, $250,000 in negotiable government bonds were in his
possession."
"You're suggesting robbery?"
"I don't know what to think. Mr. Rhett should have returned the
securities to our vault in the basement. I assumed he had done so, until
this morning in making a thorough check, I learned not a single bond had
been turned in. I can only conclude that Mr. Rhett had them in his
portfolio when he walked out of the bank."
"So you decided to notify the police?"
"Exactly. It was my duty. Understand I wish to bring no embarrassment to
Mrs. Rhett or to cast reflection upon my employer but--"
Albert Potts broke off, his gaze focusing upon Penny who had edged
closer.
"Now who are you?" he demanded suspiciously.
Stepping forward, Penny introduced herself as a _Star_ reporter.
"You have no business here!" the secretary snapped. "If you overheard
what I just said, you're not to print a line of it! Mrs. Rhett would
never approve."
"I did hear what you told Sergeant Gray," replied Penny with dignity.
"However, any report to the police is a matter of public record. It is
for our editor to decide whether or not to use the story."
Behind thick glasses, Mr. Potts' watery eyes glinted angrily. He appeared
on the verge of ordering the girl from the bank, but with an obvious
effort regained control of his temper, and said curtly:
"If you must write a story, mind you keep the facts straight. Mr. Rhett
hasn't been seen in nine days and that's all I know. He may return
tomorrow. He may never appear."
"Then you believe he's been kidnapped?" Penny asked.
"I don't know. There's been no ransom demand."
"Perhaps he absconded with the $250,000 in bonds."
"Don't quote me as making such a statement even if it should prove true!
Mr. Rhett is a wealthy man--or rather, he acquired a fortune when he
married a rich widow who set him up here as bank president. But don't
quote me on that either!" he exclaimed as Penny jotted down a few notes.
"Leave my name out of it entirely!"
"Let's have a look at Mr. Rhett's office," proposed Sergeant Gray.
"Follow me, please."
His poise regained, Albert Potts led the way down the gallery to a large,
spacious office room. On the polished mahogany desk rested a picture of
an attractive woman in her early forties whom Penny guessed to be Mrs.
Rhett. A door opened from the office into a directors' room, and another
onto a narrow outdoor balcony overlooking Front Street.
Sergeant Gray and the patrolman made a thorough inspection of the two
rooms and Mr. Rhett's desk.
"When last I saw the bonds, Mr. Rhett had them in the top drawer," the
secretary volunteered eagerly. "He should have returned them to the
vault, but he failed to do so. Now they're gone."
"Then you examined the desk?"
"Oh, yes, I considered it my duty."
While Penny remained in the background, Sergeant Gray asked Mr. Potts a
number of questions about the bank president's habits, and particularly
his recent visitors. The secretary, whose fund of information seemed
inexhaustible, had ready answers at the tip of his tongue. He even
produced a memo pad upon which the names of several persons had been
written.
"These were Mr. Rhett's visitors on his last day here," he explained. "So
far as I know, all were business acquaintances."
Writing down the names for future checking, Sergeant Gray inquired if Mr.
Rhett had disagreed with any of the callers.
"A quarrel, you mean?" Mr. Potts hesitated, then answered with
reluctance. "Only with his wife."
"Mrs. Rhett came to the bank the day your employer last was seen?"
"Yes, they were to have had lunch together. She came late and they
quarreled about Mr. Rhett's work here in the bank. Finally she went away
alone."
"You heard the conversation between them?"
"Well, no," Albert Potts said quickly. "Naturally I tried not to listen,
but I did hear some of it."
"Mrs. Rhett may be able to explain her husband's absence," commented
Sergeant Gray.
"She refused me any information when I telephoned. That was one reason I
decided to notify the police. The loss of $250,000 could be very
embarrassing to the bank."
"Who owns the bonds?"
"They belong to the Fred Harrington estate, 2756 Brightdale Avenue. If
they aren't produced soon, there will be trouble. I've worked here for 15
years. You don't think anyone could possibly blame me, do you?"
The sergeant gave him a quick glance, but made no reply as he reexamined
the mahogany desk. Finding nothing of interest, he slammed the top drawer
shut.
From the back of the desk, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor,
almost at Penny's feet. Evidently it had jarred from the rear side of an
overflowing drawer, or had been held between desk and plaster wall.
Without thinking, Penny stooped to retrieve the sheet. She glanced at it
carelessly, and then with a shock of surprise, really studied it. Drawn
across the center of the paper in black and red ink was a crude but
sinister-looking winged serpent.
Raising her eyes, Penny saw Albert Potts' cold gaze upon her. Was it
imagination or did his shriveled face mirror fear?
"What have you there?" he demanded.
Penny gave the paper to Sergeant Gray. Mr. Potts moved quickly forward,
to peer over the man's shoulder.
"A plumed serpent!" he exclaimed.
"And read the words beneath it," directed Penny.
Under the drawing in a cramped hand, had been scribbled: "_This shall be
the end._"
CHAPTER
2
_AN UNEXPLAINED DISAPPEARANCE_
Sergeant Gray studied the strange drawing for a moment and then said to
Albert Potts: "Can you explain the meaning of this picture? And the words
written beneath it?"
For the first time since the start of the interview, the bank secretary
seemed at a loss for words. Finally he stammered: "Why, no--I've never
seen the drawing before. I don't know how it got into Mr. Rhett's desk."
"You seemed to recognize the picture," interposed Penny. "At least you
called it a plumed serpent."
"It is the symbol of an ancient cult, or at least that is what I take it
to be. I've seen similar drawings in library books."
"And the writing beneath it?" probed the sergeant.
"I am not sure," the secretary murmured, ill at ease. "It slightly
resembles Mr. Rhett's writing."
"You say you can't explain how the paper came to be in Mr. Rhett's desk?"
"My employer's private life is none of my concern."
"What do you mean--his private life?"
"Well, I hadn't intended to tell you this," Potts said unwillingly. "The
truth is, Mr. Rhett was a strange man. He had queer interests and
hobbies. I have been told he collects weird trophies of ancient cults."
"Then this drawing probably has a connection with your employer's hobby?"
"I wouldn't know," shrugged Potts. "If it weren't for the handwriting, I
might think someone had sent a warning to him. As it is, I'm completely
in the dark."
"Mr. Rhett had enemies?"
"He was a ruthless man and many persons disliked him. His friends were
queer too. He preferred low class persons to people of culture and
refinement. Why, only two days before his disappearance, he deliberately
kept one of our largest stockholders waiting an hour while he chatted
with a building porter! It was very humiliating! I had to tell Mrs. Biggs
he was in conference, but I think she suspected the truth."
"Do you have a photograph of Mr. Rhett?" the sergeant asked.
"I deeply regret I haven't. For that matter, I never have seen a picture
of him."
"But you can describe the man?"
"Oh, yes. He is forty-five, though he looks older. His hair is gray at
the temples. He wore an expensive tailored suit--brown, I believe. One of
the most distinguishing marks I should say, is a scar on his left cheek."
"I'll send one of the detectives around," Sergeant Gray promised. He had
completed his investigation and with the other patrolman, started to
leave the office.
Albert Potts drew a deep breath and seemed to relax. Only then did it
occur to Penny that throughout the greater part of the interview he had
stood in front of the outside balcony door, as if to shield it from
attention.
Taking the plumed serpent drawing with them, Sergeant Gray and the
patrolman left the office. Penny lingered, intending to ask Albert Potts
a few questions about Mr. Rhett. But the man gave her no opportunity.
Barely had the others gone when he turned toward her, making no effort to
mask his dislike.
"Now will you get out of here?" he demanded.
His tone annoyed Penny, and perversely made her determined to take her
time in leaving. Deliberately she sidled over to the balcony door.
"Where does this lead?" she inquired.
"Outside."
Penny opened the door, but Potts immediately barred the way.
"There's nothing there except a balcony! Just get out of this office so I
can lock up and go home! I've had a hard day, and you're making it
worse!"
For a reason she could not have explained, Penny felt a deep urge to
annoy the nervous little man further. Ignoring his protests, she pushed
past him out onto the balcony.
Guarded by a high iron railing and fence, it extended for perhaps fifty
feet along several offices. At each end, projecting from the sloping
slate roof, was a grotesque decorative gargoyle.
"You see!" rasped Potts. "There's nothing here. Now are you satisfied?"
The gargoyle near the door had drawn Penny's attention. Its carved stone
body angled out from the building, terminating in a horned animal head
with massive open jaws.
"Will it bite?" Grinning impishly at Potts she started to thrust an arm
between the stone teeth.
To her astonishment, he suddenly seized her and gave her a hard shove
through the doorway into Mr. Rhett's office. She resisted and he
immediately released her. But he locked the balcony door.
"You're driving me crazy!" he cried furiously. "Now get out of here!
Unless you do--"
Potts was such a ridiculous little fellow that Penny could not be afraid
of him. However, she decided that her joke had been carried a trifle too
far.
"Okay, I'm going," she muttered. "Thanks for all your courtesy."
"Mind you print only the truth in your paper," Potts hurled after her as
she went out the door. "If you don't, you may have a lawsuit on your
hands!"
Penny reached the street to find that the police car had gone and Louise
was nowhere to be seen. Deciding that her chum had grown tired of
waiting, she hastened to a nearby drugstore to telephone the _Star_
office.
Editor DeWitt answered, and Penny gave him the story straight and fast.
"Hamilton Rhett, the banker!" he exclaimed. "Sure you got the name
right?"
"Positive!"
"This is apt to be a big story, especially if the man was kidnapped or
walked off with the bonds! Grab a taxi and run out to the Rhett estate.
Get all the dope you can from Mrs. Rhett, and don't forget pictures!
We'll want one of Rhett. Better take all she has of him to keep the
_Times_ from getting them! Got that straight?"
"I think so."
"Okay, go right to town on the old gal and learn everything you can about
her quarrel with Rhett! I'll send a photographer out there as soon as I
can round one up."
Penny felt a trifle weak as she hung up the receiver. Editor DeWitt took
it for granted she would bring in a bang-up story when she returned to
the newspaper office. But from what she had learned of Mrs. Rhett, she
surmised that an interview might not be granted willingly.
Looking up the address of the Rhett estate, Penny hailed a passing taxi.
As the cab sped along the winding river boulevard, she speculated upon
how best to approach Mrs. Rhett.
"I wish I were more experienced as a reporter," she thought, nervously
examining her pocketbook to be certain she had paper and pencil.
"Something tells me this story will be hard to get."
The only daughter of a distinguished newspaper owner and publisher, Penny
considered herself an essential part of the _Star_ office. Even as a
youngster in pigtails, she had haunted the big noisy newsroom, pecking at
the typewriters and making a pest of herself.
From her father, Editor DeWitt, Jerry Livingston, a star reporter, and
the printers who adored her, the alert girl had gleaned much useful
information. But there were yawning gaps in her newspaper experience. No
one realized it better than she.
Gazing thoughtfully toward the river, Penny recalled the first story she
ever had written, carried in the paper under the title, "Tale of the
Witch Doll." Another yarn, "The Vanishing Houseboat," also had been
bannered across the front page of the _Star_, but in acquiring that story
Penny and Jerry had nearly lost their lives.
Slight wonder that Mrs. Maud Weems, the Parker housekeeper, was reluctant
to see the girl she loved so dearly take up a journalistic career. Sadly
she declared that Penny's nose for news and mystery would lead her into
serious trouble. Mr. Parker, however, did not worry. "Penny has good
horse sense," he said. "And she was born with printer's ink in her blood
stream!"
The taxi stopped with a jerk in front of a large red brick mansion. Large
acreage was enclosed by a wooden rail fence flanked by tall untrimmed
bushes.
"Shall I wait?" inquired the cab driver as Penny alighted.
She shook her head, started to pay him, then thought of a better idea.
"Charge this to the _Star_," she instructed.
The cab driver looked a trifle worried as if he were fearful of losing
the fare, so Penny flashed her press card again. It worked like magic.
"Okay, a charge it is," he agreed. He shifted gears and drove away.
No sooner had Penny dismissed the cab than she regretted it. Although she
expected to catch a ride with the _Star_ photographer back to the paper,
the mansion had a deserted look. As she walked up the gravel path, she
noticed that many of the shades were drawn.
"There's no one here," she thought. "I've wasted my time coming."
Nevertheless, Penny walked on to the front door to ring the doorbell.
Instead she found a brass knocker in the shape of an ugly carved face.
She stared at it a moment, then let it fall against the brass plate.
As Penny had feared, no one came to admit her. She was turning away in
defeat, when she fancied she saw a shade move in one of the upstairs
rooms. Encouraged, she knocked again.
Still there was no answer, but distinctly she saw the curtain flutter.
Stepping back a pace, she gazed upward.
A dark face was visible in a circular window of one of the tower rooms.
For a moment appraising eyes focused upon her. Then the curtain jerked
convulsively, and the man was gone.
CHAPTER
3
_A THATCHED ROOF COTTAGE_
Satisfied that the house was not deserted, Penny hammered harder on the
massive oaken door with the brass knocker. Still no one came to admit
her.
"Someone is here," she thought, intensely annoyed. "Well, if he can be
stubborn, so can I! I'll make such a nuisance of myself, they'll have to
let me in."
She hammered steadily with the knocker for a half minute, then she
experimented with pattern knocks, in interesting combinations of dots and
dashes.
Suddenly, the window above her head flew open, and the same dark-faced
man peered angrily down at her.
"What you want?" he demanded in an unpleasant voice.
"Why, I should like to see Mrs. Rhett," Penny replied politely. "She's
here, isn't she?"
"Maybe she is, maybe she isn't," was the sharp retort. "Who are you?"
Resenting the man's unfriendly attitude, Penny nevertheless answered that
she was from the _Riverview Star_ and desired to interview Mrs. Rhett
about her missing husband.
"Madam not seeing anyone. Go 'way now!"
The window slammed shut.
Convinced that the man, evidently a servant, had acted upon instructions
from Mrs. Rhett, Penny wondered what to do. She considered returning to
the _Star_ office to explain to Editor DeWitt.
But in Mr. DeWitt's dictionary there was no such word as failure. He
would cock an eyebrow at her, growl: "So you couldn't get in, eh?" and
promptly send a more aggressive reporter to the mansion.
"I could force my way in, but that's trespassing," she reflected with
deepening gloom. "If I were thrown into jail, Mr. DeWitt probably
wouldn't even bother to bail me out! He'd say I didn't use my head in an
emergency."
Penny decided to wait for the _Star_ photographer, who also had been sent
out. In a tight pinch, photographers nearly always could come up with a
picture. Between them they might think of a means of getting into the
mansion.
"I hope Salt Sommers is sent here," she thought. "He's a good scout.
He'll help me get the story."
Penny glanced hopefully toward the highway, but the press car was not to
be seen. With a sigh, she slowly circled the house.
The building, no longer new, once had been one of Riverview's finest
homes. Now the red brick exterior had become discolored, and trees and
bushes disclosed lack of skilled care. A hedge flanking the walk had been
trimmed unevenly. The lawn was badly mowed, with many weeds going to
seed.
Nevertheless, the estate was impressive, and Penny walked along a sloping
path to a pool of water lilies. Seating herself on the cement rim, she
dabbled her hand in the water. A moment later, raising her eyes, she
caught a flash of color at one of the mansion windows.
"I'm being watched," she thought. "Perhaps if I poke around here long
enough, Mrs. Rhett will decide to see me."
However, there was no further movement at the window, and presently Penny
wandered around to the rear of the house. Two interesting architectural
features drew her attention. At each side of the house were circular
tower rooms, each with two tiny round windows which resembled human eyes.
From the rear of the mansion, several paths led in diverse directions.
One, which was weed-choked, apparently angled toward the river beach.
Years before, when the Heights Yacht Club had been in operation, many
sailboats plied the waters at this particular point.
Now, except for an occasional fisherman, few boats ever came so far
upstream. As the once fine neighborhood had deteriorated, householders
gradually had moved away. Penny judged that the Rhetts, isolated from
their neighbors, probably were the only socially prominent people
remaining.
Selecting a path which led away from the river, deeper into the grounds,
Penny presently found herself some distance from the road and the
boundary fences.
Hedging the cinder trail were high, untrimmed bushes which completely
screened her view. After walking a short distance, she paused, uncertain
whether to keep on or return to the road.
"This exploration isn't helping me get a story," she reflected. "If the
_Star_ photographer should come while I'm here, I might miss him."
However, the trail had a fascination for Penny and she was reluctant to
turn back. In a tiny clearing a short distance ahead, she saw what
appeared to be a thatched roof cottage. Only a moment or two would be
required to investigate it, she thought. Then she would return to the
road to await the photographer.
As Penny started eagerly on, she stubbed the toe of her shoe on a stone,
and nearly tripped. By quick footwork, she saved herself a fall, but as
she paused to recover breath, she plainly saw the bushes at the left hand
side of the trail move convulsively. Only a slight breeze had rippled the
tree leaves.
Penny was certain that someone stood behind the bush, watching her
movements.
"Probably it's that dark skinned man who called to me from the window,"
she thought.
The knowledge that she was a trespasser on the Rhett property made Penny
slightly uneasy. Likewise, it was unnerving to know that her every move
was being watched. Admitting to herself that she should turn back, she
nevertheless kept on down the path.
Without appearing to do so, she kept her eyes on the bushes at the left
hand side of the trail. Now and then a slight jerk of the foliage
convinced her that the one who watched was following and keeping pace
with her.
Penny hastened her steps as she moved through a cool, densely shaded
woodland. Frost had tinted many of the leaves with red and gold, but the
arresting beauty of the foliage was completely lost upon her. She was
only aware of those soft footsteps behind her.
Then unexpectedly, Penny came to the clearing. Scarcely seventy-five
yards ahead, stood the thatched roof cottage which had attracted her
interest from afar.
So quaint was the building that for a moment she gave it her entire
attention, forgetting the one who watched from the bushes.
From where she stood, the cottage appeared to be about the size of a
large room, and resembled a native hut. No windows were visible. The door
was closed, and across it was painted in black and red a symbol which
even from afar could be distinguished as a serpent-like figure.
The cottage fascinated Penny. At first glance she assumed it to be a
large playhouse, but the serpent painting convinced her the building
never had been intended for use of children.
A garden or tool house perhaps? She dismissed the thought as quickly as
it came. Into her mind flashed a recollection of the drawing that had
fallen from Mr. Rhett's desk in the First National Bank. The paper had
borne a plumed serpent, apparently a counterpart of the painting on the
door of the thatched roof cottage!
Forgetful of the person who crouched in the bushes, Penny started eagerly
forward, intending to examine the strange drawing at close range.
Something whizzed past her, to embed itself in a tree trunk six inches
from her head.
Brought up short, she saw that it was an arrow which had narrowly missed
her. Had it been shot from the bushes behind her, and by the person who
had stealthily followed her along the trail?
In cold fury, Penny jerked the arrow from the tree. Only then did she
notice a folded sheet of notebook paper attached to it with a bit of
string. She broke the knot and freed the paper. Across its crumbled face
had been penciled a message. The lead had smeared and the words were hard
to read. But she made them out.
The warning note said: "Do not approach the thatched roof cottage. To do
so is to endanger your life."
CHAPTER
4
_BEHIND THE BUSHES_
Having read the warning message, Penny whirled around to gaze toward the
bushes on the left side of the path. All now was still, with not the
slightest movement of leaves to reveal the presence of the one who had
shot the arrow.
"It's that man who talked so unpleasantly to me from the mansion window!"
she thought. "Why, he might have struck me with the arrow! I'll put an
end to his target practice!"
Acting impulsively, she made a sudden dive for the bushes, jerking them
apart to expose the one who had followed her. No one was there.
The grass, however, was trampled, and some distance away, she heard a
scurry of footsteps.
"Trying to get away!" she thought grimly. "Not if I can prevent it! I'll
have it out with him and learn why he's warning me my life is
endangered!"
The footsteps fast were dying away. Listening intently, Penny decided
that the person who had shot the arrow was stealing through the bushes
toward the river path.
Seeking the intersection of the two paths, the girl stole noiselessly
down the cindered trail sloping toward the beach. She had guessed
correctly. In a moment she heard an agitation in the bushes nearby and
knew that the person she sought was struggling through a tangle of
underbrush.
Soon the bushes parted and a thin girl in blue shirt and slacks stepped
out onto the cindered path. In one hand she carried an Indian bow with a
quiver of arrows, while with the other, she brushed dry leaves from her
long, dark hair.
Having expected to see a man, Penny was startled. As she opened her lips
to speak, the girl saw her and was brought up short. She gasped in
dismay, turned, and with astonishing speed darted down the path leading
to the beach.
"Wait!" called Penny.
Keeping her face down, the girl raced on.
Determining that she should not escape without an explanation, Penny gave
chase. The runner had an excellent start, but on coming to a series of
wooden steps, her heel caught in a small hole. Down she went, and before
she could arise, Penny had overtaken her.
Observing that the fall had not injured the girl, she said sternly:
"Now little Miss Robin Hood, will you kindly explain why you tried to
exterminate me with that arrow?"
Sitting up, the girl ruefully rubbed an ankle and gazed at Penny with
hostile brown eyes.
"Don't be ridiculous!" she retorted. "I had no intention of hitting you.
My aim is perfect."
"Modest, at any rate," observed Penny, smiling despite a determination to
appear very stern. "You did write the warning note?"
"Naturally."
"Why, may I ask?"
"Because in the first place, you have no business being on our property.
Secondly, I didn't want you to go to the thatched roof cottage."
"May I ask your name?"
"I'm Lorinda Rhett."
"Hamilton Rhett's daughter!"
"Stepdaughter," the girl corrected.
"You're just the person I want to see!" exclaimed Penny, overjoyed at her
good fortune. "Your stepfather--"
"I'll answer no questions about him," the girl interrupted. "You may as
well spare your breath. Mother and I want no reporters here."
"So you know who I am?"
"How could one help knowing? You nearly broke our door down with your
pounding, and I heard you talking to Anton."
"Your servant?"
"My stepfather's," Lorinda corrected with a slight inflection which
suggested that she did not entirely approve of Anton. "Now will you stop
asking questions and go away?"
"All in good time. First, I'm relieved to know that the thatched cottage
isn't really dangerous. You only wrote that to be rid of me."
Lorinda gave her a long, steady look but said not a word.
"Or perhaps there is some mystery about the cottage," Penny went on.
"After all, your stepfather's disappearance was very queer. But the
police, no doubt, will get at the bottom of it when they come here."
Lorinda scrambled to her feet. "The police!" she gasped. "We'll not have
them here prying around!"
"Whether or not you like it, I'm afraid you will have the police on your
doorstep. A man of Mr. Rhett's prominence can't disappear without a few
questions being asked."
Lorinda lost much of her defiance. "But this is our own private affair,"
she protested. "My stepfather will return--at least, I think he will."
"And the missing bonds?"
"Missing bonds?"
"Didn't Albert Potts, the bank secretary, inform your mother that
$250,000 in negotiable securities also had disappeared?"
"Why, no! At least I knew nothing of it! Surely you don't think my
stepfather would stoop to the theft of bank securities?"
"I have no opinion in the matter. I'm merely here to get the true story.
For some reason you and your mother have been unwilling to cooperate."
Lorinda did not reply, but seemed to be thinking deeply.
"Do you have any idea where your stepfather is now?" Penny inquired,
hoping that a direct approach might glean information.
"No, of course not."
"You haven't seen him for the past ten days?"
"That is true," Lorinda acknowledged with great reluctance. "But it's not
so unusual. My stepfather frequently goes away on trips."
"Without telling anyone where he is going?"
"I'll not answer that question," Lorinda said with a proud uptilt of her
chin.
"I'm afraid you don't like reporters very well," observed Penny
pleasantly. "Nor do you seem especially fond of your stepfather."
"That's not true! I do like my stepfather. Why, he was the one who taught
me how to shoot with a bow and arrow! He gave me this bow which is a
valuable collector's item!"
She offered it to Penny who inspected the fine workmanship with keen
interest.
"Mr. Rhett is a collector?" she inquired.
"Yes, he's traveled all over the world, but most of his time was spent in
the jungles of Africa, Brazil, and other places in South America. That
was before he married Mother, of course."
"Your stepfather was especially interested in ancient religious cults?"
"He made a study of it, and for a year gathered material by living in the
jungle." Lorinda suddenly broke off, aware that she was warming to Penny
and telling her entirely too much.
"Then it was your father who built the thatched roof cottage?"
"Please, let's not talk about it," Lorinda pleaded. "I don't like to be
unfriendly or impolite, but you must understand there are things I can't
tell you, and which must never be published."
Taking the ancient bow from Penny's hand, the girl started up the path,
limping a trifle on her twisted ankle.
"Only one more question, Lorinda. Please tell me the truth. Why were you
afraid to have me investigate the thatched roof cottage?"
The girl paused on the path, gazing at Penny quite pathetically.
"Don't ask me to tell you any more," she whispered. "The cottage is a
place of evil omen. Truly, I did you a favor in warning you away."
"I saw a painting on the door--that of a winged or plumed serpent. Will
you explain its significance?"
"I only know that my stepfather had it painted there when the cottage was
built soon after his marriage to my mother. It is a symbol of one of the
ancient cults he studied. Many of his trophies bear the same picture."
The information was a little disappointing to Penny. "Then I suppose the
drawing that the police found in Mr. Rhett's office had no great
significance," she remarked.
"Drawing?"
Penny described the serpent picture which had been found, adding: "On the
sheet were written the words: 'This shall be the end.'"
"You are certain?"
"Oh, yes, I saw the paper myself."
Lorinda was visibly disturbed. "I must see that writing! It may mean--"
she broke off and amended: "Tell me, where is the paper now?"
"The police have it."
"Oh!"
"Why do you seem to fear the police?" inquired Penny curiously.
"I am not afraid of them--certainly not. It's just that Mother and I
prefer to keep our lives private. Facts can be so easily misinterpreted."
"Your reluctance to assist the police also can be misinterpreted," said
Penny. "For instance, it seems strange to me that your stepfather's
disappearance doesn't seem to disturb you."
"Oh, it does! It's only--well, there are things I can't tell you without
my mother's permission. My stepfather is queer. Mother and I never liked
his interest in weird cult practices. He had so many strange
acquaintances and ties with the past. We always were afraid something
dreadful might happen."
"Then he may have met foul play?"
"I don't know what to think," Lorinda said miserably. "A ten-day
disappearance is not so serious. My stepfather occasionally went away
before without telling us, though never for such a long period. If it
weren't for the paper found in his desk, and the missing bonds, I would
say it's much ado about nothing."
"As it is--?"
"The loss of $250,000 could be a very serious matter. Tell me, what is
your name?"
"Penny Parker."
"You're here only to get a story for your paper?"
"That was why I came, but since meeting you I truthfully can say I also
am very much interested in helping you if possible."
"I like you," Lorinda declared with a quick smile. "I'm sorry about the
arrow. And I was very rude."
"Not at all. I deliberately egged you on, hoping you would tell me about
your stepfather. I was sent here to get a picture of him, and I hate to
fail."
"A picture? Mother has one, but I doubt that she would permit you to use
it." Lorinda considered a moment, then added: "Tell you what! I'll take
you to her, and perhaps, if you're a convincing talker, she'll agree to
your request."
"Oh, Lorinda, that's fine!"
The Rhett girl linked arms with Penny as they trudged up the path to the
house.
"Don't count your chickens just yet," she warned. "Mother doesn't like
reporters. It will be sheer luck if she gives you the picture or any
information you can use in the paper."
CHAPTER
5
_AN EVIL CHARM_
"Mother has disliked reporters ever since she married my stepfather, two
years ago," Lorinda confided as the girls approached the house. "We were
in the Eastern part of the country at the time, and papers played up the
story, suggesting that Mr. Rhett was a fortune hunter."
"Then he had no money of his own?"
"Not a great deal. You see, my stepfather loved travel, and until he met
Mother he never really settled down. He made a little by writing magazine
articles, and he spent it roving about the country and exploring far
corners of the world."
"It must have been an interesting life," Penny commented politely. "Your
mother enjoyed travel too?"
"Oh, mercy no! One hardly can get her away from Riverview. She and my
stepfather never traveled together after they were married."
Penny gathered that Mr. and Mrs. Rhett were entirely different types of
individuals, but she asked no additional questions, for by this time, the
girls had reached the house.
Crossing a stone terrace at the rear of the dwelling, they entered a
spacious living room furnished with elegant though formal furniture.
Shades were partially drawn, giving the interior a gloomy atmosphere,
despite the vases of brightly colored chrysanthemums which decorated the
tables.
A woman with dark hair tinged with gray sat reading a book. She was
immaculately groomed, every curl of an elaborate hair-do in place, but
her face lacked tranquility. Her eyes were not on the page before her,
Penny noted, and as the two girls came in, she visibly started.
"Oh, it's you, Lorinda," she murmured in relief. "I declare, I am getting
jumpy! For a moment I thought it might be the police or that inquisitive
reporter--"
"Mother," interposed Lorinda hastily, "allow me to present Penny Parker,
from the _Riverview Star_."
Mrs. Rhett laid aside the book and stared at Penny, her face without
expression. Her voice was cold as she spoke.
"From the _Star_? Lorinda, I am _very_ sorry, but you know my feeling in
this matter."
"Penny really is very nice, Mother," Lorinda said, flashing her companion
an encouraging smile. "She didn't want to come out here and question us
about father, but the editor sent her. He wants a picture, too."
Mrs. Rhett arose to terminate an interview which had never really begun.
"I am sorry," she repeated with emphasis. "There are to be no pictures
taken."
"The editor especially wanted a photograph of your husband," Penny said.
"By publishing it in the paper, it may be easier to trace him."
"Miss Parker," replied Mrs. Rhett pleasantly but with no warmth, "if I
need assistance in locating my husband I shall request it. Meanwhile, I
do wish people would not concern themselves with our affairs."
"Mother, we may not be able to avoid publicity," Lorinda rushed on.
"There's likely to be a scandal. You see, $250,000 in negotiable bonds
disappeared from the bank."
For a moment, Mrs. Rhett did not speak. A dagger-type paper cutter lay on
the polished table beside her. Nervously her fingers closed upon it, and
unaware of the act, she jabbed the sharp point several times through a
lace doily centerpiece.
"Mother, you're ruining that!"
Mrs. Rhett dropped the paper cutter, which clattered on the table and
tumbled to the floor. Without picking it up, she moved restlessly to the
window, only to return.
"What were you saying about $250,000 in bonds, Lorinda?" she asked.
"Surely you didn't mean--"
"I only know what Penny told me. Soon after Father disappeared, Albert
Potts discovered the bonds also were missing."
"There can be no connection. Why, even the suggestion that my husband
would steal is ridiculous! It's preposterous!"
"No one has accused your husband," Penny said quietly. "Perhaps the bonds
will be found. Now that the police have stepped into the case, there
should be developments."
"The police," repeated Mrs. Rhett with a shiver. "Oh, dear, must we
suffer their interference!"
A telephone in an adjoining room rang and Lorinda started to answer it.
But her mother signalled to her.
"Let it go, Lorinda. It may be the police now, or another reporter. We'll
have nothing to say."
The telephone rang again. Footsteps were heard down a hallway and a
well-built, dark-skinned house-worker of middle age padded into the room.
She gazed with intent curiosity at Penny as she started toward the
library to answer the phone.
"No, let it ring, Celeste," Mrs. Rhett directed. "And if anyone comes to
the door asking for me, remember, I am not at home."
"Yes'm," mumbled the housekeeper. She bent to pick up the paper cutter
from the floor and as she did so an object which was tied about her neck
with a cord and kept hidden beneath her starched uniform, swung into
view.
Penny obtained only a fleeting glimpse of the curious article, for the
woman hastily thrust it into her dress front again. However, it appeared
to be a tiny packet of cloth.
Lorinda also had observed the object. Fixing the woman with a stern gaze
she said: "Celeste, you're wearing one of those heathenish _ouange_
charms again! You promised Mother you wouldn't!"
"This only keeps away bad sickness," the woman retorted, with a slight
accent which nevertheless made her words hard to understand. "A good
_ouange_. Now that my master is away, you are not to tell me what to do."
"Lorinda, don't plague her," Mrs. Rhett said wearily. "We have enough
trouble as it is. Let her wear the charm, or a dozen of them, if it gives
her any satisfaction."
Lorinda subsided into injured silence, while Celeste flashed a triumphant
smile.
Mrs. Rhett turned again to Penny. In a tone which could be interpreted
only as a final dismissal she said: "I am sorry, Miss Parker, that I
cannot help you. At present I do not know my husband's whereabouts or why
he went away. If you will excuse me now, I shall go to my room for a
rest."
With dignity she crossed the living room to a handsome circular stairway
with a railing of polished mahogany. Her head held proudly, she presented
a regal figure as she slowly climbed the steps.
But half way up, she suddenly halted, her body jerking taut. Uttering a
low cry which was almost a scream, she stared at an object lying on the
step in front of her.
"Why, Mother! What's wrong?" cried Lorinda.
With Penny and Celeste, she hastened to the staircase. Mrs. Rhett's face
was as colorless as if she had seen a ghost. Her lips trembled. Without
speaking, she pointed to the stair carpet.
There at her feet lay two burnt match ends tied together with a bit of
scarlet string.
"An _ouange_! An evil _ouange_!" whispered Celeste in horror.
Lorinda turned upon her angrily.
"Celeste, don't say such things! You know how nervous Mother is, and how
easily she becomes upset! If this is one of your charms--"
"No! No!" the woman protested. She stared fixedly at the object on the
floor. "This charm is not mine and it is not Anton's!"
"Then how did it get here?"
"I do not know. It is a sign of evil--a sign of death."
"Superstition!" exclaimed Lorinda.
Mrs. Rhett started on up the stairs, but as she would have stepped over
the burned matches, Celeste seized her by the skirt, pulling her
backwards. Frightened, the woman screamed and fell heavily against the
wall.
Celeste kept her from collapsing, all the while muttering words Penny
could not understand.
"Stop that gibberish!" Lorinda commanded.
Mrs. Rhett broke away from Celeste, and with an hysterical cry, moved
down the stairway and into the library. Though she closed the door behind
her, the girls could hear her sobs.
"Now see what you've done!" Lorinda accused Celeste.
The woman paid no attention to her. Bending over the match sticks, she
swayed back and forth as she muttered a strange chant. As Lorinda sought
to pick up the charm, Celeste struck her wrist a sharp blow.
"Fool!" she exclaimed. "Would you let your mother die a slow and painful
death? Do not touch this thing of evil until I have finished! If she had
stepped over it, nothing would have saved her."
Celeste kept on with her mutterings until at last she was through. "I
have done all I can," she said with a deep sigh. Gingerly she picked up
the match ends and, dropping them into the living room fireplace, saw
them consumed by flame.
"Now what is all this stupidity about Mother dying a slow death?" Lorinda
demanded sternly. "How did that thing get into this house, and what does
it mean?"
"How it came here I do not know," replied the woman. "Its meaning is
simple. In the jungles such symbols are sometimes placed on new graves,
that the departing spirit may kindle a little fire and warm its cold
hands in the other world."
"That's enough!" interrupted Lorinda. "Don't tell me any more. It's all
so silly."
"It is the truth."
"Well, true or false, Mother is not to be told such nonsense. She's upset
enough as it is."
"Your mother already knows," said the housekeeper. "That is why she
weeps. She fears that even now the spell is upon her."
"Celeste, you must be out of your mind!" Lorinda cried in exasperation.
"You never said such dreadful things or acted like this when Father was
here. What has taken possession of you?"
"I fear for the family. It bodes ill that my master should remain away.
If only the Zudi drum were out of the house--destroyed--"
Lorinda's patience had been overtaxed. "The Zudi drum!" she cried. "Oh,
Celeste, you're impossible! Go find Anton and if you must, talk such
nonsense to him! But not another word of it before us! Do you
understand?"
Celeste stood facing the two girls defiantly. Her eyes burned with an
angry fire, and Penny expected her to make a bitter retort to Lorinda.
Instead, she seemed to withdraw into herself, and with downcast head,
scurried toward the kitchen.
CHAPTER
6
_MATCHES AND STRING_
After Celeste had gone, Lorinda went quickly to the library. Speaking
soothingly to her mother, she urged her to go upstairs and lie down.
"That dreadful thing on the steps!" Mrs. Rhett exclaimed with a shudder.
"Celeste jerked me back to keep me from walking past it, didn't she? The
charm has an evil significance--perhaps that I shall have a long
lingering illness or die."
"You know better than that, Mother. It's all superstitious rot! What ever
gave you such an idea?"
"Why, I don't really know, Lorinda. I suppose Hamilton told me about the
charm long ago. When I saw it on the step it gave me a deep shock and I
seemed to realize that it had been put there for me alone to find.
Lorinda, what if it should be a native death charm?"
"Mother, I won't allow you to even think of such foolishness! You're just
upset because Father isn't here."
"Yes, that must be it," Mrs. Rhett declared with a heavy sigh. "I have
such a headache. I'll go to my room now and try to sleep."
Lorinda took her arm and helped her up the stairway. As they came to the
step where the burnt matches had been, Mrs. Rhett glanced down and
shivered. Then she laughed apologetically.
"It really is silly of me to let a little thing upset me so," she
declared. "I'll be myself again as soon as I have slept."
After helping her mother into bed, Lorinda returned to the living room
where Penny had waited.
"I do hope you won't put any of this in the paper," she began earnestly.
"People wouldn't understand."
"I'm afraid I don't myself," said Penny. "For instance, what did Celeste
mean when she spoke of the Zudi drum? And who is she anyhow?"
"Oh, I forgot to tell you! Celeste and her husband Anton, are a couple my
stepfather brought to this country after spending a year studying ancient
cult practices. Celeste befriended him, I believe, and helped him gain
information about the tribesmen. Anyway, Father took a fancy to her, and
persuaded the couple to come with him."
"That was before he married your mother?"
"Oh, yes. After the wedding, my stepfather was unwilling to let Celeste
and Anton go, so Mother agreed that they might work here. Anton is a
worthless servant. He allows the grounds to run down shamefully, and the
only time he ever really works is when someone stands over him!"
"And Celeste?"
"Oh, she is a hard worker, but I confess I don't understand her," Lorinda
replied. "We disliked each other on sight. In a way, I'm a little afraid
of her."
"Why?"
"I can't explain." Lorinda stirred restlessly. "She makes me feel uneasy
whenever I am near her--almost as if I were in the presence of Black
Magic."
At Penny's expression of astonishment, she amended hastily: "Oh, I don't
mean that exactly. Celeste is devoted to my stepfather and I'm sure only
means to be helpful. But the truth is, she's steeped in a mysterious and
not too wholesome past. Superstition is the breath of life to her."
"How did the match ends get on the stairway?"
"I wish I knew." Lorinda's forehead wrinkled with anxiety. "Celeste may
have told the truth when she said neither she nor Anton had anything to
do with it."
"Then how was the charm brought into the house?"
"My stepfather had enemies. Something tells me all this may have a
connection with the Zudi drum."
"Didn't Celeste suggest that idea to you? She hinted that the
drum--whatever it is--should be removed from the house."
"I can see myself getting rid of the Zudi drum! Why, it is my
stepfather's most prized trophy! He took it from a native tribe, and as
you might imagine, there was plenty of trouble!"
"Your stepfather didn't steal the drum?"
"Not exactly, though tribesmen may have regarded it that way. The drum
was used in ceremonials and was highly treasured by natives. Father tried
to buy it. When he couldn't, he left money and trinkets and carried off
the drum. Natives pursued him for more than a hundred miles, but he got
away."
"And your stepfather has the drum now?"
"Yes, we keep it in the library wall safe. Want to see it?"
"I'd love to, if it's not too much trouble."
"The truth is I want to check to be certain the drum is still here,"
Lorinda replied, leading the way into the adjoining room. "What Celeste
said made me uneasy."
"You think your stepfather may have removed the drum from the wall safe?"
"I can't imagine him doing that. However, his long absence is puzzling,
and finding the burnt match charm gives the whole situation a sinister
slant. It's barely possible some of those tribesmen followed him here,
hoping to recover the Zudi drum."
"Why, that seems fantastic!"
"Not if you understand tribal customs. From all my stepfather told me of
his experiences, I am sure members of the Zudi cult would stop at nothing
in trying to recover their ceremonial drum."
Penny inquired if Mr. Rhett ever had received threats against his life.
"Oh, dozens of them, but that was years ago. Since he married Mother,
I've not heard of any. But then, my stepfather was self-contained and
rather strange in many ways. If he had received threats, he might not
have told her."
Becoming more interested in the story minute by minute, Penny longed to
ask if Mr. and Mrs. Rhett ever had had serious disagreements. However,
the question was a difficult one, and she knew of no way to phrase it
without risking offense to Lorinda.
"I'd never admit it to Celeste," the Rhett girl went on, carefully
drawing heavy draperies across the arched doorway of the library and
closing another door which opened toward the stairs. "But seeing that
match and string _ouange_ gave me an unpleasant moment. I'm afraid my
stepfather's enemies may have picked up his trail. In that case--well,
the charm really could become an omen of evil."
"You're becoming morbid," laughed Penny. "What is there to fear in two
burnt matches tied with a string?"
"Nothing perhaps," replied Lorinda, though without firm conviction.
"Let's hope the Zudi drum is still here. I wish it had never been brought
into the house."
A large painting of a Dutch windmill hung low on the north library wall.
To Penny's surprise, Lorinda gave one of its long gold cords a jerk. The
picture swung back to disclose a cleverly hidden safe.
"Now I hope I haven't forgotten the combination," Lorinda murmured.
Thinking a moment, she whirled the dials with an expert touch. The safe
failed to open. With an exclamation of annoyance, she tried again. This
time there was a sharp little click and as she turned the handle, the
circular door swung back.
Lorinda thrust her arm deep into the opening. "It's here all right!" she
exclaimed.
From the safe she drew forth a bowl-shaped drum, perhaps eight inches in
diameter at the opening. An animal skin was stretched over the framework
and the sides were decorated with symbols.
"This probably is my stepfather's most valuable trophy," Lorinda
declared. "He treasures it above all else, because there is no other
exactly like it. But the drum never should have been taken from the
native tribe."
With her fingers, the girl tapped out a rhythm on the drum. The first
three notes were slow and heavy, with a series of triplets coming as a
light splutter at the end.
. . . ... . . . ...
. . . ... . . . ...
Penny, who had a keen sense of the ludicrous, began to sway to the jungle
rhythm. Lorinda drummed with more energy, and they both burst into
laughter.
But suddenly for no apparent reason, the mirth died from Lorinda's lips
and abruptly she ended the tapping.
Tossing the Zudi drum into the wall safe, she closed the heavy door and
spun the dials. With another swift movement, she swung the picture into
place.
Penny started to speak, but a significant glance from her companion
served as a warning to remain silent.
Lorinda darted across the room, and jerked aside the heavy brocade
curtains which framed the arching doorway. Crouching behind the
protective folds was the same dark-skinned servant who had talked to
Penny from the upstairs window!
CHAPTER
7
_WHISPERING WALLS_
"Anton!" Lorinda exclaimed in disapproval. "Why were you listening?"
The servant, a man of perhaps forty whose well-cut livery was worn in a
sloppy manner, stared at her almost insolently and without the least
embarrassment.
"Hear jungle drum," he said.
"I was showing the Zudi to Miss Parker," Lorinda replied stiffly.
"You keep him in wall safe?" inquired Anton.
Lorinda bit her lip with annoyance. She made no answer.
"Now that master gone, maybe much better you get rid of Zudi drum," Anton
advised.
"Why do you say that?"
"Zudi drum bring trouble. Anton tell master so when he bring it to this
country."
"And what do you suggest we do with the drum?"
"Anton take care of it," the servant offered eagerly. "Sink it deep in
river."
Lorinda smiled and shook her head. "The Zudi drum is my stepfather's most
cherished possession. He never would forgive me if I disposed of it while
he's gone."
"Maybe master never come back."
"Anton!" Lorinda reproved. "You're not to make such remarks!"
"Yes'm," the man muttered, but as he retreated from the library doorway
Penny fancied she saw him smile as if well pleased with himself.
After the servant had gone, Lorinda remarked in a whisper: "I wish he
hadn't seen me put the drum away. Somehow I've never trusted Anton
although he's always been devoted to my stepfather. Sometimes I feel that
he hates me."
"You say he didn't know until just now where the drum was kept?"
"No, he may have suspected, but he never was certain. Anton always has
been deeply interested in that drum, which as I understand, belonged to
another tribe--sworn enemies of Anton's group. He and Celeste helped my
stepfather obtain the drum, or rather they told him about its existence,
so I suppose it's natural that they remain interested."
"Anton seemed to believe the drum might bring trouble on the household."
"Just stupid superstition! He's never worried about it before." Lorinda
was thoughtful a moment, then added: "Of course, there is a possibility
members of the Zudi tribe may have traced my stepfather here and intend
to avenge themselves. But that hardly seems likely."
"What of the serpent drawing found in your stepfather's desk?" Penny
reminded her. "And the words, 'This Shall be the End?'"
"I'd not venture an opinion until I have seen the handwriting," Lorinda
returned.
As the girls were leaving the library, Penny heard an automobile rattle
up to the front of the mansion. Peering from a window, she saw Salt
Sommers climbing out of the car, camera and flashbulbs in his hand.
His arrival reminded her that she was here to get a story for the _Star_.
"The police aren't here?" Lorinda inquired tensely, moving to the window.
"No, it's one of our photographers. He'll need a picture of you and your
mother. It will only take a minute."
Lorinda, who had been growing more and more friendly, now became cold and
aloof.
"No picture," she said firmly. "I thought you understood. My mother and I
wish no publicity whatsoever."
"But--"
"I am afraid I must ask you to leave now," Lorinda said.
Deeply chagrined by her failure to obtain a picture, Penny followed the
Rhett girl to the front door.
"I'm sorry," Lorinda said, observing the proud tilt of Penny's chin.
"It's nothing personal. I really like you very much and would like to
help you--but I can't."
She opened the door and Penny went out. As the latch clicked behind her,
Salt, a tall young man with an aggressive walk, came toward the porch.
"Hi, Penny!" he greeted her casually. "Sorry to be late, but I got tied
up in a traffic jam at Fulton Bridge. Everything lined up for the
pictures?"
Penny told him the bad news.
"Now see here, they can't do that to us," Salt said, knocking on the door
of the old mansion. "I'll catch the dickens from DeWitt if I go back to
the office without a picture. How about the story?"
"Not much we can use. I talked to Mrs. Rhett and her daughter, but they
didn't give me any real information. Mr. Rhett's disappearance seems to
be as puzzling to them as anyone else."
"You can hook your story onto that angle then. But me--I've got to come
up with a picture." Salt knocked again on the door. "Say, are they all
deaf in there?"
"It's no use," Penny said. "I doubt if anyone will answer."
Salt pounded a few more times, and then was forced to admit that he was
only wasting his energy. "I might take a shot of the house," he said.
"Gloomy old morgue, isn't it?"
"That's about all you can do under the circumstances."
"A picture of a house," Salt groaned. "DeWitt'll go for it like a ton o'
brick. He'll probably throw a typewriter at me!"
"There's another place on the grounds that might be more interesting.
It's a sort of thatched roof cottage."
Salt immediately brightened. "Let's have a look-see," he proposed. "Maybe
we can round up a gardener or someone who'll pose."
Circling the house, Penny led the way down the graveled path. Salt took
such long strides it was hard to keep up with him. He'd had a tough day,
he told her. As if taking shots of society women at the Country Club
hadn't been bad enough, right on top of it he'd been sent to the airport
to catch a couple of prominent state officials. And then, before he'd had
a chance to get the pictures printed, DeWitt had ordered him to the
mansion.
"It's just one thing after another," he muttered. "I wish someone would
tell me why I don't quit newspaper photography."
"Because, no matter what you say, you like the excitement," Penny
supplied. "Remember those shots you took of the Governor that were
printed in the rotogravure section?"
"Sure," grinned Salt, his good humor returning. "I also remember the time
I was sent to a furniture store to take some pictures for the advertising
department, and without me knowing it, the store closed for the night. I
telephoned DeWitt I was locked in, and what did the old crow do? 'Just
sit down and wait,' he says. 'I'll get hold of a watchman, and we'll have
you right out of there.'"
Penny had heard the story several times but did not ruin the
photographer's pleasure by saying so.
"DeWitt didn't do a doggone thing!" Salt went on. "He just told everyone
in the office. I cooled my heels in that place until nine o'clock at
night! A fire broke out across town then, and DeWitt needed another
photographer, so finally he got me out!"
"Mr. DeWitt has a queer sense of humor," Penny acknowledged. "But he is a
good editor."
"Best there is," Salt agreed loyally. "But wow! He's going to tear me
apart limb from limb when I come in with nothing but a picture of a
thatched roof cottage!"
Penny was tempted to tell the photographer of Lorinda's strange action in
warning her not to approach the building. However, she felt sure he would
make light of the entire matter, so she remained silent.
"Is that the place?" Glimpsing the thatched roof cottage through the
trees, Salt paused to stare at it. "Looks like a jungle hut."
"A reproduction of one, I imagine," Penny said, "but it might be the
genuine product. Mr. Rhett, I've been told, was a world traveler and
brought home many relics and souvenirs of jungle and cult life."
They approached closer and Salt stopped again, this time to take two
shots.
"What's inside?" he asked. "Let's take a look."
Penny was curious to see the interior of the cottage despite Lorinda's
warning. However, as she trotted along at Salt's heels, she experienced a
strange, uneasy feeling, as if she were intruding upon forbidden ground.
The photographer was troubled by no such misgivings. Boldly he went to
the door and tried to thrust it open. It was locked and would not budge.
Thwarted, he examined the painted plumed serpent which decorated the
door.
"What's this thing?" he muttered.
Penny told him about the similar design which had been found on a paper
in Mr. Rhett's office.
"I'll take a close-up of the door then," Salt decided. "It will tie in
with your story, if you build up the mystery angle."
While the photographer took two pictures of the door, Penny wandered
around to the back of the tiny cottage. Only one small window provided
light. It had been cut in the wall high toward the sloping thatched roof,
and to peer into the dark interior, Penny had to stand on tiptoe.
Inside the room, a spot of light and flame drew her gaze. And at the same
instant, something jabbed her ribs from behind. With a startled cry, she
whirled around.
Then she laughed, for it was Salt who had come up quietly.
"You frightened me out of a year's growth!" she exclaimed. "Don't ever do
that again!"
"What do you see? Anything interesting?"
"It looks as if a lamp is burning inside. But the cottage must be
deserted!"
Salt peeped through the window. "It is a light--an oil flame!" he
exclaimed. "But there's no one in the room."
"Let's go," said Penny with a shiver. "It's getting late and we're due
back at the office."
"Not scared, are you?" the photographer teased.
"Of course not! But the door is locked, and we're not supposed to be
here."
Salt tested the window. Surprisingly, it raised easily.
"Here, I'll boost you in," he offered. "Up you go! Then you can unlock
the door and let me in."
"Oh, Salt, should we?"
"Why not?" he argued. "We were sent to get a story and pictures, weren't
we? Well, maybe what we're after is right here."
Only half convinced, Penny permitted herself to be boosted through the
window. She dropped lightly onto a wooden floor. The interior of the
cottage was gloomy, brightened only by a flickering flame which came from
a floating wick in a cocoanut shell filled with oil.
The atmosphere of the room, was sombre, almost terrifying. Taking no time
to look about, Penny scurried to unlock the door. She felt more at ease
as Salt sauntered in.
"Well, this is a queer layout," he observed. "A regular jungle hut."
The room was bare of furniture except for a low wooden table upon which
the cocoanut oil lamp burned. On one wall hung two black and red flags
with serpentine symbols sewn with metallic beads.
Across the room, above the deep fireplace, two crossed machetes dangled
from cords attached to the wall. Beneath the table was a small, crude
wooden chest, and lying upon it was a rattle made from pebbles placed in
a painted canister.
Salt shook the rattle several times. In the stillness of the room, the
clatter of the pebbles seemed almost deafening to Penny's sensitive ears.
"Oh, please!" she pleaded.
"Don't you like it?" he teased.
Penny shook her head. With fascinated gaze, she stared at the flickering
oil light.
"Do you suppose that thing burns all the time, Salt, or has someone just
been here?"
"It couldn't burn very long, unless someone keeps refilling the shell
with oil. Wonder what's in this chest?"
Salt stooped to raise the lid. As he did so, Penny, who stood close
beside him, suddenly clutched his arm. At his look of surprise, she
mumbled:
"I thought I heard something just then--like the rustling of silk!"
Salt listened a moment and chuckled. "That old imagination of yours is
working overtime, Penny! Relax!"
"But I did hear a rustling sound as if someone were moving along the
wall. Listen! There it is again!"
"No one could--" Salt began, and broke off. The queer look that came over
his face told Penny that he too had heard the sound.
Then whispering began, and seemed to issue from the very cottage walls.
At first the stunned pair could not distinguish a word. But gradually the
words whispered in a throaty voice became audible.
"Go!" the warning voice commanded. "All is forbidden!"
CHAPTER
8
_GHOST OF THE DARK CORNERS_
Salt was the first to recover from surprise at the whispered warning.
Convinced that someone must be crouching beneath the open cottage window,
he strode across the room to peer outside.
No one was in sight.
"The voice seemed to come from the wall itself!" Penny murmured. She
added jokingly, "Maybe this place has a ghost who is annoyed because we
climbed in through the window!"
"That whispered warning came from a very human ghost," the photographer
muttered. "We'll do a little annoying ourselves if we can find the bird!"
Salt jerked open the door. Penny followed him outside. Behind them, the
door swung shut again, but neither noticed.
Quickly they circled the cottage. No one was visible in the clearing nor
were leaves stirring in the bushes close by.
Salt, however, remained convinced the warning had been whispered by
someone standing close to the window who then had quickly retreated to
the sheltering shrubbery.
"The warning seemed to come from the very inside of the walls," Penny
repeated.
"How could it? The walls are only average thickness, so the only place a
person could hide would be outside. It's a cinch no one was in the room
with us!"
"Lorinda might have crept close to the cottage and whispered the
warning," Penny said thoughtfully, "but I doubt it very much."
"Lorinda?"
"Mrs. Rhett's daughter. She tried to prevent me investigating the cottage
before you arrived."
"Then she may have followed us here."
"The whispering voice didn't sound like hers," Penny insisted. "No, I
can't believe it was Lorinda."
Salt started back toward the cottage. "Whoever it was, let's not be
bluffed out, Penny. We'll see what's inside the wooden chest."
The cottage door was closed. To the photographer's annoyance, it refused
to open even when he thrust his weight against it.
"Now what?" he demanded. "Did you close the door when you came out,
Penny?"
"Not that I recall. The wind must have blown it shut."
"Wind? What wind? Look at the trees."
Scarcely a leaf was stirring.
"Then I'm afraid it must have been the jungle ghost," Penny said with a
nervous giggle. She glanced at her wrist watch. "Salt, it's getting late.
We must go."
"Not yet," retorted Salt grimly.
Again he circled the thatched cottage, with Penny tagging none too
happily at his heels. As they saw the window, they both paused.
"Why, it's closed now!" Penny gasped. "How did we leave it?"
"Open. The cottage door may have blown shut by itself and locked with a
spring catch, but this window is a horse of a different color. It
couldn't have closed by itself."
"Who could have lowered it? How was it done without our knowledge?"
Salt had no explanation. Lifting Penny so that she could peer inside the
room again, he asked her what she could see.
"Not a sign of anyone. But it's so dark--"
"See anything now?" Salt demanded impatiently as her voice trailed off.
"The cocoanut shell lamp! It's no longer burning!"
"Sure?"
"I couldn't see better if I wore bifocals! The room is dark."
"An experience like this shouldn't happen to a dog," muttered Salt.
"We'll find out what's behind it! Raise the window and in we go."