The photographer was troubled by no such misgivings. Boldly he went to the door and tried to thrust it open. It was locked and would not budge.
Thwarted, he examined the painted plumed serpent which decorated the door.
“What’s this thing?” he muttered.
Penny told him about the similar design which had been found on a paper in Mr. Rhett’s office.
“I’ll take a close-up of the door then,” Salt decided. “It will tie in with your story, if you build up the mystery angle.”
While the photographer took two pictures of the door, Penny wandered around to the back of the tiny cottage. Only one small window provided light. It had been cut in the wall high toward the sloping thatched roof, and to peer into the dark interior, Penny had to stand on tiptoe.
Inside the room, a spot of light and flame drew her gaze. And at the same instant, something jabbed her ribs from behind. With a startled cry, she whirled around.
Then she laughed, for it was Salt who had come up quietly.
“You frightened me out of a year’s growth!” she exclaimed. “Don’t ever do that again!”
“What do you see? Anything interesting?”