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.