CHAPTER 8 GHOST OF THE DARK CORNERS

Salt was the first to recover from surprise at the whispered warning. Convinced that someone must be crouching beneath the open cottage window, he strode across the room to peer outside.

No one was in sight.

“The voice seemed to come from the wall itself!” Penny murmured. She added jokingly, “Maybe this place has a ghost who is annoyed because we climbed in through the window!”

“That whispered warning came from a very human ghost,” the photographer muttered. “We’ll do a little annoying ourselves if we can find the bird!”

Salt jerked open the door. Penny followed him outside. Behind them, the door swung shut again, but neither noticed.

Quickly they circled the cottage. No one was visible in the clearing nor were leaves stirring in the bushes close by.

Salt, however, remained convinced the warning had been whispered by someone standing close to the window who then had quickly retreated to the sheltering shrubbery.

“The warning seemed to come from the very inside of the walls,” Penny repeated.

“How could it? The walls are only average thickness, so the only place a person could hide would be outside. It’s a cinch no one was in the room with us!”

“Lorinda might have crept close to the cottage and whispered the warning,” Penny said thoughtfully, “but I doubt it very much.”

“Lorinda?”

“Mrs. Rhett’s daughter. She tried to prevent me investigating the cottage before you arrived.”

“Then she may have followed us here.”

“The whispering voice didn’t sound like hers,” Penny insisted. “No, I can’t believe it was Lorinda.”

Salt started back toward the cottage. “Whoever it was, let’s not be bluffed out, Penny. We’ll see what’s inside the wooden chest.”

The cottage door was closed. To the photographer’s annoyance, it refused to open even when he thrust his weight against it.

“Now what?” he demanded. “Did you close the door when you came out, Penny?”

“Not that I recall. The wind must have blown it shut.”

“Wind? What wind? Look at the trees.”

Scarcely a leaf was stirring.

“Then I’m afraid it must have been the jungle ghost,” Penny said with a nervous giggle. She glanced at her wrist watch. “Salt, it’s getting late. We must go.”

“Not yet,” retorted Salt grimly.

Again he circled the thatched cottage, with Penny tagging none too happily at his heels. As they saw the window, they both paused.

“Why, it’s closed now!” Penny gasped. “How did we leave it?”

“Open. The cottage door may have blown shut by itself and locked with a spring catch, but this window is a horse of a different color. It couldn’t have closed by itself.”

“Who could have lowered it? How was it done without our knowledge?”

Salt had no explanation. Lifting Penny so that she could peer inside the room again, he asked her what she could see.

“Not a sign of anyone. But it’s so dark—”

“See anything now?” Salt demanded impatiently as her voice trailed off.

“The cocoanut shell lamp! It’s no longer burning!”

“Sure?”

“I couldn’t see better if I wore bifocals! The room is dark.”

“An experience like this shouldn’t happen to a dog,” muttered Salt. “We’ll find out what’s behind it! Raise the window and in we go.”

Penny tugged at the sill. “Locked,” she reported. “From the inside.”

Disgusted, Salt allowed her to drop lightly to the ground. “Wait until I find a rock,” he instructed. “We’ll get in!”

Penny caught his arm. “No, Salt! We’ve already overstepped our rights. We mustn’t damage the Rhett property.”

“Well, someone is making a monkey of us,” the photographer grumbled. “It burns me up!”

“There’s more to it than meets the eyes, Salt. Even the atmosphere of this place is sinister.”

“You say that, and yet you’re willing to turn your back on an unsolved mystery? How times have changed!”

“Well—” Penny wavered, for it was true she loved mystery and adventure. But she finished in a firm voice: “We were sent here to get a story and picture for the Star! We’ll miss the Green Streak edition if we don’t get back to the office pronto.”

She thrust her wrist watch beneath Salt’s nose. He looked at the moving hands and muttered: “Jeepers! We’ve got just thirty-five minutes to catch our deadline! Let’s go!”

Hurriedly, they went up the path toward the mansion and the road. As they approached the house, the rear door swung open and Lorinda came out on the flagstone terrace.

“There she is now!” Penny murmured in an undertone. “I don’t believe she could have been the one who whispered the warning at the cottage! It must have been someone else.”

“Is she the Rhett girl?” Salt demanded, starting to adjust his camera. “Maybe I can get a shot of her after all.”

Lorinda came directly toward the pair, but she raised a hand squarely in front of her face as she saw that Salt meant to take her picture.

“Please don’t!” she pleaded. “I can’t pose. I only came to ask you to leave. Mother is so upset. The telephone is ringing constantly, and we expect the police any minute.”

Lorinda obviously was on the verge of tears. Salt lowered his camera.

“I do want to help you,” Lorinda hastened on. “That’s why I am giving you this. Mother doesn’t know about it, and she will be furious.”

Into Penny’s hand, she thrust a small but clear photograph of a middle-aged man who wore glasses. His left cheek was marred by a jagged though not particularly disfiguring scar.

“Your stepfather!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, this is the only picture we have of him. He never liked to have his photograph taken. If you use it, please take good care of the original and see that we get it back.”

“Oh, we will!” Penny promised. “This photograph should help in tracing Mr. Rhett.”

“Please go now,” Lorinda urged again. She glanced uneasily down the path toward the thatched-roof cottage, but if she knew what had transpired there, she gave no sign.

Elated to have obtained the photograph, Penny and Salt hastened on to the parked press car. Starting the car with a jerk, Salt followed the winding river road.

Penny cast a glance over her shoulder. Through the trees she could see only the roof-top of the thatched cottage in the clearing.

The estate was bounded by a wooden rail fence, in many places fortified with dense, tall shrubbery. The fall weather had tinted many of the bushes scarlet, yellow or bronze. Gazing toward a patch of particularly brilliant-colored leaves, Penny detected movement behind them.

For a fleeting instant she thought she had seen a large, shaggy dog. Then she became certain it was a man who crouched behind the screen of leaves.

“Salt!” she exclaimed sharply. “Look at those bushes!”

The photographer slowed the car, turning his head.

“What about ’em, Penny?”

“Someone is hiding there behind the fence! Perhaps it’s the person who whispered a warning at the thatched cottage!”

“Oh, it’s just a shadow,” Salt began, only to change his mind. “You’re right! Someone is crouching there!”

So suddenly that Penny was thrown sideways, the photographer swerved the car to the curb. He swung the door open.

“What are you going to do?” Penny demanded.

The photographer did not take time to reply. Already he was out of the car, running toward the hedge.