CHAPTER 7 _THE BEARDED STRANGER_
Penny's first thought upon seeing her father and Mrs. Deline was to stealquietly away. Then amazement and injury gave way to a feeling ofindignation. Perhaps her father had a perfect right to lunch with Mrs.Deline, but it was inconsiderate of him to so completely forget his owndaughter.
"I might just as well be an orphan!" Penny sighed. "Well, we'll see!"
Stiffly she marched across the lawn to the railed-in hotel veranda. Herfather saw her coming. His look of surprise changed to one of guardedwelcome.
"Come up and have lunch with us," he invited. "The food here is quite animprovement on what we've been having at camp."
Penny could find no outside entranceway to the terrace. To Mrs. Deline'shorror and her father's amusement, she climbed over the stone railing.
"Dad," Penny began, ignoring the widow except for a curt nod, "I was justabout ready to get out a search warrant for you."
Mr. Parker drew another chair to the table for his daughter. Her hair wasnone too well combed, she wore no stockings, and the coat did notentirely cover her camp costume. By contrast Mrs. Deline was perfectlyturned out in tailored tweed suit with a smart little hat of feathers.Though the woman said nothing, her gaze was scornful as she appraisedPenny.
"What shall I order for you?" Mr. Parker asked, signaling a waiter.
"Nothing, thank you." Penny was coldly polite. "I had a very fine lunchat camp, thanks to one of the rangers."
"I'm sorry I didn't get back," Mr. Parker apologized. "It took a longwhile to have the stove repaired. Then I met Mrs. Deline and--"
"Oh, I understand," Penny broke in. "The point is, when, if ever, are youcoming back to camp?"
"Why, right now I suppose. We've finished our luncheon."
The waiter had come to the table. Mr. Parker asked for the bill, paid it,and arose. As he bade Mrs. Deline goodbye, he remarked that he probablywould see her again soon.
Walking to the hotel parking lot where Mr. Parker had left the car,neither he nor Penny had much to say. Not until they were driving throughthe village was the subject of Mrs. Deline mentioned.
"I don't see why you can't be a bit nicer to her," Mr. Parker commented."You scarcely spoke a word to her."
"Did she say anything to me?"
"Well, I don't recall."
"I've treated Mrs. Deline just as well as she treats me!" Penny defendedherself. "I'll admit I don't like her."
"And you show it too."
"Maybe I do, but she has no business taking so much of your time."
"So that's where the shoe pinches," chuckled Mr. Parker. "My little girlis jealous."
"The very idea!"
"Mrs. Deline is brilliant--a highly educated woman and I enjoy talking toher," Mr. Parker said thoughtfully. "I assure you it's no more seriousthan that."
Penny moved close to her father and squeezed his arm.
"We've been pals for such a long while," she said wistfully. "If anythingever should come between us--"
"Penny, you're positively morbid!" her father interrupted. "Of coursenothing ever will come between us! Now let's talk of more cheerfulsubjects."
"Such as?"
"I've been thinking, Penny. You need a friend, someone to pal aroundwith."
"You're the only friend I need, Dad."
"I mean someone your own age, Penny. Why not send for Louise Sidell? I'llgladly pay her train fare."
"It would be fun having Lou here."
"Then it's settled. We'll send a wire now." Mr. Parker turned the cararound and drove to the local telegraph office.
Before Penny could change her mind, the message was sent. Not until longafter she and her father had returned to the park did it occur to herthat unwittingly she might have fashioned her own undoing. Though campingwould be far more interesting with Louise to share her experiences, italso would give her father added opportunity to see Mrs. Deline.
"Maybe he didn't think of that angle," Penny reflected uneasily. "I'llkeep it to myself."
The following day Mr. Parker spent the entire day in camp. With thegasoline stove in working order, hot meals were prepared though notwithout endless effort. There were dishes to wash, beds to make, and bythe time the tasks were done, neither Penny nor her father had any energyleft for hiking.
The second day was much easier. However, with more free time, Mr. Parkerbecame increasingly restless. He missed his morning paper and wasdissatisfied with the skimpy news reports that came in over the radio.Penny was not surprised when he mentioned that he would walk down toSunset Beach.
"Mind if I go with you?" Penny asked quickly.
"Of course not," her father answered. "Why should I?"
At Sunset Beach a call at the local telegraph office disclosed a messagefor Penny which had been held for lack of an address. The wire was fromLouise and read:
"ARRIVING AT SUNSET BEACH THURSDAY ON THE 12:30 PLANE. HOLD EVERYTHING."
"Thursday!" Penny cried, offering the telegram to her father. "That'stomorrow! My, will I be glad to see Lou! This place has been like amorgue without her."
"I imagine the town will brighten up quite a bit within the next fewdays," Mr. Parker said, a twinkle in his eye. "In fact, Louise may not bethe only new arrival."
"Is someone else coming to see us?"
Mr. Parker would not answer her many questions. "Wait and see," heteased.
Since arriving at Sunset Beach Penny had been eager to visit thelighthouse located on Crag Point. Noticing that the tide was low, shesuggested to her father that they go there together.
"Too long a walk," he complained. "You run along by yourself. I'll sunmyself on the beach."
Leaving her father, Penny started off alone. The sun was warm and therewere a number of bathers splashing about in the surf. A long row ofpicturesque cottages lined the water front. They thinned out as she wentfarther up the beach, and presently there were no habitations, onlydesolate, wind-blown sand.
Midway to the lighthouse, Penny met a man of early middle age who carriedfishing rod and creel. He stared at her, hesitated, then paused to speak.
"I notice you're going toward Crag Point," he remarked pleasantly. "Areyou a stranger to this locality?"
Penny admitted that she was.
"Then perhaps you haven't been told that the Point is a dangerous placeto be at high tide."
"No, I hadn't heard."
"The Point is very nearly covered at that time," the stranger explained."There's no danger at the present moment, of course."
"How long will I have here?"
"Oh, several hours," the stranger replied. "There's no cause for alarm ifyou just keep watch of the tide."
Penny thanked the stranger and walked on toward the lighthouse. Thestructure rose to a height of seventy-five feet above the beach and wasreached by means of a narrow little iron stairway.
No one was about the premises as Penny approached. However, as shestarted up the iron steps, a door far above her head opened. A burly,stout man whose face was browned by wind and sun, peered down at her.
"You can't come up here!" he shouted. "No visitors are allowed!"
"Oh," Penny murmured, retreating a step. "I didn't know. I only wanted tosee the tower."
"No visitors," the keeper of the light repeated. "War regulations."
The rule seemed a reasonable one, but after such a long hike, Penny wasdisappointed. Walking back to the main section of the beach, she lookedabout for her father. He had disappeared.
"I'll bet a cookie he's at the Crystal Inn!" she thought indignantly.
But Penny could not find her father there nor at any other place alongthe water front. After an hour's search she decided that he must havereturned to camp. Returning there, she approached the tent, noticing thatthe flap was closed, though not buttoned as she had left it.
"Dad must be here," she thought.
Drawing nearer she could see movement withi
n the tent as someone brushedagainst the canvas walls.
"Oh, Dad!" she called.
There was no answer. But the next instant a man in rough garments andstraw hat rushed out of the tent. Penny never before had set eyes uponhim. She was so astonished that she gained only a fleeting impression ofthe bearded stranger. Seeing her, he thrust some object beneath his coatand fled into the woods.