The Cry at Midnight Part 7

"Yes, there is!" Penny corrected.

Just then she caught a fleeting glimpse of a face at the tiny circular window of the gatehouse. She was convinced it was Winkey, who for some reason, intended to ignore their presence at the gate.

"Let us in!" she called.

"Open up!" shouted Mr. Ayling.

Still there was no rustle of life from the gatehouse.

"Disgusting!" Penny muttered. "I know Winkey is watching us! He's only being contrary!"

Mr. Ayling's angular jaw tightened. "In that case," he said, "we'll have to get in the best way we can. I'll climb over the fence."

The words purposely were spoken loudly enough to be overheard in the gatehouse. Before the investigator could carry out his threat, the door of the circular, stone building swung back. Winkey, the hunchback, sauntered leisurely out.

"Want somethin'?" he inquired.

"Didn't you hear us trying to get in?" Mr. Ayling demanded.

"Sure," the hunchback shrugged, "but I was busy fixin' the bell that connects with the house. Anyhow, visitors ain't wanted here."

"So we observe," said Mr. Ayling. "Where is your master?"

"Inside."

"Then announce us," the investigator ordered. "We're here to ask a few questions."

Winkey's bird-like eyes blinked rapidly. He looked as if about to argue, then changed his mind.

"Go on to the house then," he said crossly. "I'll let 'em know by phone you're comin'."

The driveway curled through a large outer courtyard where a cl.u.s.ter of small and interesting buildings stood in various stages of ruin.

Near the gatehouse was the almonry, a shelter used in very early days to house visitors who sought free lodging.

Beyond were the ancient brewhouse, bakehouse, and granary. The latter two buildings now were little more than heaps of fallen brick. None of the structures was habitable.

In far better state of preservation was the central building with gabled roof and tall hooded chimneys. However, front steps long since had fallen away from the entrance doorway. Bridging the gap was a short ladder.

"What a place!" commented Mr. Ayling offering Penny his hand to help her across. "Looks as if it might cave in any day."

The visitors found themselves facing a weather-beaten but beautifully carved wooden doorway. Before they could knock, it opened on squeaky hinges.

A woman with heavily lined face, who wore a gray gown and white lace cap, peered out at them.

"Go away!" she murmured in a stage whisper. "Go quickly!"

"Julia!" said a voice directly behind her.

The woman whirled around and cringed as a brown-robed monk took her firmly by the arm.

"Go and light a fire in the parlor, Julia," her master directed. "I will greet our guests."

"Yes, Father Benedict," the woman muttered, scurrying away.

The master now turned apologetically to the visitors.

"I trust my servant was not rude," he said. "Poor creature! Her twisted mind causes her to believe that all persons who do not dwell within our walls are evil and to be feared."

As the monk spoke, he smiled in a kindly, friendly way, yet his keen eyes were appraising the two visitors. Though it was cold and windy on the door step, he did not hasten to invite Penny and Mr. Ayling inside. He stood holding the half-opened door in his hand.

"You must excuse our lack of hospitality," he said, fingering a gold chain which hung from his thin shoulders. "We have much cleaning and remodeling to do before we are ready to receive visitors."

Mr. Ayling explained that his call was one of business, adding that he represented the Barnes Mutual Insurance Co.

"Such matters must be discussed with me later," the monk said, slowly but firmly closing the door.

"I'm not selling insurance," Mr. Ayling a.s.sured him. Deliberately he leaned against the jamb, preventing the monk from shutting the door.

Father Benedict bit his lip in annoyance. "May I inquire your business with me?" he asked frostily.

"I'm seeking to trace a client--Mrs. Nathaniel Hawthorne."

"I know of no such person. Deeply I regret that I cannot help you, sir.

If you will excuse me--"

"The woman may have used an a.s.sumed name," Mr. Ayling cut in. "She has a weakness--er, I mean a liking for cult practices."

"You are suggesting this woman may have joined my little flock?"

"That's the general idea."

"Absurd!" The monk's gaze rested briefly on Penny as he added: "I greatly fear you have been led astray by loose gossip as to the nature of the order I am founding here."

"I told Mr. Ayling about your work because I think it's so interesting,"

Penny said quickly. She slapped her mittened hands together. "My, it's cold today! May we warm ourselves at your fire before we start back to town?"

A frown puckered Father Benedict's eyebrows. Plainly the request displeased him. But with a show of hospitality, he said:

"Our abode is very humble and poorly furnished. Such as it is, you are welcome." Bowing slightly, he stepped aside to admit the visitors.

Penny and Mr. Ayling found themselves in a long, barren, and very cold hallway.

"Follow me, please," bade the monk.

Moving on the bare boards with noiseless tread, he led them through an arched doorway cut in the thick wall, across a wind-swept pillared cloister and into a parlor where a fire burned brightly in a huge, time-blackened fireplace.

The sheer comfort of the room surprised Penny. Underfoot was a thick velvet carpet. Other furnis.h.i.+ngs included a large mahogany desk, a sofa, two easy chairs, and a cabinet filled with fine gla.s.sware, gold and silver objects, and a blue gla.s.s decanter of wine.