her father exchanged a quick glance but offered no comment.
Mr. Nichols wrote out a check for the rent and in return received the
key to the cottage. Mr. Kilkane carried the lantern out to the car for
them and told Mr. Nichols how to reach the place.

"Remember now," he said in parting, "if everything isn't right at the
cottage, just let me know."

Mr. Nichols drove through the village and turned up a dark, narrow road
which led to the summit of Knob Hill. The highway was densely lined
with tall trees whose branches crashed in the wind. Penny and her
father could see only a short distance beyond the headlights.

"I don't see how you ever found such an isolated place as this, Dad,"
Penny remarked as the car labored up the steep incline. "We'll
practically be hermits up here."

"So much the better," laughed the detective.

The car rounded a curve in the road, and Penny saw a large, rambling
old house with many cupolas, set back amid a grove of evergreen trees.

"That must be Herman Crocker's home," she remarked, turning her head to
stare at it. "A gloomy old place."

"Young Walter Crocker had quite a walk if he came up here tonight,"
said the detective. "Too bad he didn't wait. We could have hauled him
right to his door."

"I'm just as glad he went off," declared Penny. "Somehow I felt very
uneasy when he was riding with us."

The car bumped on until Mr. Nichols saw a narrow lane leading to a tiny
cottage on a knoll.

"This must be our little nest," he said, turning in.

The cottage was a plain white frame building with a cobblestone chimney
overgrown by vines. Even at night the grounds appeared unkempt.
Several loose shutters flapped in the wind.

Penny and her father stepped from the car and stood staring at the
cottage. The low whistle of the wind in the evergreens added to the
depressing effect.

"How much rent are we paying for this mansion, Dad?"

"Fifteen a week. But everything is supposed to be furnished."

"Including cobwebs and atmosphere," laughed Penny. "Well, any sum for
this tumble-down, antiquated wreck would be robbery! Why, the cottage
looks as if it hadn't been occupied in a dozen years."

"I may have been stung," the detective admitted ruefully. "But let's
hope it's better inside."

Mr. Nichols carried the suitcases up the weed-choked path. He fumbled
in his pockets for the key and finally found it. Mr. Kilkane had told
them to enter by the kitchen door.

As it swu