The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels (263 page)

“Now the ball is clearing,” he muttered. “What is this? I see a resort city on the sea coast—the rush and roar of waves. Ah, a beach! On the sand are two bathers—one a girl of perhaps sixteen or seventeen with dark hair. She wears a green bathing suit. Upon her third finger is a black cameo ring.”

A startled look came upon Mr. Ayling’s face, but he made no comment.

“Her companion is an elderly woman,” continued the monk as if speaking in a trance. “Over her shoulders is flung a dark blue beach cape. The picture is fading now—I am losing the vision.”

Penny’s attention, wandering again, was drawn as if by a powerful magnet to the curtains covering the exit.

In fascination, she watched. An inch at a time, the door moved outward. Then a hand appeared between the black velvet draperies, cautiously pulling them apart.

Penny wondered if her eyes were playing tricks upon her. She felt an overpowering impulse to laugh or call out. Yet her throat was dry and tight.

The scene seemed fantastic. It couldn’t be real, she told herself. Yet those curtains steadily were moving farther apart.

An arm came into view, then the side of a human figure. Last of all, a face, ghostly pale against the dark background, slowly emerged.

For one fleeting instant Penny saw a girl only a little older than herself, standing half wrapped in the folds of the velvet curtain. Their eyes met.

In that moment, through Penny’s brain flashed the message that the one who crouched in the doorway was the same girl she and Louise had picked up on the road only the previous night.

“But that’s crazy!” she thought. “It couldn’t be the same person! I must be dreaming!”

The one behind the curtain had raised a finger to her lips as if commanding silence. Then the draperies were pulled together with a jerk and the figure was gone.

Another cold breath of air swept through the room, causing candles on either side of the crystal ball to flicker. Again Penny heard the soft
creak
,
creak
of wood as footsteps retreated.

She tried to speak, but the words stuck in her throat. Had her imagination played tricks upon her?

Slowly she turned her eyes upon Father Benedict, whose back had been toward the curtained door.

“Another picture is forming in the crystal ball,” he muttered. “I see a man walking through a lonely wood. But what is this? Evil persons lie in wait behind the tall pine trees. Now they are waylaying him!

“They fall upon him and beat him with their cudgels. Woe is me! They leave him lying on the ground. The man is dying—dead. Oh, evil, evil! I can read no more in the glass today!”

Arising quickly, and brushing a hand over his glazed eyes, Father Benedict leaned for a moment against the damp plaster wall.

“Excuse me, please,” he apologized. “What I saw was most unnerving.”

The monk poured himself a drink of water and lighted a lamp on the center table.

“Now I can see again,” he said in a more natural tone. “A reading always is an exhausting experience.”

“Your demonstration was most impressive,” said Mr. Ayling. “How would you interpret your vision of Mrs. Hawthorne?”

“I should say the woman and her granddaughter at this very moment are enjoying a pleasant vacation in a sunny climate. California perhaps, or Florida.”

“Mrs. Hawthorne was in Florida, but she bought a ticket to Riverview.”

“Obviously, she never arrived here,” replied the monk. “You see, the crystal glass never lies.”

“Then your advice would be to resume my search in Florida?” the investigator asked.

“I do not presume to advise you.” From a cabinet, Father Benedict removed a black cloth which he used to polish away an imaginary speck on the crystal globe. Then he covered the standard with a cloth hood and added impressively: “However, I consider it my duty to warn you of danger.”

“Warn me?” exclaimed Mr. Ayling. “Of what danger?”

“My second vision was most disturbing,” Father Benedict said gravely. “As I interpret it, great harm—perhaps death, will pursue the man who walks alone in the woods, unless he alters his present course. You came to Riverview for a definite purpose, Mr. Ayling?”

“Why, yes, to find Mrs. Hawthorne.”

“Mr. Ayling, for your own well being, you must abandon the search.”

“Why?”

“Because,” said the monk very low, “the vision was sent to me that you may be saved from disaster. The man attacked in the woods was yourself, Mr. Ayling!”

CHAPTER 7

A WARNING

If Father Benedict’s words disturbed the investigator, he gave no sign. Smiling, he said:

“I fear I am not a firm believer in the art of crystal gazing—all respect to your remarkable talent.”

The monk frowned as he carefully laid another log on the dying fire. “You will be unwise to disregard the warning,” he said. “Most unwise.”

“Warning?”

“I should interpret the picture as such, dear Mr. Ayling. Apparently, if you pursue your present course, you are certain to meet misfortune.”

“To what ‘present course’ do you refer?”

“That I would not know,” replied the monk coldly. “Now may I thank you for coming to our humble abode and bid you good afternoon? I have a formal meeting soon with members of my little family of believers and must nap for a few minutes. You will excuse me?”

“We were just leaving,” said Penny. “I’m really deeply interested in your society here. May I come sometime soon to watch a ceremony?”

The monk gazed at her sharply but answered in a polite voice:

“Later, when we are better organized and have our house in order, we shall be most happy to have you.”

On the way out of the building, through the chilly cloister and gloomy hall, Penny looked carefully about for the girl who so stealthily had opened the door of the monk’s study.

She saw no one. Mr. Ayling and Father Benedict, she was certain, were unaware of the incident which had so startled her.

“It wasn’t imagination,” she thought. “I did see the door open. But it may not have been that girl Louise and I met last night. Probably it was a member of Mr. Highland’s cult.”

Deeply puzzled, Penny decided that if an opportunity presented itself, she would revisit the monastery another day.

At the front door of the building, Father Benedict turned to bid his guests goodbye. Before he could retreat, a loud commotion was heard near the gatehouse.

The monk listened intently and with evident annoyance. “My! My! What now?” he sighed. “Are we to have no peace and quiet within our walls?”

Near the front gate, Winkey could be seen arguing with a stout, middle-aged man in a racoon coat who carried an easel and a palette under his arm.

“My orders are to keep folks out o’ here!” Winkey shouted. “I don’t care who you are! Ye ain’t settin’foot inside here, unless the boss says so! Now get out!”

“Try to put me out!” the visitor challenged.

“Okay, I will!” retorted the hunchback.

He would have seized the visitor by the arm, had not Father Benedict called to him from the doorway:“Winkey!”

“Yes, Father,” the hunchback mumbled.

“Now tell me what is wrong,” the cult leader bade as he went down to the gate, followed by Penny and Mr. Ayling. “Who is this gentleman?”

“My name is Vernon Eckenrod,” the visitor introduced himself. “I’m an artist. I live down the road a quarter of a mile.”

“He wants to come in and paint a picture,” interposed Winkey. “I told him nothin’ doing.”

“Your man doesn’t understand,” said Mr. Eckenrod, glaring at the hunchback. “I am doing a series of pictures of the monastery for a national magazine. The sketches are finished and now I’m starting to paint.”

“You mean you wish to do exterior scenes?”

“Exterior and also interior. I want to do the arch to the chapter house today, and if I have time, either the stone-hooded chimneys or the window of the guest hall.”

“You show remarkable familiarity with the monastery.”

“I’ve been coming here for more than a year,” the artist said, shifting his easel to a more comfortable position. “This building is one of the oldest in the state. See, I have a key.” He held it before the startled gaze of the monk.

“Indeed!” Father Benedict’s voice became less friendly. “And may I inquire how you came into possession of a key to my property?”

“Your property?”

“Certainly, I have rented these premises from the owner, with an option to buy.”

“I’ve been trying to buy the place myself,” the artist said, “but couldn’t pay the amount asked. I’d like to restore the buildings and make it into a real show place.”

“How did you obtain a key?” the monk reminded him.

“Oh, the owner gave me one. He lets me paint here whenever I like.”

“The monastery now is exclusively mine,” said Father Benedict. “Kindly turn the key over to me!”

“Surely,” agreed Mr. Eckenrod, giving it up. “But you won’t mind if I come here to finish my paintings? I’m under contract to complete the work by the fifteenth of the month.”

Father Benedict secreted the key in the folds of his robe. “I appreciate your position,” he said. “Nevertheless, we cannot have strangers intruding upon our privacy.”

“Why, everyone around here knows me! Ask anyone about my character and work!”

“I do not question your character, my good man. But I must request you not to come here again.”

“Now see here!” the artist exclaimed, losing his temper again. “You don’t get the idea! My pictures are half done. If I don’t complete the order, I’ll stand to lose months of work.”

“Complete them from the sketches.”

“I can’t do that—the color and feeling would be lost.”

Father Benedict turned as if to leave. “I am sorry,” he said firmly.

“Listen—” Mr. Eckenrod began furiously.

The monk coldly walked away, entering the house.

“You heard him!” cried Winkey, triumphantly. “Now git going and don’t come back!”

“All right, I’ll go,” the artist retorted. “But I’ll be here again. You can’t get away with this even if you have rented the property!”

Scarcely aware of Penny and Mr. Ayling, who followed him to the gate, Mr. Eckenrod stomped off with easel and palette.

“They can’t get away with it!” he stormed, addressing no one in particular. “I’ll come back here with the sheriff!”

“I’m afraid Father Benedict is within his rights,” remarked Mr. Ayling. “He’s taken over the property.”

“What’s that?” the artist became aware of his presence. “Oh yes,” he admitted grudgingly, “legally he is within his rights, I suppose. But what of justice?”

“It would seem only decent of him to allow you to complete your paintings.”

“I’ve been coming to the monastery for months, off and on,” the artist revealed in an aggrieved tone. “Always figured I’d buy the place. The owner, Peter Holden, picked it up at a foreclosure sale for a mere nothing. He’d have sold to me too, if this fellow hadn’t come along. Who is he, anyhow?”

“I wonder myself,” said Mr. Ayling.

“His gateman looks like a thug!”

“I’m afraid your unfortunate encounter with Winkey prejudiced you,” smiled the investigator. “After all, the man apparently was acting under orders.”

“I didn’t like that monk either!” the artist scowled. “He acted as religious as my Aunt Sara!”

“His real name is Jay Highland,” Penny contributed. “He’s a crystal gazer.”

“Humph! A fine calling! If the authorities are smart, they’ll look into his business here!”

The trio now had reached the roadside where Penny’s car was parked. Politely, she offered to give the artist a lift to his home.

“Thanks, but I’ll walk,” he declined the offer. “I live only a short distance. I’ll just cut through the fields.”

His dark eyes still snapping like firebrands, the artist strode off through the snow.

“Quite a character!” remarked Mr. Ayling, once he and Penny were in the car. “An eccentric!”

“I’ve heard Mr. Eckenrod really is a fine artist,”Penny replied. “Too bad Father Benedict wouldn’t let him complete his paintings. By the way, what did you think of him?”

“Well, if I’m any judge of character, he’ll soon be back to make more trouble.”

“No, I mean Father Benedict.”

“He seemed pleasant enough,” Mr. Ayling said slowly. “However, I can’t say I went for the crystal ball demonstration.”

“Oh, anyone could tell that was the bunk!”

“Frankly, it gave me quite a jolt.”

“Oh, you mean the monk’s warning!”

“Not that,” replied Mr. Ayling. “His description of Mrs. Hawthorne and her daughter. Of course, I’ve never seen either of them, but the picture he conjured up seemed to fit them.”

“Oh, he probably made it up.” Penny started the car which rolled with creaking tires over the hilly, snow-packed road toward the city. “You described Mrs. Hawthorne to him earlier, you know.”