CHAPTER 3 A THATCHED ROOF COTTAGE

Satisfied that the house was not deserted, Penny hammered harder on the massive oaken door with the brass knocker. Still no one came to admit her.

“Someone is here,” she thought, intensely annoyed. “Well, if he can be stubborn, so can I! I’ll make such a nuisance of myself, they’ll have to let me in.”

She hammered steadily with the knocker for a half minute, then she experimented with pattern knocks, in interesting combinations of dots and dashes.

Suddenly, the window above her head flew open, and the same dark-faced man peered angrily down at her.

“What you want?” he demanded in an unpleasant voice.

“Why, I should like to see Mrs. Rhett,” Penny replied politely. “She’s here, isn’t she?”

“Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t,” was the sharp retort. “Who are you?”

Resenting the man’s unfriendly attitude, Penny nevertheless answered that she was from the Riverview Star and desired to interview Mrs. Rhett about her missing husband.

“Madam not seeing anyone. Go ’way now!”

The window slammed shut.

Convinced that the man, evidently a servant, had acted upon instructions from Mrs. Rhett, Penny wondered what to do. She considered returning to the Star office to explain to Editor DeWitt.

But in Mr. DeWitt’s dictionary there was no such word as failure. He would cock an eyebrow at her, growl: “So you couldn’t get in, eh?” and promptly send a more aggressive reporter to the mansion.

“I could force my way in, but that’s trespassing,” she reflected with deepening gloom. “If I were thrown into jail, Mr. DeWitt probably wouldn’t even bother to bail me out! He’d say I didn’t use my head in an emergency.”

Penny decided to wait for the Star photographer, who also had been sent out. In a tight pinch, photographers nearly always could come up with a picture. Between them they might think of a means of getting into the mansion.

“I hope Salt Sommers is sent here,” she thought. “He’s a good scout. He’ll help me get the story.”

Penny glanced hopefully toward the highway, but the press car was not to be seen. With a sigh, she slowly circled the house.

The building, no longer new, once had been one of Riverview’s finest homes. Now the red brick exterior had become discolored, and trees and bushes disclosed lack of skilled care. A hedge flanking the walk had been trimmed unevenly. The lawn was badly mowed, with many weeds going to seed.

Nevertheless, the estate was impressive, and Penny walked along a sloping path to a pool of water lilies. Seating herself on the cement rim, she dabbled her hand in the water. A moment later, raising her eyes, she caught a flash of color at one of the mansion windows.

“I’m being watched,” she thought. “Perhaps if I poke around here long enough, Mrs. Rhett will decide to see me.”

However, there was no further movement at the window, and presently Penny wandered around to the rear of the house. Two interesting architectural features drew her attention. At each side of the house were circular tower rooms, each with two tiny round windows which resembled human eyes.

From the rear of the mansion, several paths led in diverse directions. One, which was weed-choked, apparently angled toward the river beach. Years before, when the Heights Yacht Club had been in operation, many sailboats plied the waters at this particular point.

Now, except for an occasional fisherman, few boats ever came so far upstream. As the once fine neighborhood had deteriorated, householders gradually had moved away. Penny judged that the Rhetts, isolated from their neighbors, probably were the only socially prominent people remaining.

Selecting a path which led away from the river, deeper into the grounds, Penny presently found herself some distance from the road and the boundary fences.

Hedging the cinder trail were high, untrimmed bushes which completely screened her view. After walking a short distance, she paused, uncertain whether to keep on or return to the road.

“This exploration isn’t helping me get a story,” she reflected. “If the Star photographer should come while I’m here, I might miss him.”

However, the trail had a fascination for Penny and she was reluctant to turn back. In a tiny clearing a short distance ahead, she saw what appeared to be a thatched roof cottage. Only a moment or two would be required to investigate it, she thought. Then she would return to the road to await the photographer.

As Penny started eagerly on, she stubbed the toe of her shoe on a stone, and nearly tripped. By quick footwork, she saved herself a fall, but as she paused to recover breath, she plainly saw the bushes at the left hand side of the trail move convulsively. Only a slight breeze had rippled the tree leaves.

Penny was certain that someone stood behind the bush, watching her movements.

“Probably it’s that dark skinned man who called to me from the window,” she thought.

The knowledge that she was a trespasser on the Rhett property made Penny slightly uneasy. Likewise, it was unnerving to know that her every move was being watched. Admitting to herself that she should turn back, she nevertheless kept on down the path.

Without appearing to do so, she kept her eyes on the bushes at the left hand side of the trail. Now and then a slight jerk of the foliage convinced her that the one who watched was following and keeping pace with her.

Penny hastened her steps as she moved through a cool, densely shaded woodland. Frost had tinted many of the leaves with red and gold, but the arresting beauty of the foliage was completely lost upon her. She was only aware of those soft footsteps behind her.

Then unexpectedly, Penny came to the clearing. Scarcely seventy-five yards ahead, stood the thatched roof cottage which had attracted her interest from afar.

So quaint was the building that for a moment she gave it her entire attention, forgetting the one who watched from the bushes.

From where she stood, the cottage appeared to be about the size of a large room, and resembled a native hut. No windows were visible. The door was closed, and across it was painted in black and red a symbol which even from afar could be distinguished as a serpent-like figure.

The cottage fascinated Penny. At first glance she assumed it to be a large playhouse, but the serpent painting convinced her the building never had been intended for use of children.

A garden or tool house perhaps? She dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. Into her mind flashed a recollection of the drawing that had fallen from Mr. Rhett’s desk in the First National Bank. The paper had borne a plumed serpent, apparently a counterpart of the painting on the door of the thatched roof cottage!

Forgetful of the person who crouched in the bushes, Penny started eagerly forward, intending to examine the strange drawing at close range. Something whizzed past her, to embed itself in a tree trunk six inches from her head.

Brought up short, she saw that it was an arrow which had narrowly missed her. Had it been shot from the bushes behind her, and by the person who had stealthily followed her along the trail?

In cold fury, Penny jerked the arrow from the tree. Only then did she notice a folded sheet of notebook paper attached to it with a bit of string. She broke the knot and freed the paper. Across its crumbled face had been penciled a message. The lead had smeared and the words were hard to read. But she made them out.

The warning note said: “Do not approach the thatched roof cottage. To do so is to endanger your life.”