changed her mind, the monk took her firmly by the arm.
"Place your hands on either side of the crystal ball," he directed. "Gaze
deep into the glass. Deep--deep. And now my little one, what do you see?"
CHAPTER
6
_CREAKING WOOD_
As Penny peered down into the highly polished surface of the crystal
clear glass, a multitude of dancing points of light drew and held her
attention.
"Gaze deep--deeper," intoned the monk. "Do you not see a picture
forming?"
"The glass has become cloudy."
"Ah, yes. In a moment it will clear. Now what do you see?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
Father Benedict tapped the toe of his slipper impatiently. "You are
resisting the glass," he muttered. "You do not believe."
Penny continued to stare fixedly into the crystal ball. "It's no use,"
she said finally, pulling her eyes away. "Guess I haven't enough of the
witch in me!"
She stepped back from the dragon standard on which the globe stood, and
for a minute was stone blind.
"I can't see a thing!" she gasped in alarm.
"The optic nerve is paralyzed," said the monk, steadying her as she
swayed slightly. "Vision will be normal in a moment."
"I'm beginning to distinguish objects now," Penny admitted, reassured.
The monk released her arm. Seating himself before the crystal globe, he
placed his hands on the polished surface.
"Now shall I try?" he suggested. "What would you like to know about the
future?"
"You might find Mrs. Hawthorne for me," the investigator said in jest.
In the darkened room, Father Benedict's hooded face looked grotesque as
light from the tall tapers flickered upon his angular jaw bones.
The moment was impressive. A tomb-like silence had fallen upon the three,
and the only sound was the crackle of the fire.
Then, quite suddenly, Penny was certain she heard another noise. Though
the occasion should not have been one for alarm, she felt her skin
prickle. A tiny chill caused her to shiver.
Or was it a chill? Against her cheek she felt a breath of icy wind.
Somewhere beyond the room a door had opened. Unmistakably, she heard the
creak of old wood.
Penny's startled gaze roved to Mr. Ayling. Oblivious to all else, the
investigator was watching Father Benedict closely.
Every sense now alert, the girl listened intently. Had someone stepped on
a loose board as he crept along the passageway? Or had she merely heard
the old house groaning to itself?
The creaking sound was not repeated.
Trying to throw off the pall which had fallen upon her, Penny centered
her full attention upon the monk. As one hypnotized by the glass into
which he peered, he mumbled words difficult to understand.
"Now the ball is clearing," he muttered. "What is this? I see a resort
city on the sea coast--the rush and roar of waves. Ah, a beach! On the
sand are two bathers--one a girl of perhaps sixteen or seventeen with
dark hair. She wears a green bathing suit. Upon her third finger is a
black cameo ring."
A startled look came upon Mr. Ayling's face, but he made no comment.
"Her companion is an elderly woman," continued the monk as if speaking in
a trance. "Over her shoulders is flung a dark blue beach cape. The
picture is fading now--I am losing the vision."
Penny's attention, wandering again, was drawn as if by a powerful magnet
to the curtains covering the exit.
In fascination, she watched. An inch at a time, the door moved outward.
Then a hand appeared between the black velvet draperies, cautiously
pulling them apart.
Penny wondered if her eyes were playing tricks upon her. She felt an
overpowering impulse to laugh or call out. Yet her throat was dry and
tight.
The scene seemed fantastic. It couldn't be real, she told herself. Yet
those curtains steadily were moving farther apart.
An arm came into view, then the side of a human figure. Last of all, a
face, ghostly pale against the dark background, slowly emerged.
For one fleeting instant Penny saw a girl only a little older than
herself, standing half wrapped in the folds of the velvet curtain. Their
eyes met.
In that moment, through Penny's brain flashed the message that the one
who crouched in the doorway was the same girl she and Louise had picked
up on the road only the previous night.
"But that's crazy!" she thought. "It couldn't be the same person! I must
be dreaming!"
The one behind the curtain had raised a finger to her lips as if
commanding silence. Then the draperies were pulled together with a jerk
and the figure was gone.
Another cold breath of air swept through the room, causing candles on
either side of the crystal ball to flicker. Again Penny heard the soft
_creak_, _creak_ of wood as footsteps retreated.
She tried to speak, but the words stuck in her throat. Had her
imagination played tricks upon her?
Slowly she turned her eyes upon Father Benedict, whose back had been
toward the curtained door.
"Another picture is forming in the crystal ball," he muttered. "I see a
man walking through a lonely wood. But what is this? Evil persons lie in
wait behind the tall pine trees. Now they are waylaying him!
"They fall upon him and beat him with their cudgels. Woe is me! They
leave him lying on the ground. The man is dying--dead. Oh, evil, evil! I
can read no more in the glass today!"
Arising quickly, and brushing a hand over his glazed eyes, Father
Benedict leaned for a moment against the damp plaster wall.
"Excuse me, please," he apologized. "What I saw was most unnerving."
The monk poured himself a drink of water and lighted a lamp on the center
table.
"Now I can see again," he said in a more natural tone. "A reading always
is an exhausting experience."
"Your demonstration was most impressive," said Mr. Ayling. "How would you
interpret your vision of Mrs. Hawthorne?"
"I should say the woman and her granddaughter at this very moment are
enjoying a pleasant vacation in a sunny climate. California perhaps, or
Florida."
"Mrs. Hawthorne was in Florida, but she bought a ticket to Riverview."
"Obviously, she never arrived here," replied the monk. "You see, the
crystal glass never lies."
"Then your advice would be to resume my search in Florida?" the
investigator asked.
"I do not presume to advise you." From a cabinet, Father Benedict removed
a black cloth which he used to polish away an imaginary speck on the
crystal globe. Then he covered the standard with a cloth hood and added
impressively: "However, I consider it my duty to warn you of danger."
"Warn me?" exclaimed Mr. Ayling. "Of what danger?"
"My second vision was most disturbing," Father Benedict said gravely. "As
I interpret it, great harm--perhaps death, will pursue the man who walks
alone in the woods, unless he alters his present course. You came to
Riverview for a definite purpose, Mr. Ayling?"
"Why, yes, to find Mrs. Hawthorne."
"Mr. Ayling, for your own well being, you must abandon the search."
"Why?"
"Because," said the monk very low, "the vision was sent to me that you
may be saved from disaster. The man attacked in the woods was yourself,
Mr. Ayling!"
CHAPTER
7
_A WARNING_
If Father Benedict's words disturbed the investigator, he gave no sign.
Smiling, he said:
"I fear I am not a firm believer in the art of crystal gazing--all
respect to your remarkable talent."
The monk frowned as he carefully laid another log on the dying fire. "You
will be unwise to disregard the warning," he said. "Most unwise."
"Warning?"
"I should interpret the picture as such, dear Mr. Ayling. Apparently, if
you pursue your present course, you are certain to meet misfortune."
"To what 'present course' do you refer?"
"That I would not know," replied the monk coldly. "Now may I thank you
for coming to our humble abode and bid you good afternoon? I have a
formal meeting soon with members of my little family of believers and
must nap for a few minutes. You will excuse me?"
"We were just leaving," said Penny. "I'm really deeply interested in your
society here. May I come sometime soon to watch a ceremony?"
The monk gazed at her sharply but answered in a polite voice:
"Later, when we are better organized and have our house in order, we
shall be most happy to have you."
On the way out of the building, through the chilly cloister and gloomy
hall, Penny looked carefully about for the girl who so stealthily had
opened the door of the monk's study.
She saw no one. Mr. Ayling and Father Benedict, she was certain, were
unaware of the incident which had so startled her.
"It wasn't imagination," she thought. "I did see the door open. But it
may not have been that girl Louise and I met last night. Probably it was
a member of Mr. Highland's cult."
Deeply puzzled, Penny decided that if an opportunity presented itself,
she would revisit the monastery another day.
At the front door of the building, Father Benedict turned to bid his
guests goodbye. Before he could retreat, a loud commotion was heard near
the gatehouse.
The monk listened intently and with evident annoyance. "My! My! What
now?" he sighed. "Are we to have no peace and quiet within our walls?"
Near the front gate, Winkey could be seen arguing with a stout,
middle-aged man in a racoon coat who carried an easel and a palette under
his arm.
"My orders are to keep folks out o' here!" Winkey shouted. "I don't care
who you are! Ye ain't settin' foot inside here, unless the boss says so!
Now get out!"
"Try to put me out!" the visitor challenged.
"Okay, I will!" retorted the hunchback.
He would have seized the visitor by the arm, had not Father Benedict
called to him from the doorway: "Winkey!"
"Yes, Father," the hunchback mumbled.
"Now tell me what is wrong," the cult leader bade as he went down to the
gate, followed by Penny and Mr. Ayling. "Who is this gentleman?"
"My name is Vernon Eckenrod," the visitor introduced himself. "I'm an
artist. I live down the road a quarter of a mile."
"He wants to come in and paint a picture," interposed Winkey. "I told him
nothin' doing."
"Your man doesn't understand," said Mr. Eckenrod, glaring at the
hunchback. "I am doing a series of pictures of the monastery for a
national magazine. The sketches are finished and now I'm starting to
paint."
"You mean you wish to do exterior scenes?"
"Exterior and also interior. I want to do the arch to the chapter house
today, and if I have time, either the stone-hooded chimneys or the window
of the guest hall."
"You show remarkable familiarity with the monastery."
"I've been coming here for more than a year," the artist said, shifting
his easel to a more comfortable position. "This building is one of the
oldest in the state. See, I have a key." He held it before the startled
gaze of the monk.
"Indeed!" Father Benedict's voice became less friendly. "And may I
inquire how you came into possession of a key to my property?"
"Your property?"
"Certainly, I have rented these premises from the owner, with an option
to buy."
"I've been trying to buy the place myself," the artist said, "but
couldn't pay the amount asked. I'd like to restore the buildings and make
it into a real show place."
"How did you obtain a key?" the monk reminded him.
"Oh, the owner gave me one. He lets me paint here whenever I like."
"The monastery now is exclusively mine," said Father Benedict. "Kindly
turn the key over to me!"
"Surely," agreed Mr. Eckenrod, giving it up. "But you won't mind if I
come here to finish my paintings? I'm under contract to complete the work
by the fifteenth of the month."
Father Benedict secreted the key in the folds of his robe. "I appreciate
your position," he said. "Nevertheless, we cannot have strangers
intruding upon our privacy."
"Why, everyone around here knows me! Ask anyone about my character and
work!"
"I do not question your character, my good man. But I must request you
not to come here again."
"Now see here!" the artist exclaimed, losing his temper again. "You don't
get the idea! My pictures are half done. If I don't complete the order,
I'll stand to lose months of work."
"Complete them from the sketches."
"I can't do that--the color and feeling would be lost."
Father Benedict turned as if to leave. "I am sorry," he said firmly.
"Listen--" Mr. Eckenrod began furiously.
The monk coldly walked away, entering the house.
"You heard him!" cried Winkey, triumphantly. "Now git going and don't
come back!"
"All right, I'll go," the artist retorted. "But I'll be here again. You
can't get away with this even if you have rented the property!"
Scarcely aware of Penny and Mr. Ayling, who followed him to the gate, Mr.
Eckenrod stomped off with easel and palette.
"They can't get away with it!" he stormed, addressing no one in
particular. "I'll come back here with the sheriff!"
"I'm afraid Father Benedict is within his rights," remarked Mr. Ayling.
"He's taken over the property."
"What's that?" the artist became aware of his presence. "Oh yes," he
admitted grudgingly, "legally he is within his rights, I suppose. But
what of justice?"
"It would seem only decent of him to allow you to complete your
paintings."
"I've been coming to the monastery for months, off and on," the artist
revealed in an aggrieved tone. "Always figured I'd buy the place. The
owner, Peter Holden, picked it up at a foreclosure sale for a mere
nothing. He'd have sold to me too, if this fellow hadn't come along. Who
is he, anyhow?"
"I wonder myself," said Mr. Ayling.
"His gateman looks like a thug!"
"I'm afraid your unfortunate encounter with Winkey prejudiced you,"
smiled the investigator. "After all, the man apparently was acting under
orders."
"I didn't like that monk either!" the artist scowled. "He acted as
religious as my Aunt Sara!"
"His real name is Jay Highland," Penny contributed. "He's a crystal
gazer."
"Humph! A fine calling! If the authorities are smart, they'll look into
his business here!"
The trio now had reached the roadside where Penny's car was parked.
Politely, she offered to give the artist a lift to his home.
"Thanks, but I'll walk," he declined the offer. "I live only a short
distance. I'll just cut through the fields."
His dark eyes still snapping like firebrands, the artist strode off
through the snow.
"Quite a character!" remarked Mr. Ayling, once he and Penny were in the
car. "An eccentric!"
"I've heard Mr. Eckenrod really is a fine artist," Penny replied. "Too
bad Father Benedict wouldn't let him complete his paintings. By the way,
what did you think of him?"
"Well, if I'm any judge of character, he'll soon be back to make more
trouble."
"No, I mean Father Benedict."
"He seemed pleasant enough," Mr. Ayling said slowly. "However, I can't
say I went for the crystal ball demonstration."
"Oh, anyone could tell that was the bunk!"
"Frankly, it gave me quite a jolt."
"Oh, you mean the monk's warning!"
"Not that," replied Mr. Ayling. "His description of Mrs. Hawthorne and
her daughter. Of course, I've never seen either of them, but the picture
he conjured up seemed to fit them."
"Oh, he probably made it up." Penny started the car which rolled with
creaking tires over the hilly, snow-packed road toward the city. "You
described Mrs. Hawthorne to him earlier, you know."
"So I did. Except for one small detail, the reading would not have
impressed me."
"And that detail?"
"In describing the girl on the beach, Father Benedict said she was
wearing a black cameo ring."
"So he did! You certainly never mentioned that to him!"
"It rather jarred me," admitted Mr. Ayling. "Because, when Rhoda
Hawthorne last was seen, she was wearing just such a cameo ring!"
CHAPTER
8
_INTO THE CREVASSE_
Enroute to Riverview, Penny and Mr. Ayling discussed all phases of their
strange interview with Father Benedict.
"The man may be all right," the investigator said. "Nevertheless, as a
matter of routine I'll check on him. Where was he before he came to
Riverview?"
"I never heard."
"And who are the members of his mysterious cult? Riverview people?"
"Not so far as I know. The only persons I've seen on the premises are
Winkey, the one they call Julia, and a girl."
"A girl? Who is she?"
"I don't know. She peeped from behind a door while Father Benedict was
giving the crystal ball reading. I started to speak and she motioned me
to keep quiet. Then she slipped away."
"Odd."
"Yes, it was. For just a minute I thought she might be a girl I picked up
on the road the other night in my car. The room was shadowy though, so I
got no clear impression of her face."
"I'd like to meet the girl--also the other members of the cult."
"So would I! Why not visit there again soon?"
"We might try it tomorrow, say about this same time," proposed Mr.
Ayling. "I don't plan to remain in Riverview longer than another
twenty-four hours unless I obtain a clue to Mrs. Hawthorne's
whereabouts."
"Maybe Winkey won't let us in," commented Penny dubiously.
"We'll worry about that when the time comes. Perhaps if he makes trouble,
we can find ways to persuade him."
"Shall I pick you up at your hotel?" Penny offered.
"All right," the investigator agreed. "Meanwhile, I'll wire my office for
photographs of Mrs. Hawthorne and her granddaughter which can be
published in your father's paper. Also, I'll ask our company to check on
Father Benedict's past. He may be operating a quick money racket here."
"Then you do distrust him!"
"Not exactly, but I've learned from past experience it pays to overlook
nothing. Father Benedict is an eccentric. He may be all right and
probably is. All the same, it will be interesting to learn more about
him."
A little later, after agreeing to meet the next afternoon at two o'clock,
Penny dropped Mr. Ayling at his hotel. In a high state of excitement, she
then drove on home to report the day's adventure to Mrs. Weems and her
father.
"Mr. Ayling's awfully nice and smart too!" she declared at the dinner
table. "Together we'll find Mrs. Hawthorne and solve the mystery of the
monastery!"
"What mystery?" teased her father.
"I don't know yet," Penny admitted with a chuckle. "But give me time!
I'll find one! I can feel it bubbling in the air!"
Mrs. Weems, who came into the dining room with a platter of roast beef,
observed: "If you take my advice, you'll stay away from that place!"
"Oh, Mrs. Weems!"
"You only invite trouble by going there," the housekeeper said severely.
"Furthermore, it will distract you from your school work."
"School teachers' convention this week!" Penny reminded her. "We're off
tomorrow and next day too! Don't worry about anything happening to me at
the monastery, Mrs. Weems. Mr. Ayling makes a dandy chaperon."
"If you're going with him, I suppose I can't protest," the housekeeper
gave in. "Mind, you're home before dark."
"I'll do my best," Penny grinned. "No rash promises though!"
The next afternoon, sharp at two o'clock, she drove to the front
entranceway of the Riverview Hotel. Mr. Ayling was nowhere to be seen.
After waiting ten minutes, she parked and went inside to inquire at the
desk.
"Mr. Ayling has room 416," the clerk told her. "Doubt whether you'll find
him in just now. He left here late last night and hasn't been back."
"That's queer," thought Penny. Aloud she asked if the investigator had
left any message for her.
"Nothing," replied the clerk.
"He didn't say where he was going?"
"No, but he evidently intends to be back. His luggage is still here, and
he hasn't paid his bill."
To satisfy herself, Penny telephoned Room 416. No one answered.
"Wonder if he could have thought he was to meet me at the monastery?" she
mused. "Guess I may as well drive out there."
The sunshine was strong and the day slightly warm. Penny, who had worn
heavy skiing clothes, shed her coat before she reached the monastery.
Pulling up at the barrier gate, she glanced hopefully about. Mr. Ayling
was nowhere to be seen. If he had arrived ahead of her, undoubtedly he
was inside the building.
As Penny hesitated, wondering what to do, Winkey's ugly face appeared
behind the iron spokes of the gate.
"You again!" he observed with a scowl.
"Yes, I'm looking for a friend of mine, Mr. Ayling, who was here
yesterday."
"You think we got him hid somewheres?" the gateman asked insolently.
"I thought he might have come here again."
"Well, he didn't. And Father Benedict ain't here either. So you can't
come in."
Though annoyed by the hunchback's curt manners, Penny held her temper in
check.
"I very much wanted to talk to your master," she said. "I may ask him to
allow me to join the cult."
The hunchback's eyes opened wide, and, as was his habit, he then blinked
rapidly.
"You ain't here just to snoop around?" he asked with distrust.
"Such an idea!" Penny hoped that her laughter sounded convincing.
"If ye want to join the cult, you can talk to Father Benedict later," the
hunchback said grudgingly. "But unless you got something to contribute,
it's no use trying to get in."
"Money you mean?"
"Either cash on the line or jewels."
"And what becomes of the money?"
"It goes for charity." Winkey fast was losing patience. "Now cut out the
questions!" he said crossly. "If you want to join the society, talk to
the boss."
"Are there any other girls staying here?" Penny had been leading up to
this question.
"Talk to the boss, I said!" Winkey snapped. "Maybe he'll be here
tomorrow. Now go away and stop botherin' me. I got work to do!"
Disappointed by her failure to find Mr. Ayling or extract information
from Winkey, Penny returned to the car.
Driving along the road a few minutes later, she glimpsed, far over the
hills, a skier who descended the steep slope at breakneck speed.
"It's a wonderful day for skiing!" she thought, recalling that all of her
equipment was ready in the car. "Why don't I make the most of it?"
Pulling up, Penny got out skis and poles. Hastily waxing the runners, she
put them on and set off across the fields toward the distant hill.
The loose snow had blown into deep banks and crevasses. Penny frequently
had been warned by more experienced skiers that visible crevasses nearly
always were a warning of hidden ones.
At first as she raced along, she kept alert watch for unexpected breaks
or depressions in the snow. But as she drew near the hills to the rear of
the old monastery, she frequently shifted her gaze toward the interesting
old building.
Smoke curled lazily from the hooded chimneys. Otherwise, the premises
appeared unoccupied.
Then, Penny saw a bent figure coming from the rear of the grounds,
pulling a long sled behind him.
"Why, it's Winkey!" she recognized him. "Now what can he be doing with
that sled? Surely at his age he isn't going coasting."
More than a little interested, the girl set her course the better to
watch the hunchback. Soon she saw him striking off toward a pine woods
and a large, two-story log cabin some distance away.
At the edge of the woods, not far from the cabin, had been stacked
several cords of seasoned logs taken from the forest.
Pulling his sled alongside, Winkey began to pile it high with the cut
firewood.
"I wonder if that's his wood?" thought Penny.
So absorbed had she become in Winkey's actions that she neglected to
watch the drifts ahead. Too late, she saw that her singing skis were
taking her directly into a wide, deep crevasse.
Desperately, Penny swerved and tried to check her speed. The break in the
snow was extensive and could not be avoided.
Over the brink she shot. Poles flew from her hand and she clutched wildly
for a hold on the bank. Failing, she tumbled over and over, landing in an
ungainly heap of splintered skis at the base of the deep pit.
CHAPTER
9
_A CALL FOR HELP_
After coming to a stop at the bottom of the crevasse, Penny momentarily
was too stunned to move.
Gradually recovering her breath, she gingerly twisted first one leg, then
the other. Though pains shot through them, no bones were broken.
Rolling over on her back, the girl gazed up at the narrow opening far
above her.
"Served me right for being so careless!" she thought. "But the $64
question, is how am I going to get out?"
With fingers numb from cold, Penny removed her broken skis.
Walls of the hole into which she had fallen were sharp and firm with
frozen ice, offering few if any handholds.
Unwilling to call attention to her plight unless absolutely necessary,
she studied the sheer walls carefully, and then, grasping a projection,
tried to raise herself to a ledge just over her head. The ice broke in
her fingers, and she tumbled backwards again.
Penny now began to suffer from cold. Her clothes, damp from perspiration,
were freezing to her body.