Whispering Walls Read online

  CHAPTER 7 _WHISPERING WALLS_

  "Anton!" Lorinda exclaimed in disapproval. "Why were you listening?"

  The servant, a man of perhaps forty whose well-cut livery was worn in asloppy manner, stared at her almost insolently and without the leastembarrassment.

  "Hear jungle drum," he said.

  "I was showing the Zudi to Miss Parker," Lorinda replied stiffly.

  "You keep him in wall safe?" inquired Anton.

  Lorinda bit her lip with annoyance. She made no answer.

  "Now that master gone, maybe much better you get rid of Zudi drum," Antonadvised.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Zudi drum bring trouble. Anton tell master so when he bring it to thiscountry."

  "And what do you suggest we do with the drum?"

  "Anton take care of it," the servant offered eagerly. "Sink it deep inriver."

  Lorinda smiled and shook her head. "The Zudi drum is my stepfather's mostcherished possession. He never would forgive me if I disposed of it whilehe's gone."

  "Maybe master never come back."

  "Anton!" Lorinda reproved. "You're not to make such remarks!"

  "Yes'm," the man muttered, but as he retreated from the library doorwayPenny fancied she saw him smile as if well pleased with himself.

  After the servant had gone, Lorinda remarked in a whisper: "I wish hehadn't seen me put the drum away. Somehow I've never trusted Antonalthough he's always been devoted to my stepfather. Sometimes I feel thathe hates me."

  "You say he didn't know until just now where the drum was kept?"

  "No, he may have suspected, but he never was certain. Anton always hasbeen deeply interested in that drum, which as I understand, belonged toanother tribe--sworn enemies of Anton's group. He and Celeste helped mystepfather obtain the drum, or rather they told him about its existence,so I suppose it's natural that they remain interested."

  "Anton seemed to believe the drum might bring trouble on the household."

  "Just stupid superstition! He's never worried about it before." Lorindawas thoughtful a moment, then added: "Of course, there is a possibilitymembers of the Zudi tribe may have traced my stepfather here and intendto avenge themselves. But that hardly seems likely."

  "What of the serpent drawing found in your stepfather's desk?" Pennyreminded her. "And the words, 'This Shall be the End?'"

  "I'd not venture an opinion until I have seen the handwriting," Lorindareturned.

  As the girls were leaving the library, Penny heard an automobile rattleup to the front of the mansion. Peering from a window, she saw SaltSommers climbing out of the car, camera and flashbulbs in his hand.

  His arrival reminded her that she was here to get a story for the _Star_.

  "The police aren't here?" Lorinda inquired tensely, moving to the window.

  "No, it's one of our photographers. He'll need a picture of you and yourmother. It will only take a minute."

  Lorinda, who had been growing more and more friendly, now became cold andaloof.

  "No picture," she said firmly. "I thought you understood. My mother and Iwish no publicity whatsoever."

  "But--"

  "I am afraid I must ask you to leave now," Lorinda said.

  Deeply chagrined by her failure to obtain a picture, Penny followed theRhett girl to the front door.

  "I'm sorry," Lorinda said, observing the proud tilt of Penny's chin."It's nothing personal. I really like you very much and would like tohelp you--but I can't."

  She opened the door and Penny went out. As the latch clicked behind her,Salt, a tall young man with an aggressive walk, came toward the porch.

  "Hi, Penny!" he greeted her casually. "Sorry to be late, but I got tiedup in a traffic jam at Fulton Bridge. Everything lined up for thepictures?"

  Penny told him the bad news.

  "Now see here, they can't do that to us," Salt said, knocking on the doorof the old mansion. "I'll catch the dickens from DeWitt if I go back tothe office without a picture. How about the story?"

  "Not much we can use. I talked to Mrs. Rhett and her daughter, but theydidn't give me any real information. Mr. Rhett's disappearance seems tobe as puzzling to them as anyone else."

  "You can hook your story onto that angle then. But me--I've got to comeup with a picture." Salt knocked again on the door. "Say, are they alldeaf in there?"

  "It's no use," Penny said. "I doubt if anyone will answer."

  Salt pounded a few more times, and then was forced to admit that he wasonly wasting his energy. "I might take a shot of the house," he said."Gloomy old morgue, isn't it?"

  "That's about all you can do under the circumstances."

  "A picture of a house," Salt groaned. "DeWitt'll go for it like a ton o'brick. He'll probably throw a typewriter at me!"

  "There's another place on the grounds that might be more interesting.It's a sort of thatched roof cottage."

  Salt immediately brightened. "Let's have a look-see," he proposed. "Maybewe can round up a gardener or someone who'll pose."

  Circling the house, Penny led the way down the graveled path. Salt tooksuch long strides it was hard to keep up with him. He'd had a tough day,he told her. As if taking shots of society women at the Country Clubhadn't been bad enough, right on top of it he'd been sent to the airportto catch a couple of prominent state officials. And then, before he'd hada chance to get the pictures printed, DeWitt had ordered him to themansion.

  "It's just one thing after another," he muttered. "I wish someone wouldtell me why I don't quit newspaper photography."

  "Because, no matter what you say, you like the excitement," Pennysupplied. "Remember those shots you took of the Governor that wereprinted in the rotogravure section?"

  "Sure," grinned Salt, his good humor returning. "I also remember the timeI was sent to a furniture store to take some pictures for the advertisingdepartment, and without me knowing it, the store closed for the night. Itelephoned DeWitt I was locked in, and what did the old crow do? 'Justsit down and wait,' he says. 'I'll get hold of a watchman, and we'll haveyou right out of there.'"

  Penny had heard the story several times but did not ruin thephotographer's pleasure by saying so.

  "DeWitt didn't do a doggone thing!" Salt went on. "He just told everyonein the office. I cooled my heels in that place until nine o'clock atnight! A fire broke out across town then, and DeWitt needed anotherphotographer, so finally he got me out!"

  "Mr. DeWitt has a queer sense of humor," Penny acknowledged. "But he is agood editor."

  "Best there is," Salt agreed loyally. "But wow! He's going to tear meapart limb from limb when I come in with nothing but a picture of athatched roof cottage!"

  Penny was tempted to tell the photographer of Lorinda's strange action inwarning her not to approach the building. However, she felt sure he wouldmake light of the entire matter, so she remained silent.

  "Is that the place?" Glimpsing the thatched roof cottage through thetrees, Salt paused to stare at it. "Looks like a jungle hut."

  "A reproduction of one, I imagine," Penny said, "but it might be thegenuine product. Mr. Rhett, I've been told, was a world traveler andbrought home many relics and souvenirs of jungle and cult life."

  They approached closer and Salt stopped again, this time to take twoshots.

  "What's inside?" he asked. "Let's take a look."

  Penny was curious to see the interior of the cottage despite Lorinda'swarning. However, as she trotted along at Salt's heels, she experienced astrange, uneasy feeling, as if she were intruding upon forbidden ground.

  The photographer was troubled by no such misgivings. Boldly he went tothe door and tried to thrust it open. It was locked and would not budge.

  Thwarted, he examined the painted plumed serpent which decorated thedoor.

  "What's this thing?" he muttered.

  Penny told him about the similar design which had been found on a paperin Mr. Rhett's office.
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br />   "I'll take a close-up of the door then," Salt decided. "It will tie inwith your story, if you build up the mystery angle."

  While the photographer took two pictures of the door, Penny wanderedaround to the back of the tiny cottage. Only one small window providedlight. It had been cut in the wall high toward the sloping thatched roof,and to peer into the dark interior, Penny had to stand on tiptoe.

  Inside the room, a spot of light and flame drew her gaze. And at the sameinstant, something jabbed her ribs from behind. With a startled cry, shewhirled around.

  Then she laughed, for it was Salt who had come up quietly.

  "You frightened me out of a year's growth!" she exclaimed. "Don't ever dothat again!"

  "What do you see? Anything interesting?"

  "It looks as if a lamp is burning inside. But the cottage must bedeserted!"

  Salt peeped through the window. "It is a light--an oil flame!" heexclaimed. "But there's no one in the room."

  "Let's go," said Penny with a shiver. "It's getting late and we're dueback at the office."

  "Not scared, are you?" the photographer teased.

  "Of course not! But the door is locked, and we're not supposed to behere."

  Salt tested the window. Surprisingly, it raised easily.

  "Here, I'll boost you in," he offered. "Up you go! Then you can unlockthe door and let me in."

  "Oh, Salt, should we?"

  "Why not?" he argued. "We were sent to get a story and pictures, weren'twe? Well, maybe what we're after is right here."

  Only half convinced, Penny permitted herself to be boosted through thewindow. She dropped lightly onto a wooden floor. The interior of thecottage was gloomy, brightened only by a flickering flame which came froma floating wick in a cocoanut shell filled with oil.

  The atmosphere of the room, was sombre, almost terrifying. Taking no timeto look about, Penny scurried to unlock the door. She felt more at easeas Salt sauntered in.

  "Well, this is a queer layout," he observed. "A regular jungle hut."

  The room was bare of furniture except for a low wooden table upon whichthe cocoanut oil lamp burned. On one wall hung two black and red flagswith serpentine symbols sewn with metallic beads.

  Across the room, above the deep fireplace, two crossed machetes dangledfrom cords attached to the wall. Beneath the table was a small, crudewooden chest, and lying upon it was a rattle made from pebbles placed ina painted canister.

  Salt shook the rattle several times. In the stillness of the room, theclatter of the pebbles seemed almost deafening to Penny's sensitive ears.

  "Oh, please!" she pleaded.

  "Don't you like it?" he teased.

  Penny shook her head. With fascinated gaze, she stared at the flickeringoil light.

  "Do you suppose that thing burns all the time, Salt, or has someone justbeen here?"

  "It couldn't burn very long, unless someone keeps refilling the shellwith oil. Wonder what's in this chest?"

  Salt stooped to raise the lid. As he did so, Penny, who stood closebeside him, suddenly clutched his arm. At his look of surprise, shemumbled:

  "I thought I heard something just then--like the rustling of silk!"

  Salt listened a moment and chuckled. "That old imagination of yours isworking overtime, Penny! Relax!"

  "But I did hear a rustling sound as if someone were moving along thewall. Listen! There it is again!"

  "No one could--" Salt began, and broke off. The queer look that came overhis face told Penny that he too had heard the sound.

  Then whispering began, and seemed to issue from the very cottage walls.At first the stunned pair could not distinguish a word. But gradually thewords whispered in a throaty voice became audible.

  "Go!" the warning voice commanded. "All is forbidden!"