Penny offered no comment. She moved closer to the edge of the lily pool, gazing down into the now tranquil waters.
“I know what you are trying to imply,” Miss Kippenberg said jerkily. “It couldn’t be possible. I refuse even to consider such a ridiculous theory.”
“It does seem rather far-fetched,” Penny admitted. “Of course, tragedies do occur and those foot-prints—”
“Please, not another word or you’ll drive me into hysterics!” Sylvia cried. “You are trying to play upon my feelings so that I will tell you things! You are only trying to get a story! I’ll not talk with you any longer.”
She turned and ran up the path toward the house.
“Overplayed my hand that time,” thought Penny ruefully. “As Dad says, I really have too much imagination to make a good reporter. Also too lively a tongue.”
Miss Kippenberg had vanished into the house by the time the girl retraced her way to the garden. The black limousine no longer stood at the front door so she knew she was expected to get back to Andover by her own efforts.
“If Jerry is still waiting at the drawbridge, I’ll ride home with him,” she told herself. “Otherwise, I’m out of luck completely.”
The path which Penny followed brought her toward the rear of the house. As she drew near, the kitchen door suddenly opened and a stout woman in a blue uniform came outside. In her arms she carried two large paper sacks which appeared to be filled with garbage for the bottoms were moist.
Just as the woman reached Penny one of the bags gave away, allowing a collection of corn husks, watermelon rinds and egg shells to fall on the sidewalk.