CHAPTER 7 THE BEARDED STRANGER
Penny’s first thought upon seeing her father and Mrs. Deline was to steal quietly away. Then amazement and injury gave way to a feeling of indignation. Perhaps her father had a perfect right to lunch with Mrs. Deline, but it was inconsiderate of him to so completely forget his own daughter.
“I might just as well be an orphan!” Penny sighed. “Well, we’ll see!”
Stiffly she marched across the lawn to the railed-in hotel veranda. Her father saw her coming. His look of surprise changed to one of guarded welcome.
“Come up and have lunch with us,” he invited. “The food here is quite an improvement on what we’ve been having at camp.”
Penny could find no outside entranceway to the terrace. To Mrs. Deline’s horror and her father’s amusement, she climbed over the stone railing.
“Dad,” Penny began, ignoring the widow except for a curt nod, “I was just about ready to get out a search warrant for you.”
Mr. Parker drew another chair to the table for his daughter. Her hair was none too well combed, she wore no stockings, and the coat did not entirely cover her camp costume. By contrast Mrs. Deline was perfectly turned out in tailored tweed suit with a smart little hat of feathers. Though the woman said nothing, her gaze was scornful as she appraised Penny.
“What shall I order for you?” Mr. Parker asked, signaling a waiter.
“Nothing, thank you.” Penny was coldly polite. “I had a very fine lunch at camp, thanks to one of the rangers.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get back,” Mr. Parker apologized. “It took a long while to have the stove repaired. Then I met Mrs. Deline and—”
“Oh, I understand,” Penny broke in. “The point is, when, if ever, are you coming back to camp?”
“Why, right now I suppose. We’ve finished our luncheon.”
The waiter had come to the table. Mr. Parker asked for the bill, paid it, and arose. As he bade Mrs. Deline goodbye, he remarked that he probably would see her again soon.
Walking to the hotel parking lot where Mr. Parker had left the car, neither he nor Penny had much to say. Not until they were driving through the village was the subject of Mrs. Deline mentioned.
“I don’t see why you can’t be a bit nicer to her,” Mr. Parker commented. “You scarcely spoke a word to her.”
“Did she say anything to me?”
“Well, I don’t recall.”
“I’ve treated Mrs. Deline just as well as she treats me!” Penny defended herself. “I’ll admit I don’t like her.”
“And you show it too.”
“Maybe I do, but she has no business taking so much of your time.”
“So that’s where the shoe pinches,” chuckled Mr. Parker. “My little girl is jealous.”
“The very idea!”
“Mrs. Deline is brilliant—a highly educated woman and I enjoy talking to her,” Mr. Parker said thoughtfully. “I assure you it’s no more serious than that.”
Penny moved close to her father and squeezed his arm.
“We’ve been pals for such a long while,” she said wistfully. “If anything ever should come between us—”
“Penny, you’re positively morbid!” her father interrupted. “Of course nothing ever will come between us! Now let’s talk of more cheerful subjects.”
“Such as?”
“I’ve been thinking, Penny. You need a friend, someone to pal around with.”
“You’re the only friend I need, Dad.”
“I mean someone your own age, Penny. Why not send for Louise Sidell? I’ll gladly pay her train fare.”
“It would be fun having Lou here.”
“Then it’s settled. We’ll send a wire now.” Mr. Parker turned the car around and drove to the local telegraph office.
Before Penny could change her mind, the message was sent. Not until long after she and her father had returned to the park did it occur to her that unwittingly she might have fashioned her own undoing. Though camping would be far more interesting with Louise to share her experiences, it also would give her father added opportunity to see Mrs. Deline.
“Maybe he didn’t think of that angle,” Penny reflected uneasily. “I’ll keep it to myself.”
The following day Mr. Parker spent the entire day in camp. With the gasoline stove in working order, hot meals were prepared though not without endless effort. There were dishes to wash, beds to make, and by the time the tasks were done, neither Penny nor her father had any energy left for hiking.
The second day was much easier. However, with more free time, Mr. Parker became increasingly restless. He missed his morning paper and was dissatisfied with the skimpy news reports that came in over the radio. Penny was not surprised when he mentioned that he would walk down to Sunset Beach.
“Mind if I go with you?” Penny asked quickly.
“Of course not,” her father answered. “Why should I?”
At Sunset Beach a call at the local telegraph office disclosed a message for Penny which had been held for lack of an address. The wire was from Louise and read:
“ARRIVING AT SUNSET BEACH THURSDAY ON THE 12:30 PLANE. HOLD EVERYTHING.”
“Thursday!” Penny cried, offering the telegram to her father. “That’s tomorrow! My, will I be glad to see Lou! This place has been like a morgue without her.”
“I imagine the town will brighten up quite a bit within the next few days,” Mr. Parker said, a twinkle in his eye. “In fact, Louise may not be the only new arrival.”
“Is someone else coming to see us?”
Mr. Parker would not answer her many questions. “Wait and see,” he teased.
Since arriving at Sunset Beach Penny had been eager to visit the lighthouse located on Crag Point. Noticing that the tide was low, she suggested to her father that they go there together.
“Too long a walk,” he complained. “You run along by yourself. I’ll sun myself on the beach.”
Leaving her father, Penny started off alone. The sun was warm and there were a number of bathers splashing about in the surf. A long row of picturesque cottages lined the water front. They thinned out as she went farther up the beach, and presently there were no habitations, only desolate, wind-blown sand.
Midway to the lighthouse, Penny met a man of early middle age who carried fishing rod and creel. He stared at her, hesitated, then paused to speak.
“I notice you’re going toward Crag Point,” he remarked pleasantly. “Are you a stranger to this locality?”
Penny admitted that she was.
“Then perhaps you haven’t been told that the Point is a dangerous place to be at high tide.”
“No, I hadn’t heard.”
“The Point is very nearly covered at that time,” the stranger explained. “There’s no danger at the present moment, of course.”
“How long will I have here?”
“Oh, several hours,” the stranger replied. “There’s no cause for alarm if you just keep watch of the tide.”
Penny thanked the stranger and walked on toward the lighthouse. The structure rose to a height of seventy-five feet above the beach and was reached by means of a narrow little iron stairway.
No one was about the premises as Penny approached. However, as she started up the iron steps, a door far above her head opened. A burly, stout man whose face was browned by wind and sun, peered down at her.
“You can’t come up here!” he shouted. “No visitors are allowed!”
“Oh,” Penny murmured, retreating a step. “I didn’t know. I only wanted to see the tower.”
“No visitors,” the keeper of the light repeated. “War regulations.”
The rule seemed a reasonable one, but after such a long hike, Penny was disappointed. Walking back to the main section of the beach, she looked about for her father. He had disappeared.
“I’ll bet a cookie he’s at the Crystal Inn!” she thought indignantly.
But Penny could not find her father there nor at any other place along the water front. After an hour’s search she decided that he must have returned to camp. Returning there, she approached the tent, noticing that the flap was closed, though not buttoned as she had left it.
“Dad must be here,” she thought.
Drawing nearer she could see movement within the tent as someone brushed against the canvas walls.
“Oh, Dad!” she called.
There was no answer. But the next instant a man in rough garments and straw hat rushed out of the tent. Penny never before had set eyes upon him. She was so astonished that she gained only a fleeting impression of the bearded stranger. Seeing her, he thrust some object beneath his coat and fled into the woods.
