Penny understood the term. It signified the end of the story, and usually
when reporters had completed an article, they wrote the figure at the
bottom of the copy sheet.
Finishing the sentence she had started, she gave the last of her story to
the boy, and settling back, took a deep breath. DeWitt's chair was empty.
He had gone to the composing room, leaving his assistant to handle the
final copy that came through before the presses rolled.
Penny knew that the last page she had written probably would not make the
edition, but it did not matter. She had crammed all the important and
most interesting of her information into the first part of the story. In
any event, everything she had written would be used in the second
edition, the Three Star, which followed the Green Streak by two hours.
The final edition rolled from the presses later in the evening and was
known as the Blue Streak.
A well-built, good looking reporter with a pencil tucked behind one ear,
walked over to the desk.
"Big day, Penny?" he inquired affectionately.
Jerry Livingston, who rated as the _Star's_ best reporter, also stood at
the very top of Penny's long list of friends.
With Jerry, Penny always felt comfortable and at ease. Now she found
herself telling him about the Rhett case, omitting few details of what
had occurred in the thatched roof cottage. It took longer to relate all
the events than Penny realized, for, before she had finished the story,
the Green Streak edition was up, and a boy was distributing papers about
the office. Penny reached eagerly for one, noting instantly that her
article appeared in good position on the front page.
"Wonder who wrote the lead?" she asked. "You, Jerry?"
"Guilty," he laughed. "Any mistakes?"
Penny could find none. It was a perfect rewrite, based upon facts she had
telephoned to the office after leaving the bank. The story had a
professional swing she could not have achieved. Her own "add" went into
it very smoothly, however, so that few persons reading the account ever
would guess two reporters had contributed to the writing.
Mr. DeWitt had returned from the composing room, and with a relaxed air
settled down to enjoy a cigarette. Now that the edition was rolling off
the press, he no longer seemed nervous or irritable.
Presently he waved his hand toward Penny who went over to see what he
wanted.
"This Rhett story is likely to develop into something," he said. "I'll
want double coverage, so I'm assigning Jerry to help you. He'll handle
the police angle."
Penny nodded, secretly glad it was Jerry who had been directed to help
her instead of another reporter. Police work, particularly the checking
of routine reports, was vitally important but uninteresting. She was
pleased to escape it.
"You're to keep close tab on the Rhett mansion," Mr. DeWitt instructed.
"Report everything of consequence that happens there. By tomorrow things
may start popping."
The wire editor came swiftly to DeWitt's desk with a sheet of copy which
had just been torn from an Associated Press teletype.
"Here's something," he said. "A few hours ago police published for all
state banks the numbers of those bonds stolen from the First National
Bank. According to this Culver City dispatch, one of the bonds, in $1,000
denomination, turned up there yesterday."
"Yesterday?" Penny inquired.
"Sure, a Culver City bank took the bond in, not knowing it was one of the
missing ones. Late this afternoon, police sent out the numbers to every
bank in the state."
DeWitt read the news item carefully his eyes glinting with interest.
"Too bad Albert Potts didn't notify the police several days ago. Rhett
may be half way to the Mexican border by this time."
"Then you believe he walked off with the bonds?" asked Penny.
"Looks like it," shrugged the editor. "There's no other suspect. Or if
there is, the police aren't talking. More of those missing bonds may show
up. Jerry, get busy on the telephone!" he called to the reporter who sat
nearby.
"What's doing?" Jerry inquired, getting up and coming to the desk.
DeWitt thrust the dispatch into his hand. "Get hold of that Culver City
banker," he instructed. "Find out who turned the bond in, and if the
description fits Rhett."
Jerry was occupied at the telephone for nearly fifteen minutes. He
returned to report: "The bond was turned in by a woman, and the bank
clerk didn't make a record of her name."
"Any description?"
"No, the clerk only remembers that she was a middle-aged woman."
DeWitt sighed heavily and turned his attention to other matters. Penny
glanced at the clock. It was after six o'clock. Her father, she knew,
would have left the office nearly an hour earlier. She could catch a bus
home, but first a cup of coffee across the street might help to fortify
her until she could enjoy a home-cooked dinner by Mrs. Weems.
As she started away from the office, Jerry followed her.
"Going across the way for a bite to eat?" he asked. "Mind if I tag
along?"
"I wish you would," she replied eagerly. "We can talk about the Rhett
case."
"Oh, let's bury that until tomorrow. I'd rather talk about a dozen other
subjects--you, for instance."
"Me?"
"About that little curl behind your ear. Or the smudge of carbon on the
end of your nose!"
"Oh! Why didn't you tell me before?" Indignantly, Penny peered at her
reflection in a hand mirror and rubbed vigorously with her handkerchief.
Outside the _Star_ building, newsboys were shouting their wares. As Penny
and Jerry started to cross the street, one of the lads who had received a
job through the girl's influence, spied the pair.
Approaching, he flashed a paper in front of their eyes.
"See this bird who robbed the bank!" he exclaimed, pointing to the
picture of Hamilton Rhett.
"Tommy, I'm afraid your reading is inaccurate," Penny laughed. "The story
doesn't say Mr. Rhett robbed a bank."
"He must have done it," the newsboy insisted. "What's the reward for his
capture?"
"Mr. Rhett is not listed as a criminal," Penny explained. "There is no
reward."
Tommy's face dropped an inch.
"What's the matter, son?" asked Jerry. "Figuring on cashing in?"
"Well, sort of," the boy admitted. "I saw the fellow not an hour ago!"
"He wasn't robbing another bank?" Jerry teased.
"He was going into a house on Fulton Street. I didn't take down the
number 'cause when I saw him I didn't think nothin' of it. The Green
Streak wasn't out then, and I hadn't seen his picture in the paper."
"Fulton Street?" repeated Penny, frowning. "What section?"
"It was at the corner of Fulton and Cherry. He went into an old
three-story brick building with a sign: 'Rooms for rent--beds thirty
cents.'"
"Why, Tommy means Riverview's cheapest flop house!" Jerry exclaimed. "I
can't imagine a bank president luxuriating in a Fulton Street dump."
"All the same, I saw him. He wore old clothes, but it was the same bird."
"Tommy, you'll grow up to be a police detective some day," Jerry
chuckled. He started to pull Penny along, but she held back.
"Wait, Jerry, if there should be anything to it--"
Jerry smiled indulgently.
"Tell us more about the man you saw," Penny urged Tommy. "How was he
dressed?"
"He wore old clothes and a floppy black hat. And there was a scar on his
cheek."
"Jerry, Mr. Rhett had a similar scar!"
"And so have dozens of other people. Did I ever show you the one I got
when I was a kid? Another boy socked me with a bottle and--"
"Be serious, Jerry! Tommy, are you sure the man you saw looked like the
picture in the paper?"
"Cross my heart and hope to die. It was the spitten image! If you catch
him, will you give me a reward?"
"We'll split fifty-fifty," grinned Jerry, pulling Penny on by brute
force.
But across the street he met unexpected opposition. Stopping dead in her
tracks, Penny announced: "This is where we part company. I'm going to
investigate that place on Fulton Street!"
"Say, are you crazy? You can't go to a flop house alone!"
"That's exactly what I shall do, unless you come with me."
"It's a waste of time! You know these kids. Tommy read the story, and it
fired his imagination."
"Maybe so," admitted Penny, unmoved. "All the same, I'm going there to
make certain. How about you?"
Jerry looked longingly at the restaurant and drew a deep sigh.
"Okay," he gave in, "I learned years ago that it's no use arguing with a
gal. Lead on, but don't say I didn't warn you!"
CHAPTER
10
_CHEAP LODGING_
Street lights blinked on as Penny and Jerry reached the corner of Fulton
and Cherry Streets, in the poorer section of Riverview.
"That must be the building," the reporter said, indicating an old,
discolored brick building with a faded sign which proclaimed it a cheap
rooming house of the type patronized by those who could afford only a few
cents for a bed.
They crossed the street. Penny's courage faltered as she saw that they
must climb a long, dark stairway. Dust was very thick; the air inside was
stuffy.
"You still can change your mind, you know," said Jerry. "Why not wait
outside, while I go up?"
Penny shook her head.
Climbing the stairs, they entered an open space from which branched
narrow corridors. The landing was even dirtier and darker than the
stairway, with a huge pasteboard carton standing in a corner filled with
empty bottles.
In a little office room, behind a cage window, sat a plump middle-aged
woman with reddish frizzled hair. She eyed the pair suspiciously. To her
experienced eye, their manner and clothing immediately stamped them as
"outsiders," perhaps investigators. She smiled ingratiatingly at Jerry.
"We're looking for a man," he said briefly.
"You're from the police, ain't you?" she demanded. "We got nothin' to
hide. My husband and me run a respectable place for poor workin' men."
"May we see your room register?"
"Sure. Ever since that last copper was here I been keepin' it just like
he told me I had to do."
Through the wooden slats of the cage, the woman thrust a grimy notebook
which had been ruled off to provide spaces for names, addresses and date
of registry.
Rapidly Jerry scanned the entries for several days back. No one by the
name of Rhett had registered, but neither he nor Penny had expected the
banker would be stupid enough to use his real name, if indeed he had come
to such a place.
As Penny glanced about the dingy, smoke-stained room, it seemed
impossible to her that Mr. Rhett, a man of culture and wealth, would
voluntarily seek such quarters.
"The man we're looking for is middle-aged," Penny explained. "He wore
glasses and may have been well dressed. We were told he was seen here
earlier tonight."
"They all look alike to me," the woman said wearily. "Most of my rooms
are empty now. We don't fill up until the coppers start runnin' loiterers
off Cherry Street around ten o'clock. It's still warm enough outside so's
a lot o' the cheap skates can sleep out on the river bank."
"Isn't anyone here?" inquired Jerry.
"Maybe one or two men. A fella name of Ben Smith came in about an hour or
two ago. He signed up for one of the flops. Come to think of it, maybe
he's the one you're after. He acted nervous like and I figured maybe he
was dodgin' the police. Another thing, he acted like he was used to
havin' money."
"Did he have much on him?"
"I couldn't see, but he paid me with a five dollar bill. And why would a
fella with even that much dough sleep in a flop if he wasn't tryin' to
dodge the cops?"
"Suppose you describe the man."
"He was about average height and middle-aged. No glasses, though. He
couldn't have been down and out very long, because he still wore a ring."
"Describe it, please," requested Penny.
"It was a gold ring with a picture of a snake on it--some sort of order
probably."
"The plumed serpent!" exclaimed Penny. "Jerry, perhaps Tommy was right!"
"Take us to this man," the reporter directed the landlady.
"How do I know if he's still here? The men come and go and so long as
they're paid up, I don't pay no attention. What's he done anyhow?"
"Nothing very serious," Jerry replied. "Anyway, we're not from the police
station."
The woman's pretended friendliness vanished. "Then what you pryin' around
here for?" she demanded. "Who are you anyhow?"
"We're newspaper reporters."
"I don't want my name in the paper, and we don't want nothing written
about this place!"
"Take it easy," Jerry advised. "Your name won't be in the paper. We're
only looking for a man. Now lead us to him."
"When people take rooms or a bed in this place they got a right to
privacy," the woman argued unpleasantly. "It ain't none o' my business
what folks have done that come here."
"We want to talk to this man who registered as Smith. Either take us to
him, or we'll have to call in the police. I'm a personal friend of Joe
Grabey, the patrolman on this beat."
"I was only kiddin'," the woman said hastily. "You can talk to him if
he's here."
Locking the office door behind her, the woman led the pair down a narrow
corridor with rooms on either side. A door stood open. Penny caught a
glimpse of a cell-like chamber, furnished only with a sagging bed, soiled
blankets, and a rickety dresser. The dingy walls were lined with pegs.
"Those nails are for hanging up clothes, and symbolize a man's rise in
the world," Jerry pointed out to her. "Men who patronize the flops
usually have only the suit on their backs. But when they make a little
money and get two suits, they need a safe place to keep the extra clothes
during the day. So they rent one of these tiny rooms which can be
locked."
Leading the way down a dark hall to the very end, the landlady opened a
door. This room with paper-thin walls, sheltered perhaps twenty men, each
cot jammed close to its neighbor. The air was disagreeable with the odor
of strong disinfectant which had been used on the bare wood floor.
The room now was deserted save for a man in baggy black trousers who sat
on one of the cots, reading a comic magazine. Other beds were made up,
but empty.
"Is that man Ben Smith?" Penny asked in disappointment, for he bore not
the slightest resemblance to the picture of Mr. Rhett.
"No, I don't know what became of Smith, if he ain't here," the landlady
answered. She called to the man on the cot. "Jake, seen anyone in here
during the last hour?"
He shook his head, staring curiously at the intruders.
To Jerry the woman said: "You'll have to come back later if you want to
see Smith. Maybe after ten o'clock."
Jerry scribbled his name and telephone number on a sheet of notebook
paper.
"If he does show up, will you telephone me?" he requested.
"Oh, sure," the woman replied, her careless tone making it clear she
would never put herself to so much trouble.
Jerry gave her a five dollar bill. "This should make it worth your
while," he said. "You'll earn another five if we find the man."
"I'll call you the minute he comes in," the woman promised with more
enthusiasm.
Penny drew a deep breath as she and Jerry left the building, stepping out
into the cool, sweet air of the street.
"I still doubt we're trailing the right man," remarked Jerry. "Why would
Hamilton Rhett hole in at a place like this?"
"It does seem out of the picture. However, we know he wore a serpent ring
at the time of his disappearance."
"The ring may not be the same. Also, if Rhett had been the victim of
violence, a bum might have stolen it from him."
"I never thought of that. Should we report what we've learned to the
police?"
"Not yet," advised Jerry. "Our clue is pretty flimsy. Let's watch and
wait. The landlady may call us, and in any case I'll keep my eye on this
place."
It now was so late that Penny decided to return home immediately. Bidding
Jerry goodbye at the next corner, she boarded a bus and presently was
slipping quietly into her own home.
If she had hoped to elude the watchful eye of Mrs. Maud Weems, the
housekeeper, she was doomed to disappointment.
The plump, kindly lady who had looked after Penny since the death of Mrs.
Parker many years before, had finished the dishes and was sweeping the
kitchen. Fixing the girl with a stern eye, she observed:
"You're later than ever tonight, Penny. When your father came home nearly
two hours ago, he had no idea what had become of you."
"Then Dad isn't keeping tab on his employes," chuckled Penny. "I've been
working on a special story for the _Star_."
"I've heard that one before," sighed the housekeeper. "In fact, I suspect
you charge a great many of your escapades to your work! If I had my way
you would give it up."
"Oh, Mrs. Weems, don't be cross," Penny pleaded, giving her a squeeze.
"Newspaper work is wonderful! Next time I'll telephone you if I know I'll
be late."
"Have you had anything to eat?" the housekeeper asked in a softened tone.
"Dinner was over an hour ago."
"I'll dig up something for myself from the refrigerator. Where's Dad?"
Even as Penny asked the question, Anthony Parker, a tall, lean man with
graying hair, came to the arched doorway of the kitchen. "Now what's all
this?" he inquired. "Penny off the reservation again?"
Mrs. Weems made no reply, knowing only too well that in almost any
argument the publisher would support his daughter. Many times, and
without success, she had told him she disapproved of his system of
granting Penny almost unrestricted freedom.
No one doubted that Mr. Parker was an over-indulgent father, but the
publisher had raised his daughter according to a strict code. He knew
that she had writing talent and a flair for tracking down a story. Only
because she had demonstrated that she could look after herself and think
clearly in an emergency, did he allow her to make most of her own
decisions.
Now, Penny eagerly poured out an account of her experiences in trying to
get the Rhett story for the _Star_. Mr. Parker, who had read most of it
in the Green Streak edition, listened attentively, offering little
comment other than to say:
"I met Rhett once at a Chamber of Commerce luncheon. Not a bad fellow."
"What was he like?" Penny inquired eagerly.
"Quiet and rather bored by the meeting. I don't recall that he said a
dozen words during the luncheon."
"Did he look like a man who would walk off with $250,000 in bonds?"
"Not that I noticed," commented the publisher dryly. "But then, nobody
can judge character by external appearances."
Hat in hand, Mr. Parker moved toward the kitchen exit.
"Are you going back to the _Star_ office?" his daughter asked with alert
interest.
"No." Mr. Parker edged nearer the door, but Penny blocked the way.
"Then where are you going, Dad? You're holding out!"
"Must I give you a schedule of my life?"
"You're slipping off somewhere, and you don't want me to go!"
"If you must know, I thought I would drop in at the Gay Nineties, a new
night club that is opening tonight. The proprietor is one of our best
advertisers and he extended a special invitation to attend."
"Fine!" chuckled Penny. "I'll be with you in five minutes. Just give me
time to wash my face and pull the snarls out of my hair."
"I was afraid of it," groaned the publisher. "Haven't you any school work
to do?"
"Nary a bit. Besides, it's Saturday night and I haven't had any dinner.
You can buy me a great big steak with all the trimmings. And perhaps you
will dance with me."
Mr. Parker gazed helplessly at Mrs. Weems, but the housekeeper did not
come to his rescue. Her shrug indicated that the problem was entirely
his.
"Well, all right," he gave in. "But I'll warn you now, this is no party.
We'll drop in for an hour or so, then come straight home."
Penny was off like a shot, bounding upstairs to her room. There was no
time to change her dress, but she freshened up, and was ready by the time
her father had backed the car from the garage.
The Gay Nineties on Euclid Avenue twinkled with lights, and many persons
in evening dress were entering beneath the bright red street canopy.
"Looks like all the socialites of the city are here," Penny observed.
"Maybe I should have worn my pearls."
"Or washed behind your ears," Mr. Parker chuckled, escorting her inside.
Penny and her father were given one of the best tables in the night club.
Studying the menu, the girl was a trifle alarmed to note the prices.
"I'm dreadfully hungry too," she declared. "Dad, I hope you're not
intending to charge this outing against my allowance."
"I know I'd have no chance to collect," he teased. "Just relax and select
whatever you want. I can stand it this time."
After the order had been given, Penny glanced about the dimly lighted
room. The floor show had not yet started. Everywhere she saw well-to-do
and prominent persons who had turned out for the gala opening.
Suddenly her attention centered upon a couple who had just entered the
door. The woman wore an obviously new white evening gown, and behind her
came a short, stubby little man.
"Dad!" she whispered, giving him a kick with the toe of her slipper. "See
that man who just came in?"
"Where?" he asked, turning his head.
"He's with the middle-aged woman in white."
"Oh, yes, who are they?" Mr. Parker commented, only mildly interested.
"No one I know."
"The man is Albert Potts, secretary to Mr. Rhett at the First National
Bank," Penny replied impressively. "How do you suppose he can afford to
come to such an expensive night club? If you ask me, Dad, it looks odd!"
CHAPTER
11
_THE WOODEN DOLL_
Mr. Parker studied the bank secretary and his wife with more interest.
But he said mildly:
"I see nothing especially significant in Potts coming here, Penny. The
club is public."
"It's expensive too. The cover charge is two dollars, and you can't touch
a dinner for less than another four! How can Potts afford to pay such
prices?"
"He may earn a good salary working for Mr. Rhett--probably does. Anyway,
folks don't always spend their money wisely, even if they have very
little of it."
Potts and his wife swept past the Parker table without noticing Penny or
her father. A trifle self-consciously, as if unaccustomed to appearing in
such places, they sat down and studied the menu with concentrated
interest.
Penny tried but could not keep her eyes from the pair.
"Dad, I wonder if Potts has any more information about Mr. Rhett's
disappearance," she presently remarked. "I have a notion to go over there
and ask him."
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 the _Star_ office. 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.
CHAPTER
12
_SUPERSTITION_
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 will_ if 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 deadly _basiko_
and _dayama_ incantations 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 Anton."
"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 he
_believes that he is doomed_."
"Then the antidote is simple. Just don't put any stock in such rot."
"Easily said, but the victim _always 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 Anton 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 Anton 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."