“I hardly think so.” Father Benedict’s lips curled in a superior smile. “Describe the woman, please.”
Mr. Ayling repeated the description Penny had heard earlier that afternoon.
“We have no such person here,” the monk said. “I regret I am unable to help you.”
He arose, a plain hint that he considered the brief interview at an end. Somewhat reluctantly, Penny and her companion also turned their backs upon the crackling fire.
“You have made a comfortable place of this room,” the girl said. Her gaze fastened admiringly upon a porcelain decanter in a wall cabinet. “And such interesting antiques!”
For the first time since the visitors had arrived, Father Benedict’s eyes sparkled with warmth.
“Collecting art treasures is a hobby of mine,” he revealed. Crossing to the cabinet, he removed the decanter.
“This is a piece of Ching-Hoa porcelain and very rare,” he said. “And here is a Byzantine amulet—priceless. The golden goblets came from a European church destroyed a century ago.”
“You’re not afraid to keep such treasures in the monastery?” Mr. Ayling inquired.
“Afraid?” Father Benedict’s dark eyes glittered with a strange light. “I must confess I know not the meaning of the word.”