and hope Winkey hears me. He's the last person in the world I'd ask
voluntarily, but if he doesn't help me, I may be trapped here hours! I
could freeze to death!"
Penny shouted for help and was alarmed by the sound of her own voice. Not
only was it weak, but it seemed smothered by the walls of the crevasse.
She knew the cry would not carry far.
But as she drew a deep breath preparatory to shouting again, she heard
voices only a short distance away.
Her first thought was that her cry for help had been heard and someone
was coming to her aid.
The next instant she knew better. Those who approached were arguing
violently.
"You stole the wood from my land!" she heard the accuser shout. "I saw
you pile it on your sled, and you're carrying it away now!"
Penny recognized the gruff voice of Vernon Eckenrod and guessed that he
was talking to Winkey. Evidently the two were coming closer, for their
argument was waxing louder.
Forgetting her own predicament, Penny listened intently. The pair were
now almost at the brink of the crevasse.
"Say something!" Eckenrod roared. "What excuse have you got for stealing
my wood?"
"Button your lip!" Winkey retorted. "The boss told me to get some wood
for the fires at the monastery. So I done it."
"He told you to steal, did he?"
"You'll git your money."
"Money isn't the point! I cut that wood myself from my own land, and I
want it for my own use! Here, give me that sled! You're hauling it
straight back where you got it!"
"Keep your hands off!"
Penny heard the sound of scuffling, and then above her, at the mouth of
the crevasse, she saw the two men struggling.
"Look out!" she called.
Startled by her voice, Eckenrod turned and looked down. At that instant,
when he was off guard, the hunchback struck him. Reeling backwards, the
artist tried to recover balance and could not. With a shriek of fright
and rage, he fell into the chasm.
Penny attempted to break the man's fall with her body. She was not quick
enough, and he rolled to the very bottom, ending up on a pile of broken
skis. There he lay groaning.
If Penny had expected that Winkey would be aghast at his brutal act, she
was to learn otherwise.
"That'll teach you!" he shouted in glee. "Don't never accuse me of
stealing!"
"Help us out!" Penny called.
She knew Winkey heard her, for he stopped short and peered down into the
crevasse to see who had appealed for help. Giving no sign he had seen
her, he then disappeared.
"Maybe he's going for a rope!" Penny thought. "But I'd quicker think he's
deserting us!"
Now thoroughly alarmed, the girl crept over the slippery ice to Vernon
Eckenrod's side. He was conscious but stunned. Blood gushed from a cut on
the back of his head and one leg remained crumpled beneath him.
With a handkerchief, Penny attempted to stop the flow of blood. She was
relieved to note that the wound was a superficial one.
"Try to sit up," the girl urged. "If you lie on the ice your clothes will
soon freeze fast."
Eckenrod's eyes opened and he stared blankly at her.
"Who are you?" he muttered. "How did you get down here?"
"I fell, the same as you. I'm Penny Parker, the girl you met yesterday at
the monastery."
With her help, the artist pulled himself up on an elbow.
"I remember you now," he mumbled. "Did you see that hunchback push me
down here?"
"Yes, I did. It was a brutal thing to do. I think now he may have gone
for a rope."
"Don't you believe it!" Eckenrod said bitterly. "He wouldn't help us if
we were freezing to death! The man is a thief! He was stealing my wood!
I'll have the law on him!"
"First we have to get out of here," Penny reminded him. "That's not going
to be easy."
Eckenrod became sober as he studied the sharp walls of the crevasse. The
only possible handhold was a ledge well above their heads.
"If you can boost me up, I think I can make it," Penny said. "Then I'll
go for help."
Eckenrod attempted to get to his feet, but his left leg crumbled beneath
him. Pain and despair were in his eyes as he gazed at his companion.
"Broken," he said. "Now we are in a fix."
Trying not to disclose fright, Penny said the only thing to do was to
call for help. However, after she had shouted until she was nearly
hoarse, she too was filled with despair.
"Winkey isn't coming back," she acknowledged. "And no one else is close
enough to hear our cries!"
In an attempt to ease Mr. Eckenrod's pain, Penny tore strips of cloth
from her underskirt, and used the broken skis to make a splint.
"There's nothing wrong with my right leg," the artist insisted. "It's
good and strong. If only I could get up on it, I think I could boost you
to the ledge. We've got to do something!"
"Could you really do it?" Penny asked, hope reviving.
"I've got to," the artist replied grimly. "Night's coming on. We'll
freeze if we're here an hour."
With Penny's help, Mr. Eckenrod after several attempts, managed to
struggle upright on his good right leg. He weaved unsteadily a moment,
then ordered:
"Now onto my shoulders!"
She scrambled up, grasping the icy ledge above. It broke in her fingers.
"Hurry!" muttered Mr. Eckenrod, gritting his teeth.
With desperate haste, Penny obtained another handhold which seemed fairly
firm. She could feel Mr. Eckenrod sagging beneath her. Knowing it was
then or never, she heaved herself up and rolled onto the ledge.
Miraculously, it held her weight.
Relieved of the burden of the girl's weight, Mr. Eckenrod collapsed on
the floor of the crevasse again, moaning with pain.
"Oh, Mr. Eckenrod!" Penny was aghast.
"Go on!" he urged in a stern voice. "You can make it now! Climb on out
and bring help! And be quick about it!"
CHAPTER
10
_MR. ECKENROD'S SECRET_
Thus urged, Penny scrambled up the slippery, sloping side of the wall and
reached the top safely.
Completely spent, she lay there a moment resting.
"Don't give up!" she called to Mr. Eckenrod. "I'll get back as fast as I
can!"
The closest house was the artist's own cabin in the woods. Plunging
through the big drifts, the girl pounded on the door.
Almost at once it was opened by a middle-aged woman with graying hair and
alert, blue eyes. Seeing the girl's rumpled hair and snow-caked skiing
suit, she immediately understood that something was wrong.
"You're Mrs. Eckenrod?" Penny gasped.
"Yes, I am. What has happened?"
"Your husband has had a bad fall and his leg may be broken! We'll need a
rope and a sled."
Mrs. Eckenrod won Penny's admiration by the cool manner with which she
accepted the bad news. After the first quick intake of breath, she
listened attentively as Penny told her what had happened.
"You'll find a long rope in the shed," she directed.
"And a sled?"
"The only one we have is a very small one my grandchildren use when they
come here to play. It will have to do. You'll find it in the shed too.
While you're getting the things, I'll telephone a doctor to come right
out!"
"We'll need a man to help us!"
"No one lives within miles except those folks who moved into the
monastery."
"We'll get no help from there!" Penny said bitterly.
"I'll call Riverview for men!"
"We don't dare wait, Mrs. Eckenrod. Your husband is half frozen now.
We'll have to get him out ourselves somehow."
"If we must, we can," replied the woman quietly. "I'll telephone the
doctor and be with you in a moment."
On her way to the shed, Penny looked hopefully across the darkening hills
for a glimpse of the lone skier she had seen earlier in the afternoon. He
was nowhere visible.
By the time Penny had found a rope and the sled, Mrs. Eckenrod joined
her. The woman had put on a heavy coat, galoshes, and carried woolen
blankets.
"How did the accident happen?" she asked, as they plodded through the
drifts together.
Penny related the unfortunate argument involving the theft of firewood.
"Oh, dear! It's Vernon's dreadful temper again!" Mrs. Eckenrod exclaimed.
"He is a wonderful man, but ready to quarrel if anyone crosses him!"
"In this case, I think he was in the right," Penny replied, helping her
companion over a big drift. "I saw the hunchback take the wood, and I
heard the argument."
"When those new people moved into the monastery, I was afraid we would
have trouble with them. Something queer seems to be going on there."
"How do you mean?" Penny asked, recalling that she had expressed the
identical thought at home.
"Well, the house is so quiet and deserted by day. Come night, one hears
all sorts of weird noises and sees roving lights. Last night I distinctly
heard a woman scream twice. It was most unnerving."
"Have you noticed anyone except the hunchback and his master leaving the
building?"
"Only a young girl."
"Then I didn't imagine it!" Penny exclaimed.
Mrs. Eckenrod stared at her, puzzled by the remark.
Penny did not take time to explain, for they now had reached the
crevasse. Anxiously, the rescuers peered down into the darkening hole.
"Vernon!" his wife cried.
At sound of her voice, he stirred and sat up.
Relieved that he was still conscious, Penny stretched out prone at the
lip of the crevasse. Rapidly, she lowered the rope.
"Knot it around your waist!" she instructed.
Mr. Eckenrod obeyed and with a supreme effort, got up on his good leg.
"Now up you come!" Penny shouted encouragingly. "If you can help just a
little, I think we can make it."
Mrs. Eckenrod was a solidly built, strong woman. Even so, it was all the
two could do to pull the artist up onto the overhanging ledge. Completely
spent, he lay there for a while as his rescuers recaptured their breath.
Then, the remaining distance was made with less difficulty.
Penny and Mrs. Eckenrod rolled the man onto the sled, covering him with
warm blankets. Even then, their troubles were not over. To pull the sled
through the drifts to the cabin, took the last of their strength.
"We did it!" Penny cried jubilantly as they made a saddle of their arms
to carry the artist into the warm living room.
Mrs. Eckenrod threw a log on the fire and went to brew hot coffee. Penny
sponged the blood from the artist's head but did not attempt to bandage
it, knowing a doctor was on the way.
Twenty minutes later, Dr. Wallace arrived from Riverview. After carefully
examining the artist's leg, he placed it in a splint and bandaged it.
"You'll be on crutches for a few days," he told Mr. Eckenrod. "The bone
may be cracked, but there is no break."
"That's the best news I've heard today!" Mr. Eckenrod declared in relief.
"I've got some important business to take up with a certain party!"
"Vernon!" remonstrated his wife.
After the doctor had gone, Mr. Eckenrod was put to bed on the davenport.
But he refused to remain still. As the pain in his leg eased, he
experimented walking with the aid of a chair.
"I'll be using my pins in three days at the latest!" he predicted. "Just
as soon as I can get around, I'm going to the monastery and punch that
hunchback's nose!"
"Vernon!"
"Now don't 'Vernon' me," the artist glared at his wife. "The man richly
deserves it! He's a thief and bully!"
Penny gathered up her mittens which had been drying by the hearth. "You
may have trouble getting into the monastery," she remarked. "If Winkey
sees you first, he'll probably lock the gate."
"You think that would stop me?"
"How else could you get in? Over the fence?"
"I know a way," the artist hinted mysteriously.
"Not another gate?"
"No."
"A secret entrance?"
Mr. Eckenrod's quick grin told Penny that her guess had been right.
"You did me a good turn today, so I'll let you into the secret," the
artist said. "Help me hobble into the studio, and I'll show you something
that will make your eyes pop!"
CHAPTER
11
_MAP OF THE MONASTERY_
"Here, lend me a shoulder!" Mr. Eckenrod ordered as Penny hesitated. "Or
aren't you interested?"
"Oh, I am--but your leg."
"Stuff and nonsense! The doc said it wasn't broken, didn't he? I'll be
walking as well as ever in a few days."
Supported on one side by Penny and on the other by his wife, the artist
hobbled to the adjoining studio.
On easels about the room were many half completed paintings. Several fine
pictures, one of the artist's wife, hung on the walls. A paint-smeared
smock had been draped carelessly over a statue.
"Vernon," sighed his wife, reaching to retrieve the garment, "you are so
untidy."
"Without you, my dear, I should live like a pig in a sty and revel in
it," chuckled the artist.
At a desk, amid a litter of letters and papers, were several large sheets
of yellowed drawings.
"These are the original plans of the monastery," Mr. Eckenrod said,
placing them in Penny's hands. "They show every detail of the old
building before it was remodeled by later owners."
"How did you get these plans, Mr. Eckenrod?"
"The present owner of the building let me have them to study at the time
I planned to buy the property. He would have sold the place to me too if
that soft-talking fellow who calls himself Father Benedict hadn't come
along!"
"Vernon, you mustn't speak that way of him!" reprimanded his wife in a
shocked tone. "I'm sure he's a good, kind man of religion. Just because
you had a quarrel with his servant--"
"Father Benedict has less religion than I've got in my little finger!"
the artist growled. "You said yourself only last night that something's
wrong at the place! What of those screams we heard?"
"It was explained to me that a simple-minded woman named Julia works at
the monastery," Penny volunteered. "She is supposed to be easily upset."
"Humph!" muttered Mr. Eckenrod. "All I can say is, Father Benedict
surrounds himself with mighty queer people."
"It's really none of our affair, Vernon," said his wife mildly.
"What goes on there is my business until the paintings are finished! But
Father Benedict and ten hunchbacks can't keep me away! With these plans I
can always outwit them!"
"What do they show?" Penny could not make much from the dim lines.
"The building is built on the pattern of Sherborne in England," Mr.
Eckenrod explained. He pointed out the main part of the church with nave,
south and north transepts, choir and chapel. "This section is a ruin now,
but could be restored. Unfortunately, the roof has caved in and all
paintings and statues were long ago destroyed."
"Show me the cloister," requested Penny.
"Here it is." The artist pointed with a stubby thumb. "Passages radiate
from it. One leads to the old chapter house. North of the cloister is the
refectory, used as a dining room. Behind is the abbey's kitchen."
"The sleeping rooms?"
"They're above the refectory and also to the west of the cloister. Under
the refectory are the cellars. They also extend beneath the old chapel."
"Have you ever visited them, Mr. Eckenrod?"
"The cellars? I have. Also the burial crypt. A few of the old tombs
remain in fairly good state of preservation."
"But where is the secret passageway?" asked Penny.
"Through the crypt. It leads into the churchyard to the west of the
building."
"Do many people know about it?"
"I rather think I'm the only one. The building owner never bothered to
study the plans, because he wasn't interested. Father Benedict may have
learned the secret, but if so, he stumbled onto it by accident."
"Is the passageway well hidden?"
"Very cleverly. From the churchyard, one enters an empty tomb above
ground. A passageway leads down to the crypt beneath the old chapel."
"Not a very pleasant way to enter or leave a building," said Penny with a
shudder.
"But convenient in a pinch," chuckled Mr. Eckenrod. "If Father Benedict
is stubborn about allowing me inside, I'll bide my time and slip in to
finish my paintings one of these days when he is away."
Poring intently over the plans, Penny remarked that she would like to
explore the passageway sometime.
"Wait a few days until my leg is strong and I'll take you through!" the
artist offered.
"And if Father Benedict should catch us?"
"We can handle him!"
"Vernon, you shouldn't put Miss Parker up to such tricks!" his wife
protested. "When it comes to playing pranks, or getting even with folks,
you're just like a child!"
"It was no child's play pushing me into the crevasse!" the artist
exclaimed. "As soon as I can hobble to town, I'll swear out a warrant for
that hunchback's arrest!"
"And involve us in an endless feud with our neighbors," his wife sighed.
"Vernon, you must forget it!"
The discussion was brought to an abrupt end by Penny who declared that
she must leave immediately. The Eckenrods thanked her again for her
timely assistance, urging her to visit them again soon.
"Don't forget our date!" the artist added with a chuckle. "I'll be
walking in a day or two. Then we'll explore the crypt."
"I'll not forget," promised Penny.
Shadows were deepening into early darkness as she set off across the
fields, guided by a flashlight Mrs. Eckenrod insisted she take.
The motor of her car was cold, the oil heavy. After two attempts she
started it and soon was entering the outskirts of Riverview.
"Wonder if Dad's still at the office?" she thought. "If he is, I may as
well give him a lift home."
By the time Penny had parked and climbed the stairs to the _Star_
editorial room, the hands of her wristwatch were nosing six o'clock.
The first edition had rolled from the presses, and reporters, their feet
on the desks, were relaxing for a few minutes.
Mr. DeWitt, the city editor, sat scanning the paper, noting corrections
or changes to be made in the next edition.
"Hi, Mr. DeWitt!" Penny greeted him as she paused by the desk. "Dad
here?"
"Hello there, Penny," the editor smiled at her. "He was a minute ago.
Yes, here he comes now."
Mr. DeWitt jerked his head sideways toward the publisher's private
office. Mr. Parker had on his hat and topcoat and would have left by the
rear exit without having seen Penny had she not overtaken him.
"Want a lift home, Dad?" she inquired.
"Why, hello, Penny!" he said, pausing in surprise. "I certainly do. I
left my car at home today."
Beside them, an unhooded Western Union teletype bell began to ring
insistently.
"What's that for?" Penny inquired curiously.
"An incoming telegram," her father explained. "We have a direct wire with
the Western Union office now. It saves sending so many messenger boys
back and forth."
The carriage of the machine began to move and the telegram was typed on
the long roll of yellow copy paper.
"Why, it's for you, Dad!" Penny said in surprise. "A wire from Chicago."
"Chicago?" Mr. Parker repeated. "Guess we'd better wait and see whom it's
from. By the way, how did you and Mr. Ayling make out this afternoon at
the monastery?"
"I haven't seen him since yesterday, Dad. When I went to the hotel to
meet him, he wasn't there."
"Busy with other matters perhaps."
"I suppose so," Penny agreed, "but he might have notified me. He missed a
lot of excitement by not going along."
Before she could tell her father about the skiing accident, the teletype
message was completed. Mr. Parker ripped it from the machine. He whistled
softly.
"Why, this wire is from Mr. Ayling!"
"Then he's in Chicago!"
"Apparently so. Listen to his message: 'CALLED HERE UNEXPECTEDLY BY
TELEGRAM SIGNED MRS. HAWTHORNE. TELEGRAM PROVED A FAKE. RETURNING TO
RIVERVIEW IMMEDIATELY TO RESUME SEARCH.'"
CHAPTER
12
_THE LOCKED DOOR_
"Well, what d'you know!" Penny exclaimed as she peered over her father's
shoulder to reread the telegram. "So that explains why Mr. Ayling didn't
meet me today!"
"If he takes the first train back, he should get in early tomorrow," her
father said. "I wonder who tricked him into going to Chicago?"
"Whoever did it probably figured he'd give up the search for Mrs.
Hawthorne in disgust," Penny added excitedly. "Dad, this case is getting
more interesting every minute!"
Mr. Parker smiled but made no comment as he pocketed the telegram.
Together he and Penny went downstairs to the waiting car.
"Maybe I could help Mr. Ayling by inquiring around the city if anyone has
seen Mrs. Hawthorne or her granddaughter," Penny suggested as she drove
with skill through dense downtown traffic.
"I thought Mr. Ayling checked all hotels."
"Only the larger ones, I imagine. Anyhow, I might run into interesting
information."
"Go ahead, if you like," her father encouraged her.
Early the next morning, Penny set off alone to visit a dozen hotels. At
none of them had anyone by the name of Hawthorne registered.
"She may have used an assumed name," Penny thought, a trifle discouraged.
"In that case, I'll never find her."
Hopeful that Mr. Ayling might arrive on the morning train, she went to
the Union Railroad Station. Among those waiting on the platform for the
incoming Chicago Express was Winkey, the hunchback.
He did not see Penny, and in the large crowd, she soon lost sight of him.
Finally, the train pulled in. But Mr. Ayling did not alight from either
the coaches or pullmans. Feeling even more depressed, Penny went home for
lunch.
Several times during the afternoon, she telephoned Mr. Ayling's hotel to
inquire if he had arrived. Each time she was told he had not checked in.
"Wonder what's keeping him in Chicago?" Penny mused. "I hope he didn't
change his mind about coming back here."
Throughout the day, she kept thinking about the monastery and its strange
occupants. The skiing incident of the previous afternoon had convinced
her that Winkey at least was cruel and dishonest. As to Father Benedict's
character, she could not make up her mind.
"Possibly he doesn't know how surly and mean his servant acts," she
thought. "Someone ought to tell him!"
Penny longed to return to the monastery, but hesitated to go there for
the deliberate purpose of reporting Winkey's misbehavior.
"Mr. Ayling may return here tomorrow," she told herself. "Then perhaps we
can drive out there together."
However, a check of the Riverview Hotel the following morning, disclosed
that the investigator still had not arrived in the city.
Decidedly mystified by his failure to return, Penny clomped into the
Parker kitchen after having spent an hour downtown. To her surprise she
saw that during her absence a bulky package had been delivered.
"It came for you a half hour ago," Mrs. Weems explained.
"For me! Must be a mistake. I've ordered nothing from any store."
Plainly the package bore her name, so she tore off the heavy wrappings.
Inside was a pair of new hickory skis.
"Dad must have sent them!" she exclaimed. "Just what I need."
However, the skis were not from her father. Among the wrappings she found
a card with Mr. Eckenrod's name.
"Try these for size," the artist had scrawled in an almost illegible
hand. "Thanks for pulling me out of a hole! My leg is mending rapidly, so
don't forget our date!"
"Oh, the darling!" Penny cried. "Mighty decent of him to replace the skis
I broke! Only I'm afraid I won't get to use them many times. It's thawing
fast today."
Slipping her slim ankles through the leather bindings, she glided
awkwardly about the polished linoleum.
"How soon's luncheon?" she asked impatiently. "I want to go skiing right
away!"
"I'll put it on after I've telephoned Jake Cotton," the housekeeper
promised. "He failed to show up here today."
"Jake Cotton, the carpenter?"
"Yes, your father ordered another bookcase for the den. Jake promised to
build it last week. He's always putting other jobs ahead."
After telephoning, Mrs. Weems toasted sandwiches and made hot chocolate.
Penny ate rapidly, as was her habit when thinking of other matters.
"You won't need any help with the dishes," she said hopefully when the
meal was over.
"No, run along and ski," Mrs. Weems smiled. "In spirit you're already out
there on the hills!"
Penny changed quickly into skiing outfit and telephoned Louise Sidell,
inviting her to go along.
"Okay," her chum agreed half-heartedly, "but I'm still lame from the last
time."
By the time the girls reached the hills near the Abbington Monastery, the
weather had turned discouragingly warm.
Touring over the slopes, they discarded first their mittens, then their
jackets. After Louise had fallen down several times, soaking her clothes
in melted snow, she proposed that they abandon the sport.
"So early in the afternoon?" Penny protested. "Oh, we can't go home yet!"
"Then let's try something else. It's no fun skiing today."
Penny's gaze fastened speculatively upon the distant chimneys of the old
monastery visible through the pine trees. "I have it, Lou!" she
exclaimed.
"We're not going there!" cried Louise, reading the thought.