Penny returned home to consult with Mrs. Weems. How to reach the cemetery was something of a problem. Her own car, minus its wheels, remained at the Yacht Club, and Mr. Parker’s automobile had been hauled to a garage for extensive repairs.
“Can’t you borrow a car from someone at the Star office?” suggested the housekeeper. “And do take a man with you when you drive to the cemetery.”
“No, I must go alone,” insisted Penny. “That part is very important.”
In the end she was able to borrow Salt Sommer’s coupe. A little after seven o’clock she set off for Baldiff Road with the package of fake money in her possession. The night was not cold, but a stiff wind blew through the evergreens; whirlwinds of snow chased one another across the untraveled road.
“What a dreary place for a meeting,” Penny shivered as she glimpsed the bleak cemetery on a hilltop.
The area, a full half-mile from any house, was bounded by a high snow-covered brick wall. Beyond the barrier, starlight revealed a cluster of rounding tombstones layered with white. No one was visible, neither the woman nor members of the police force.
Penny glanced at her watch. It lacked ten minutes of eight o’clock. She parked not far from the cemetery entrance and switched off the engine.
Twenty minutes elapsed. Nervous and cold, Penny climbed from the car and tramped back and forth to restore circulation. She had begun to doubt that the woman would keep the appointment.
Then, coming swiftly down the road, she saw a strange looking figure. The one who approached wore a long, tight-fitting coat. A hat with a dark veil covered the woman’s face.
“There she is!” thought Penny, every nerve tense.