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 swung back on squeaking hinges, Penny and her father caught a whiff of stale air.
"Just as I thought!" exclaimed Penny. "The place hasn't been opened up in weeks."
Mr. Nichols passed through the doorway into the dark kitchen. He groped about for the electric light switch and could not find it.
"Wait here," he told Penny. "I'll have to go back and get Mr. Kilkane's lantern."