Part 4

"If only I could learn facts which would help Dad's case!" she told herself. "Anything showing that Maxwell is mixed up in a dishonest scheme might turn the trick!"

It occurred to Penny that the editor of the _Riverview Record_ might have had some inkling of a story to be found at Pine Top. Otherwise, why had Francine been sent to the mountain resort? Certainly the rival reporter was working upon an assignment which concerned Harvey Maxwell. She inadvertently had revealed that fact at the Riverview airport.

"Francine thinks I came here for the same purpose," mused Penny. "If only she weren't so high-hat we could work together."

There was almost no real evidence to point to a conclusion that the Fergus hotel was not being operated properly. Penny realized only too well that once more she was depending upon a certain intuition. An investigation of the Green Room might reveal no mystery. But at least there was a slender hope she could learn something which would aid her father in discrediting Harvey Maxwell.

Without attracting attention, Penny descended to the main floor and left the hotel. As she retrieved her skis from the snowbank she was surprised to see Francine standing close by, obviously waiting for her.

"Hello, Penny," the girl greeted her.

"Goodness! Aren't you mistaken? I don't think you know me!"

"Oh, don't try to be funny," Francine replied, falling into step. "I'll explain."

"I wish you would."

"You should have known better than to shout out my name there in the lobby."

"I don't follow your reasoning at all, Francine. Are you traveling incognito or something?"

"Naturally I don't care to have it advertised that I am a reporter. I rather imagine you're not overly anxious to have it known that you are the daughter of Anthony Parker either!"

"It probably wouldn't be any particular help," admitted Penny.

"Exactly! Despite your play-acting at the airport, I know you came here to get the low-down on Harvey Maxwell. But the minute he learns who you are you'll not even get inside the hotel."

"And that goes double, I take it?"

"No one at Pine Top except you knows I am a reporter," went on Francine without answering. "So I warn you, don't pull another boner like you did a few minutes ago. Whenever we're around Fergus or Maxwell or persons who might report to them, just remember you never saw me before. Is that clear?"

"Moderately so," drawled Penny.

"I guess that's all I have to say." Francine hesitated and started to walk off.

"Wait a minute, Francine," spoke Penny impulsively. "Why don't we bury the hatchet and work together on this thing? After all I am more interested in gaining evidence against Maxwell than I am in getting a big story for the paper. How about it?"

Francine smiled in a superior way.

"Thank you, I prefer to lone wolf it. You see, I happen to have a very good lead, and you don't."

"Well, I've heard about the Green Room," said Penny, hazarding a shot in the dark. "That's something."

Francine stopped short.

"What do you know about it?" she demanded quickly. "Maybe we could work together after all."

Penny laughed as she bent down to strap on her skis.

"No, thanks," she declined pleasantly. "You once suggested that a clever reporter finds his own answers. You'll have to wait until you read it in the _Star_!"

CHAPTER 8 _A CODED MESSAGE_

Penny sat in the kitchen of Mrs. Downey's lodge, warming her half frozen toes in the oven.

"Well, how did you like the skiing?" inquired her hostess who was busy mixing a huge meat loaf to be served for dinner.

"It was glorious," answered Penny, "only I took a bad spill. Somehow I missed the turn you told me about, and found myself heading for a barbed wire fence. I jumped it and made a one point landing in a snowbank!"

"You didn't hurt yourself, thank goodness."

"No, but an old man with a shotgun came out of the woods and said 'Scat!' to me. It seems he doesn't like skiers."

"That must have been Peter Jasko."

"And who is he, Mrs. Downey?"

"One of the oldest settlers on Pine Top Mountain," sighed Mrs. Downey. "He's a very pleasant man in some respects, but in others--oh, dear."

"Skiing must be one of his unpleasant aspects. I noticed he had a 'Keep Out' sign posted on his property."

"Peter Jasko is a great trial to me and other persons on the mountain. He has a hatred of skiing and everything pertaining to it, which amounts to fanaticism. A number of skiers have been injured by running into his barbed wire fence."

"Then he put it up on purpose?"

"Oh, yes! He has an idea it will keep folks from skiing."

"He isn't--?" Penny tapped her forehead significantly.

"No," smiled Mrs. Downey. "Old Peter is right in his mind, at least in every respect save this one. He owns our best ski slopes, too."

Penny shifted her foot to a cooler place in the oven.

"Not the slopes connected with this lodge?"

Mrs. Downey nodded as she whipped eggs to a foamy yellow.

"I leased the land from Jasko's son many years ago, and Jasko can do nothing about it except rage. However, the lease expires soon. He has given me to understand it will not be renewed."

"Can't you deal with the son?"

"He is dead, Penny."

"Oh, I see. That does make it difficult."

"Decidedly. Jasko's attitude about the lease is another reason why I think this will be my last year in the hotel business."

"You don't think Ralph Fergus or Harvey Maxwell have influenced Jasko?" Penny asked thoughtfully, a frown ridging her forehead.

"I doubt that anyone could influence the old man," replied Mrs. Downey. "Stubborn isn't the word to describe his character. Even if I lose the ski slopes, I am quite sure he will never lease them to the Fergus hotel interests."

"While I was down there I thought I saw a girl standing at the window of the cabin."

"Probably you did, Penny. Jasko has a granddaughter about your age, named Sara. A very nice girl, too, but she is kept close at home."

"I feel sorry for her if she has to live with that old man. He seemed like a regular ogre."

Removing her toasted feet from the oven, Penny pulled on her stiff boots again. Without bothering to lace them, she hobbled toward the door.

"Oh, by the way," she remarked, pausing. "Did you ever hear of a Green Room at the Fergus hotel?"

"A Green Room?" repeated Mrs. Downey. "No, I can't say I have. What is it, Penny?"

"I wonder myself. Something funny seems to be going on there."

Having aroused Mrs. Downey's curiosity, Penny gave a more complete account of her visit to the Fergus hotel.

"I've never heard anyone mention such a place," declared the woman in a puzzled voice. "But I will say this. The hotel always has attracted a peculiar group of guests."

"How would you like to have me solve the mystery for you?" joked Penny.

"It would suit me very well indeed," laughed Mrs. Downey. "And while you're about it you might put Ralph Fergus out of business, and bring me a new flock of guests."

"I'm afraid you're losing one instead. Maxine Miller told me she is moving down to the big hotel."

"I know. She checked out a half hour ago. Jake made an extra trip to haul her luggage down the mountain."

"Anyway, I shouldn't be sorry to see her go if I were you," comforted Penny. "I am quite sure she hasn't enough money to pay for a week's stay at Pine Top."

Going to her room, Penny changed into more comfortable clothing and busied herself writing a long letter to her father. From her desk by the window she could see skiers trudging up the slopes, some of them making neat herring-bone tracks, others slipping and sliding, losing almost as much distance as they gained.

As she watched, Francine swung into view, poling rhythmically, in perfect timing with her long easy strides.

"She _is_ good," thought Penny, grudgingly.

Dinner was served at six. Afterwards, the guests sat before the crackling log fire and bored each other with tales of their skiing prowess. A few of the more enterprising ones waxed their skis in preparation for the next day's sport.

"Any newspapers tonight?" inquired a business man of Mrs. Downey. "Or is this another one of the blank days?"

"Jake brought New York papers from the village," replied the hotel woman. "They are on the table."

"Blank days?" questioned Francine, looking up from a magazine she had been reading.

"Mr. Glasser calls them that when he doesn't get the daily stock market report," explained Mrs. Downey, smiling at her guest.

"And don't the newspapers always arrive?" questioned Francine.

"Not always. Lately the service has been very poor."

"I'd rather be deprived of a meal than my paper," growled Mr. Glasser. "What annoys me is that the guests at the Fergus hotel always get their papers. I wish someone would explain it to me."

"And I wish someone would explain it to _me_," murmured Mrs. Downey, retreating to the kitchen.

In the morning Penny decided to ski down to the village for a jar of cold cream. The snow was crusted and fast but she felt no terror of the trail which curved sharply through the evergreens. Her balance was better, and this time she had no intention of impaling herself on Peter Jasko's barbed wire fence.

Seldom checking her speed, she hurtled along the ribbon of trail. Racing on to the sharp turn, she shifted her weight and swung her body at precisely the right instant. The slope stretched on past rows of tall trees, towering like sentinels along the snow-swept ridges. Presently it flattened out into an open valley. Penny sailed past a house, a barn, and gradually slowed up until she came to a low hillock overlooking the village.

Recapturing her breath, Penny took off her skis and walked on into Pine Top. She made a few purchases at the drug store and then impulsively entered the telegraph office. To her surprise, Francine Sellberg was there ahead of her.

"How late is your office open?" the reporter was asking the operator.

"Six-thirty," he replied.

"And if one has a rush message to send after that hour?"

"Well, you can get me at my house," the man answered. "I live over behind the Albert's Filling Station."

"Thank you," responded Francine, flashing Penny a mocking smile. "I may have an important story to send to my paper any hour. I wanted to be sure there would be no delay in getting it off."

Penny waited until the reporter had left the office and then said apologetically:

"I don't suppose you've received any message for me?"

"We always telephone as soon as anything comes in," the man replied. "But wait! You're Penelope Parker, aren't you?"

"In my more serious moments. Otherwise, just plain Penny."

"I do have something for you, then. A message came in a few minutes ago. I've been too busy to telephone it to the lodge."

He handed Penny a sheet of paper which she read eagerly. As she anticipated, it was from her father, and with his usual disregard for economy he had not bothered to omit words.

"Glad to learn you arrived safely at Pine Top," he had wired. "Your information about H. M. is astonishing, if true. Are you sure it is the same man? Keep your eye on him, and report to me if you learn anything worth while. I am held here by important developments, but will try to come to Pine Top for Christmas."

Penny read the message twice, scowling at the sentence: "Are you sure it is the same man?" It was clear to her that her father did not have a great deal of faith in her identification. And obviously, he did not believe that anything could be gained by making a special trip to Pine Top to see the hotel man.

Thrusting the paper into the pocket of her jacket she went out into the cold.

"No one seems to rate my detective work very highly," she complained to herself. "But when Dad gets my letter telling him about the Green Door he may take a different attitude!"

Skis slung over her shoulder, she began the weary climb back to the Downey lodge. Before Penny had walked very far she saw that she was overtaking a man on the narrow trail ahead of her. Observing that it was Ralph Fergus, she immediately slowed her steps.

The hotel man did not turn his head to glance back. He kept walking slower and slower as if in deep thought, and after a time he reached absently into his pocket for a letter.

As he pulled it out, another piece of pale gray paper fluttered to the ground. Fergus did not notice that he had lost anything. The wind caught the paper and blew it down the slope toward Penny.

"Oh, Mr. Fergus!" she called. "You dropped something!"

The wind hurled her words back at her. Realizing that she could not make the man hear, Penny quickened her pace. After a short chase she rescued the paper when it caught on the thorns of a snow-caked bush.

At first glance Penny thought she had gone to trouble for no purpose. The paper seemed to be blank. But as she turned it over she saw a single line of jumbled letters:

YL GFZKY GLULFFLS

"What can this be?" Penny thought in amazement. "Nothing, I guess."

She crumpled the paper and tossed it away. But as it skittered and bounced like a tumble weed down the trail, she suddenly changed her mind and darted after it again. Carefully straightening out the page she examined it a second time.

"This looks like copy paper used in a newspaper office," she told herself. "But there is no newspaper in Pine Top, I wonder--?"

The conviction came to Penny that the jumbled letters might be in code. Her pulse leaped at the thought. If only she were able to decipher it!

"I'll take this to the lodge and work on it," she decided quickly. "Who knows? It may be just the key I need to unlock this strange affair of the Green Door!"

CHAPTER 9 _A CALL FOR HELP_

All that afternoon and far into the evening Penny devoted to her assigned task, trying to make sense out of the jumbled sentence of typewriting. She used first one method and then another, but she could not decode the brief message. She had moments when she even doubted that it was a code. At last, completely disgusted, she threw down her pencil and put the paper away in a bureau drawer.

"I never was meant to be a cryptographer or whatever you call those brainy fellows who unravel ciphers and things!" she grumbled. "Maybe the trouble with me is that I'm not bright."

Switching off the lamp, Penny rolled up the shade, and stood for a moment gazing down into the dark valley. Far below she could see lights glowing in the Fergus hotel, mysterious and challenging.

"I feel as if I'm on the verge of an important discovery, yet nothing happens," she sighed. "Something unusual is going on here, but what?"

Penny did not believe that Francine knew the answer either. The girl reporter undoubtedly had been sent to Pine Top upon a definite tip from her editor, yet she could not guess the nature of such a tip. It was fairly evident that Francine was after some sort of evidence, but so far she had made no progress in acquiring it.

"We're both groping in the dark, searching for something we know is here but can't see," thought Penny. "And we watch each other like hawks for fear the other fellow will get the jump!"

The Green Door intrigued and puzzled her. While it might mean nothing at all, she could not shake off a feeling that if once she were able to get inside the room she might learn the answer to some of her questions.

Penny had turned over several plans in her mind, none of which suited her. The most obvious thing to do was to try to bribe an employee of the hotel to give her the information she sought. But if she failed, her identity would be disclosed to Ralph Fergus and Harvey Maxwell. It seemed wiser to bide her time and watch.

Penny awoke the next morning to find large flakes of snow piling on the window sills. The storm continued and after breakfast only the most rugged skiers ventured out on the slopes. Francine hugged a hot air register, complaining that there was not enough heat, Many of the other guests, soon exhausting the supply of magazines, became restless.

Luncheon was over when Penny stamped in out of the cold to find Mr. Glasser fretfully pacing to and fro before the fireplace.

"When will the papers come?" he asked Mrs. Downey.

"Jake usually goes down to the village after them about four o'clock. But with this thick weather, the plane may not get in today."

"It's in now, Mrs. Downey," spoke Penny, shaking snow from her red mittens. "I saw it nearly half an hour ago, flying low over the valley."

"Then the papers must be at Pine Top by this time." Mrs. Downey hesitated before adding: "I'll call Jake from his work and ask him to go after them."

"Let me," offered Penny quickly.

"In this storm?"

"Oh, I don't mind. I rather like it."

"All right, then," agreed Mrs. Downey in relief. "But don't get lost, whatever you do. If the trails become snowed over it might be better to stay on the main road."

"I won't get lost," laughed Penny. "If worse comes to worst I always can climb a pine tree and sight the Fergus hotel."

She dried out her mittens, and putting on an extra sweater beneath her jacket, stepped outside the lodge. The wind had fallen and only a few snowflakes were whirling down. Hearing the faint tingle of bells, Penny turned to gaze toward the road, where a pair of white horses were pulling an empty lumber wagon up the hill.

The driver, hunched over on the seat, was slapping his hands together to keep them warm.

"Why, that looks like Old Whiskers himself," thought Penny. "It is Peter Jasko."

The observation served only to remind her of their unpleasant meeting. Since being so discourteously ejected from the Jasko property Penny had not ventured back. Knowing that the old man was away she felt sorely tempted to again visit the locality.

"I guess I ought not to take the time," she decided regretfully. "Mr. Glasser will be fretting for his paper."

Making a quick trip down the mountainside, Penny swung into the village. Mrs. Downey had told her that she would be able to get the newspapers at the Pine Top Cafe where a boy named Benny Smith had an agency.

Entering the restaurant, she glanced about but saw no one who was selling papers. Finally, she ventured to ask the proprietor if she had come to the right place.

"This is the right place," he agreed cheerfully. "Benny went home a little while ago."

"Then how do I get the papers for Mrs. Downey's lodge?"

"Guess you're out of luck," he replied. "They didn't come in today."

"But I saw the plane."

"The plane got through all right. I don't know what was wrong. Somehow the papers weren't put aboard."

Penny turned away in disappointment. She had made the long trip to the village for no purpose. While she did not mind for herself, she knew that Mr. Glasser and the other guests were likely to be annoyed. After a day of confinement indoors they looked forward to news from the outside world.

"It's strange the papers didn't come," she mused as she started back to the Downey lodge. "This isn't the first time they've failed to arrive either."

Penny climbed steadily for a time and then sat down on a log to rest a moment. She was not far from the Jasko cabin. By making her own trail through the woods she could reach it in a very few minutes.

A mischievous idea leaped into her mind, fairly teasing to be put into effect. What fun to climb the forbidden barbed wire fence and honeycomb Mr. Jasko's field with ski tracks! She could visualize his annoyance when he returned home to learn that a mysterious skier had paid him a visit.

"He oughtn't to be so mean," she said aloud to justify herself. "It will serve him right for trying to frighten folks with shotguns!"

Penny fastened on her skis and glided off through the woods. She kept her directions straight and soon emerged into a clearing to find herself in view of the Jasko cabin. Drawing near the barbed wire fence she stopped short and stared.

"Why, that old scamp! He really did it!"

A new strand of wire had been added to the fence, making it many inches higher. Penny's suggestion, offered as a joke, had been acted upon by Peter Jasko. Not even an expert ski jumper could hope to clear the improved barrier. Any person who came unwittingly down the steep slope must take a disastrous tumble at the base of the fence.

"This settles it," thought Penny grimly. "My conscience is perfectly clear now."

She rolled under the fence and surveyed the unblemished expanse of snowy field with the eye of a mechanical draftsman.

"I may as well be honest about it and sign my name," she chuckled.

Starting in at the far corner of the field she made a huge double-edged "P" with her long runners. It took a little ingenuity to figure out an "E" but two "N's" were fairly easy to execute. She finished "Y" off with a flourish and cocked her head sideways to view her handiwork.

"Not bad, not bad at all," she congratulated herself. "Only I've used up too much space. We'll have to have a big Penny and a little Parker."

She ran off a "P" and an "A" but even her limber body was not equal to the contortion required for an "R." In the process of making a neat curve she suddenly lost her balance and toppled over in an ungainly heap.

"Oh, now I've done it!" she moaned, slowly picking herself up. "All my wonderful artistry gone for nothing. 'Parker' looks like a big smudge!"

A sound, suspiciously suggesting a muffled shout of laughter, reached Penny's ears. She glanced quickly about. No one was in sight. The windows of the cabin were deserted.

"I think I'll be getting out of here," she decided. "If Old Whiskers should come back this wouldn't be a healthy place to practice handwriting."

Penny dug in her poles and glided toward the fence. In the act of rolling under the barbed wires, she suddenly froze motionless. She had heard a cry and this time there was no doubt in her mind as to the direction from which the sound had come. Her startled gaze focused upon the cabin amid the trees.

"Help! Help!" called a shrill, half muffled voice. "Come back, and let me out of my prison!"

CHAPTER 10 _LOCKED IN THE CABIN_

Penny hesitated, and as the call was repeated, went slowly back toward the cabin. She could see no one.

"Up here!" shouted the voice.

Glancing toward the second story windows, Penny saw a girl standing there, her face pressed to the pane.

"Peter Jasko's granddaughter!" thought Penny. "And she must have seen me decorating the place with ski tracks."

However, the other girl was only concerned with her own predicament. She smiled and motioned for Penny to come directly under the window.

"Can you help me get out of here?" she called down.

"You're not locked in?" inquired Penny in astonishment.

"I certainly am! My grandfather did it. He fastened the door of the loft."

"How long have you been there?"

"Oh, not very long," the girl answered impatiently, "but I'm sick of it! Will you help me out of here?"

"How?"

"Grandfather always hides the key to the outside door in the woodshed. It should be hanging on a nail by the window."

Penny hardly knew what to do. It was one thing to annoy Peter Jasko by making a few ski tracks in his yard, but quite another to antagonize him in more serious ways. For all she could tell, he might have locked the girl in the cabin as a punishment for some wrongdoing.

"Does your grandfather often leave you like this?" she asked dubiously.

"Always when there's snow on the ground," came the surprising answer. "Oh, please let me out of this hateful place! Don't be such a goody-good!"

To be accused of being a "goody-good" was a novel experience for Penny. But instead of taking offense she laughed and started toward the woodshed.

"On a nail by the window!" the girl shouted after her. "If it isn't there look on the shelf by the door."