In dismay, the two girls watched the trinket settle slowly to the bottom of the pool.
“Oh, my beautiful pin,” moaned Louise. “Aunt Lucinda gave it to me for my birthday. I wouldn’t have lost it for anything in the world.”
“I guess it was my fault,” Penny said self-accusingly.
“No, it wasn’t. I must have been careless about fastening the clasp. When I leaned over it slipped off. Well, it’s gone, and that’s that.”
The cameo pin had fallen into the deepest part of the pool not far from where the alligator lay. The girls were unable to see it plainly because of the lily pads and plants which cluttered the water.
“If that old alligator would just behave himself we could wade in and get it easy,” Penny said.
“Fancy trying it!”
“I’m afraid he would take special delight in snapping off an arm or a leg. And we don’t dare ask anyone to help us get the pin or we’ll be ejected from the grounds as trespassers.”
“We may as well forget about it, Penny. Come along, I’m sick of this place.”
“No, wait, Louise. We might be able to fish it out with a stick.”
“I don’t think we’d have a chance.”
“Anyway, it will do no harm to try.”
Penny searched the woods until she found a long stick with a curve at the end. Lying flat on the flagstones at the edge of the pool she prodded for the pin.
“I can touch it all right!” she cried. “I’ll pull it over to the side.”
“Be careful you don’t tumble in,” Louise warned, anxiously holding her chum by the waist. “If you should lose your balance—”
Penny hooked the cameo pin in the curve of the stick and began raising it inch by inch up the side of the pool.
“If I can get it up high enough reach down and snatch it,” Penny advised her chum. “Oh, shoot, there it goes!”
The pin had slipped away from the stick and settled once more on the bottom of the pool.
“You can’t get it, Penny,” Louise insisted. “You’re making the alligator all excited by prodding around.”
“I don’t care abouthim. I’ll try once more if I can locate the pin. It seems to be hiding from me now.”
The water was so disturbed that Penny could not see the pin or the bottom of the pool. She waited several minutes for the dirt to settle and then gazed down once more.
“There it is!” she exclaimed. “It moved over quite a ways to the right.”
Louise flattened herself beside Penny. “Oh, let the pin go,” she said.
“No, I think I can get it. Say, there seems to be something else on the bottom of the pool.”
“Where?”
Penny pointed, and then, as her chum still could not distinguish anything, parted the lily pads with her stick.
“Yes, I do see something now,” Louise declared. “What can it be?”
“Doesn’t it look like a metal ring?” Penny asked. She had lost all interest in the cameo pin.
“Yes, it does. Someone probably threw it into the pool.”
“But it looks to me as if it’s attached to the bottom of the tank, embedded in the cement,” Penny said. She bent closer to the water, trying to see.
“Be careful,” Louise warned nervously. “That alligator might come up and snap off your nose.”
Penny paid no heed.
“It is attached!” she announced in an excited voice. “Louise, do you know what I think?”
“What?”
“It’s the ring of a trapdoor!”
“A trapdoor!” Louise echoed incredulously.
“You can see for yourself that it’s an iron ring.”
“It does look a little like one from here,” Louise admitted. “But whoever heard of a trapdoor in a lily pool? No one but you would even think of such a thing. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Does anything on this estate make sense?”
“The ring might have something to do with draining the pool,” Louise said without replying to her chum’s question. “I suppose a section of the pool could be lifted up and removed. But I’d never call it a trapdoor.”
“I wish we could tell for sure what it is.” Penny tried to prod the ring with her stick but it was well beyond her reach. “Maybe the alligator has a room down under the pool where he spends his winters!”
“You’re simply filled with ideas today,” Louise declared. “What about my pin? Shall we let it go?”
Reminded of her original task, Penny set to work once more, trying to draw the cameo to the edge of the tank. She was so deeply engrossed, that she jumped as her chum touched her on the arm.
“Listen, Penny, I think someone is coming!”
From the path at the right they could hear approaching footsteps and the low murmur of voices.
Penny struggled to her feet, dropping the stick.
“We mustn’t be caught here,” she whispered.
Taking Louise’s hand, she drew the girl into the dense bushes directly behind the pool. Scarcely had they secreted themselves when Sylvia Kippenberg and the head gardener came into view. They seated themselves on a rustic bench not far from where the two girls stood.
“I had to talk with you,” Sylvia said to the old man. “The police came this morning and asked so many questions. Mother put them off but they’ll be back again.”
“They didn’t learn about the alligator?” the gardener asked gruffly.
“No, they came here but only stayed a few minutes. I don’t think they noticed anything wrong.”
“Then that’s all right.”
“Their investigation is only beginning,” Sylvia said nervously. “Mother and I both believe it would be wise to get rid of the alligator.”
“Wise but not easy,” the gardener replied.
“You’ll see what you can do about it?”
“Yes. I’ll try to get rid of him.”
“Then I guess that’s all,” Sylvia said, but she made no move to leave. She sat staring moodily at the pool.
“Anything else on your mind?” asked the gardener.
“I—I wanted to ask you something, but I scarcely know how.”
The gardener waited, watching the girl’s face intently.
“You never liked Grant Atherwald,” she began nervously.
“Say, what are you driving at?” the man asked quickly. “You’re not trying to hint that I had anything to do with Grant Atherwald’s disappearance?”
The two faced each other and Sylvia’s gaze was the first to fall.
“No, no, of course not,” she said.
“I don’t know any more about his disappearance than you do,” the man told her angrily. “I didn’t even see him on the day of the wedding.”
“But he came here. The wedding ring was found near the pool. Surely you must have heard some sound for I know you were in this part of the garden.”
“Well, I didn’t,” the man said sullenly. “The only persons I saw were a newspaper photographer and a girl.”
“Please don’t take offense,” Miss Kippenberg murmured, getting up from the bench. “I’ve been terribly upset these past few days.”
She walked slowly to the edge of the pool. There she stopped short, staring down at an object which lay on the flagstones at her feet. It was the stick which Penny had dropped only a moment before.
“What have you found?” the gardener cried.
He went quickly to her side and took the damp stick from her hand.
“Someone has been here prying around,” he said in a harsh voice. “This was used to investigate the water in the pool.”
“And whoever it was must be close by even now. Otherwise the stick would have dried out in the sun.”
“You go back to the house,” the man commanded. “I’ll look around.”
In their hideout amid the bushes, Penny and Louise gazed at each other with chagrin. No word was spoken for even a whisper might have been heard. With a common desire for escape, they glided with cat-like tread toward the river.
The girls could hear no movement behind them as they darted down the path. They dared to hope that they had eluded the old gardener.
Then as they came within sight of the river, Louise stumbled over a vine. Although she stifled an outcry the dull thud of her body against the ground seemed actually to reverberate through the forest. A black crow on the lower limb of an oak tree cawed in protest before he flew away.
Penny pulled Louise to her feet and they went on as fast as they could, but they knew the sound had betrayed them. Now they could hear the man in pursuit, his heavy shoes pounding on the hard, dry path.
“Run!” Penny commanded.
They reached the river bank and looked about for the boat which would take them across. As they had feared it was on the opposite shore.
Penny gestured frantically, but the boy did not understand the need for haste. He picked up his oars and rowed toward them at a very deliberate pace.
“Oh, he’ll never get here in time,” Louise murmured fearfully. “Shall we hide?”
“That’s all we can do.”
They realized then that they had waited too long. Before they could dodge into the deeper thicket the gardener reached the clearing.
“So it’s you again!” he cried wrathfully, glaring at Penny.
“Please, we didn’t mean any harm. We can explain—”
“This stick is explanation enough for me!” the man shouted, waving it above his head. “You were trying to find out about the lily pool!”
“We were only trying to get a pin which I dropped into the water,” Louise said, backing a step away.
“I don’t believe you!” the man snapped. “You can’t fool me! I know why you came here, and you’ll pay for your folly! You’ll never take the secret away with you!”
With a swift, animal-like spring which belied his age, the gardener hurled himself toward the girls. He seized Penny’s arm giving it a cruel twist.
“You’re coming along with me,” he announced harshly.
“Let me go!” Penny cried, trying to free herself.
“You’re going with me to the house. You’ve been altogether too prying. Now you’ll take your punishment, both of you.”
The gardener might have managed Penny alone, but he was no match for two athletic girls. As he tried to seize Louise, Penny twisted free.
Quick as a flash, she grasped the man’s felt hat, jamming it down on his head over his eyes. While he was trying to pull it off, Louise also wriggled from his grasp.
The two girls ran to the water’s edge. Their boat had drawn close to shore. Without waiting for it to beach they waded out over their shoetops and climbed aboard.
“Don’t either of you ever come here again!” the gardener hurled after them. “If you do—”
The rest of the threat was carried away by the wind. However, Penny could not resist waving her hand and calling back: “Bye, bye, old timer! We’ll be seeing you!”
“What’s the matter with that man anyhow?” asked the boy who rowed the boat. “Didn’t he want you on the estate?”
“On the contrary, he invited us to remain and we declined,” grinned Penny. “Just temperament, that’s all. He can’t make up his mind which way he would like to have it.”
Allowing the boy to puzzle over the remark, she busied herself pouring water from her sodden shoes. The visit to the estate had not turned out at all as she had planned. She had failed to talk with Miss Kippenberg, and it was almost certain that from now on servants would keep a much closer watch for intruders.
The only vital information she had gleaned resulted from overhearing the conversation between Sylvia Kippenberg and the gardener.
“She talked with him as if they were well acquainted,” mused Penny. “Miss Kippenberg must have thought he knew more about Grant Atherwald’s disappearance than he would tell. And she seems to be afraid the Law will ask too many questions. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have suggested getting rid of the alligator.”
One additional observation Penny had made, but she decided not to speak of it until she and Louise were alone.
The boat reached shore and the two girls stepped out on the muddy bank.
“Will you need me again?” inquired the boy.
“I may,” said Penny, “and I can’t tell you exactly when. Where do you keep your boat?”
“Up the river just beyond that crooked maple tree. I hide it in the bushes and I keep the oars inside a hollow log close by. You won’t have any trouble finding it.”
Penny and Louise said goodbye to the lad and scrambled up the bank.
“I’m sure I’ll not be going back tothatplace,” the latter declared emphatically. “I just wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t broken away.”
“We might have been locked up in the stone tower,” Penny laughed. “Then another one of my theories would have proven itself.”
“Oh, you and your theories! You can’t make me believe that gardener didn’t mean to harm us. He was a very sinister character.”
“Sinister is a strong word, Lou. But I’ll agree he’s not any ordinary gardener. Either he’s been hired by the Kippenberg family for a very special purpose or else he’s gained their confidence and means to bend them to his own ends.”
“His own ends! Why, Penny, what do you mean? Have you learned something you haven’t told me?”
“Only this. I’m satisfied Old Peter is no gardener. He’s wearing a disguise.”
“Well, what won’t you think of next! You’ve been reading too many detective stories, Penny Parker.”
“Have I? Then there’s no need to tell you—”
“Yes, there is,” Louise cut in. “Your ideas are pretty imaginative, but I like to hear them anyway.”
“Considerate of you, old thing,” Penny drawled in her best imitation of an English accent. “You don’t deserve to be told after that crack, but I’ll do it anyhow. When I pulled the gardener’s hat down over his eyes, I felt something slip!”
“Maybe it was his skin peeling off.”
“He wore a wig,” Penny said soberly. “That’s why he looked so startled when I jerked the hat.”
“Did you actually see a wig?”
“No, but he must have had one on his head. I felt it give, I tell you.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past that fellow. But if he isn’t a gardener, then who or what is he?”
“I don’t know, but I intend to do some intensive investigation.”
“Just how, may I ask?”
Penny gazed speculatively toward the drawbridge, noting that the old watchman had been deserted by the group of reporters. He sat alone, legs crossed, his camp stool propped against the side of the gearhouse.
“Let’s talk with him, Lou. He might be able to tell us something about the different employees of the estate.”
They walked over to where the old man sat, greeting him with their most pleasant smiles.
“Good morning,” said Penny.
The old man finished lighting his pipe before he deigned to notice them.
“Good morning,” repeated Penny.
“Mornin’,” said the watchman. He looked the two girls over appraisingly and added: “Ain’t you children a long ways off from your Ma’s?”
The remark both startled and offended Penny, but instantly she divined that the old fellow’s memory was short and his eyesight poor. He had failed to recognize her in everyday clothes.
“Oh, we’re just out for a hike,” she answered. “You see, we get tired of all the ordinary places, so we thought we would walk by here.”
“We’re interested in your bridge,” added Louise. “We just love bridges.”
“This one ain’t so good any more,” the old man said disparagingly.
“Doesn’t it get lonely here?” ventured Louise. “Sitting here all day long?”
“It did at first, Miss. But I got used to it. Anyway, it beats leanin’ on a shovel for the gov’ment. I got a little garden over yonder a ways. You ought to see my tomatoes. Them Ponderosas is as big as a plate.”
“Do you ever operate the bridge?” Louise inquired, for Penny had not told her that the structure was still in use.
“Oh, sure, Miss. That’s what I’m here for. But it ain’t safe for nothin’ heavier than a passenger car.”
“I’d love to see the bridge lowered.” Louise stared curiously up at the tall cantilevers which pointed skyward. “When will you do it next time, Mr.—?”
“Davis, if you please, Miss. Thorny Davis they calls me. My real name’s Thorndyke.”
The old man pulled a large, silver watch from his pocket and consulted it.
“In about ten minutes now, Mrs. Kippenberg will be comin’ back from town. Then we’ll make the old hinge bend down agin’.”
“Let’s wait,” said Louise.
Penny nodded and then as Thorny did not seem to object, she peeped into the gear house, the door of which stood half open. A maze of machinery met her eye—an electric motor and several long hand-levers.
Presently Thorny Davis listened intently. Penny thought he looked like an old fox who had picked up the distant baying of the pack.
“That’shercar a-comin’ now,” he said. “I can tell by the sound of the engine. Well, I reckon I might as well let ’er down.”
Thorny arose and knocked the ashes from his corn-cob pipe. He opened the door of the gear house and stepped inside.
“May I see how you do it?” asked Penny. “I always was interested in machinery.”
“The women will be runnin’ locomotives next,” Thorny complained whimsically. “All right, come on in.”
The old watchman pulled a lever on the starting rheostat of the motor which responded with a sudden jar and then a low purr. It increased its speed as he pushed the lever all the way over.
“Now the power’s on. The next thing is to drop ’er.”
Thorny grasped one of the long hand-levers and gently eased it forward. There was a grind of gears engaging and the bridge slowly crept down out of the sky.
Penny did not miss a single move. She noted just which levers the watchman pulled and in what order. When the platform of the bridge was on an even keel she saw him cut off the motor and throw all the gear back into its original position.
“Think you could do ’er by yourself now?” Thorny asked.
“Yes, I believe I could,” Penny answered gravely.
The old watchman smiled as he stepped to the deck of the bridge.
“It ain’t so easy as it looks,” he told her. “Well, here comes the Missuz now and we’re all ready for her. Last time she came along I was weedin’ out my corn patch and was she mad?”
As the black limousine rolled up to the drawbridge Penny turned her face away so that Mrs. Kippenberg would not recognize her. She need have had no uneasiness, for the lady gazed neither to the right nor the left. The car crept forward at a snail’s pace causing the steel structure to shiver and shake as if from an attack of ague.
“Dear me, I think this bridge is positively dangerous,” Louise declared. “I shouldn’t like to drive over it myself.”
As the old watchman again raised the cantilevers, Penny studied his every move.
“For a girl you’re sure mighty interested in machinery,” he remarked.
“Oh, I may grow up to be a bridgeman some day,” Penny said lightly. “I notice you keep the gear house locked part of the time.”
“I have to do it or folks would tamper with the machinery.”
The old man snapped a padlock on the door.
“Now I’m goin’ to mosey down to my garden and do a little hoein’,” he announced. “You girls better run along.”
Thus dismissed, Louise started away, but Penny made no move to leave. She intended to ask a few questions.
“Thorny, are you any relation to the Kippenberg’s head gardener?” she inquired with startling abruptness.
“Am I any relation to that old walrus?” Thorny fairly shouted. “Am I any relation tohim? Say, you tryin’ to insult me?”
“Not at all, but I saw the man this morning, and I fancied I noticed a resemblance. Perhaps you don’t know the one I mean.”
“Sure, I know him all right.” Thorny spat contemptuously. “New man. He acts as know-it-all and bossy as if he owned the whole place.”
“Then you don’t like him?”
“There ain’t no one that has anything to do with him. He’s so good he can’t live like the rest of the servants. Where do you think I seen him the other night?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. Where?”
“He was at the Colonial Hotel, eatin’ in the main dining room!”
“The Colonial is quite an expensive hotel at Corbin, isn’t it?”
“Best there is. They soak you two bucks just to park your feet under one of their tables. Yep, if you ask me, Mrs. Kippenberg better ask that gardener of hers a few questions!”
Having delivered himself of this tirade, Thorny became calm again. He shifted his weight and said pointedly: “Well, I got to tend my garden. You girls better run along. Mrs. Kippenberg don’t want nobody hangin’ around the bridge.”
The girls obligingly took leave of him and walked away. But when they were some distance away, Penny glanced back over her shoulder. She saw Thorny down on his hands and knees in front of the gear house. He was slipping some object under the wide crack of the door.
“The key to the padlock!” she chuckled. “So that was why he wanted us to leave first. We’ll remember the hiding place, Lou, just in case we ever decide to use the drawbridge.”
After leaving the Kippenberg estate, Penny and Louise motored to Corbin. More from curiosity than for any other reason they dined at the Colonial Hotel, finding the establishment as luxurious as the old watchman had intimated. A full hour and a half was required to eat the fine dinner which was served.
“Our friend, the gardener, does have excellent taste in food,” remarked Louise. “What puzzles me is where does he get the money to pay for all this?”
“The obvious answer is that he’s not a gardener.”
“Maybe he has rooms here too, Penny.”
“I’ve been wondering about it. I mean to investigate.”
Louise glanced at her wristwatch. “Do you think we should take the time?” she asked. “It will be late afternoon now before we reach home.”
“Oh, it won’t take a minute to inquire at the desk.”
Leaving the dining room, the girls made their way to the lobby. When the desk clerk had a free moment Penny asked him if anyone by the name of Peter Henderson had taken rooms at the hotel.
“No one here by that name,” the man told her. “Wait, I’ll look to be sure.”
He consulted a card filing system which served as a register, and confirmed his first statement.
“The man I mean would be around sixty years of age,” explained Penny. “He works as a gardener at the Kippenberg estate.”
“Perhaps you have come to the wrong hotel,” said the clerk aloofly. “We do not cater to gardeners.”
“Only to people who employ gardeners, I take it.”
“Our rates start at ten dollars a day,” returned the clerk coldly.
“And does that include free linen and a bath?” Penny asked with pretended awe.
“Certainly. All of our rooms have private baths.”
“How wonderful,” giggled Penny. “We thought this might be one of those places with a bath on every floor!”
Suddenly comprehending that he was being made an object of sport, the clerk glared at the girls and turned his back.
Penny and Louise went cheerfully to their car, very much pleased with themselves for having deflated such a conceited young man. They drove away, and late afternoon brought them to Riverview, tired and dusty from their long trip.
After dropping her chum off at the Sidell home, Penny rode directly to the newspaper office. Finding no parking place available on the street, she ran her car into the loading area at the rear of the building, nosing into a narrow space which had just been vacated by a paper-laden truck.
“Hey, you lady,” shouted an employee. “You can’t park that scrap iron here. Another paper truck will be along in a minute.”
Penny switched off the engine.
“I guess you’re new around here,” she said, climbing out. “The next truck isn’t due until five-twenty-three.”
“Say, who do you think you are, tellin’ me—?”
The employee trailed off into silence as another workman gave him a sharp nudge in the ribs.
“Pipe down,” he was warned. “If the boss’ daughter wants to park her jitney in the paper chute it’s okay, see?”
“Sure, I get it,” the other mumbled.
Penny grinned broadly as she crossed the loading area.
“After this, you might mention my automobile in a more respectful tone,” she tossed over her shoulder. “It’s not scrap iron or a jitney either!”
Riding up the freight elevator, Penny passed a few remarks with the smiling operator and stepped off at the editorial floor. She noticed as she went through the news room that Jerry Livingston’s desk was vacant. And because the waste basket was empty, the floor beside it free from paper wads, she knew he had written no story that day.
Penny tapped lightly on the closed door of her father’s private office and went in.
“Hello,” he said, glancing up. “Just get back from Corbin?”
“Yes, Louise and I had plenty of excitement, but I didn’t dig up any facts you’ll dare print in the paper.”
“Did you meet Jerry anywhere?”
“Why, no, Dad.”
“The young cub is taking a vacation at my expense, running up a big motorboat bill! He should have been back here three hours ago.”
“Oh, be reasonable, Dad,” said Penny teasingly. “You can’t expect him to trace down those men just in a minute.”
“It was a wild chase anyway,” the editor growled. “I let him do it more to please you than for any other reason. But that’s beside the point. He was told to be back here by four o’clock at the latest, even if he had nothing to report.”
“Jerry is usually punctual, Dad. But I suppose being on the river he couldn’t get here just when he expected.”
“He’s probably gone fishing,” Mr. Parker declared.
He slammed down the roll top on his desk and picked up his hat.
“Will you ride home with me?” Penny invited. “Leaping Lena would be highly honored.”
“It’s a mighty sight more comfortable on the bus,” her father replied. “But then, I can stand a jolting.”
As they went out through the main room he paused to speak with DeWitt, leaving an order that he was to be called at his home as soon as Jerry Livingston returned.
Mr. Parker raised his eyebrows as he saw where Penny had left the car.
“Haven’t I told you that the trucks need this space to load and unload?” he asked patiently. “There is a ten cent parking lot across the street.”
“But Dad, I haven’t ten cents to spare. The truth is, I spent almost every bit of my allowance today over at Corbin.”
“NO!” said Mr. Parker firmly. “NO!”
“No what?”
“Not a penny will you get ahead of time.”
“You misjudge me, Dad. I had no intention of even mentioning such a painful subject.”
They drove in silence for a few blocks and then Penny indicated the gasoline gauge on the dashboard.
“Why, it’s nearly empty!” she exclaimed. “We won’t have enough to reach home!”
“Well, get some,” said Mr. Parker automatically. “We don’t want to stall on the street.”
A flip of the steering wheel brought the car to a standstill in front of a gasoline pump.
“Fill it up,” ordered Penny.
While Mr. Parker read his newspaper, the attendant polished the windshield and checked the oil, finding it low. At a nod from Penny he added two quarts.
“That will be exactly two fifty-eight.”
Penny repeated the figure in a louder tone, giving her father a nudge. “Wake up, Dad. Two fifty-eight.”
Absently, Mr. Parker reached for his wallet. Not until the attendant brought the change did it dawn upon him that Penny had scored once more.
“Tricked again,” he groaned.
“Why, it was your own suggestion that we stop for gasoline,” Penny reminded him. “I shouldn’t have minded taking a chance myself. You see, the gauge is usually at least a gallon off.”
“Anyway, I would rather pay for it than have you siphon it out of my car.”
“Thanks for the present,” laughed Penny.
Dinner was waiting by the time they reached home. Afterwards, Penny helped Mrs. Weems with the dishes while her father mowed the lawn. Hearing the telephone ring he came to the kitchen door.
“Was that a call for me?” he asked.
“No, Dad, it was for Mrs. Weems.”
“Strange DeWitt doesn’t call,” Mr. Parker said. “I believe I’ll telephone him.”
After Mrs. Weems had finished with the phone he called the newspaper office only to be told that Jerry Livingston had not put in an appearance.
“At least he might have communicated with the office,” Mr. Parker said as he hung up the receiver.
He went back to lawn mowing but paused now and then to stare moodily toward the Kobalt river which wound through the valley far below the terrace. Penny finished drying the dishes and went outside to join him.
“You’re worried about Jerry, aren’t you?” she asked after a moment.
“Not exactly,” he replied. “But he should have been back long ago.”
“He never would have stayed away without good reason. We both know Jerry isn’t like that.”
“No, he’s either run into a big story, or he’s in trouble. When I sent him away this morning, I didn’t look upon the assignment as a particularly dangerous one.”
“And yet if he met those two seamen anything could have happened. They were tough customers, Dad.”
“I could notify the police if Jerry isn’t back within an hour or two,” Mr. Parker said slowly. “Still, I hate to do it.”
“Where did Jerry rent his boat, Dad?”
“I told him to get one at Griffith’s dock at twenty-third street.”
“Then why don’t we go there?” suggested Penny. “If he hasn’t come in we might rent a boat of our own and start a search.”
Mr. Parker debated and then nodded. “Bring a heavy coat,” he told her. “It may be cold on the river.”
Penny ran into the house after the garments and also took a flashlight from her father’s bureau drawer. When she hurried outdoors again her father had backed his own car from the garage and was waiting.
At the twenty-third street dock, Harry Griffith, owner of the boat house, answered their questions frankly. Yes, he told them, Jerry Livingston had rented a motor boat early that morning but had not returned it.
“I been worryin’ about that young feller,” he admitted, and then with a quick change of tone: “Say, you’re not Mr. Parker, are you?”
“Yes, that’s my name.”
“Then I got a letter here for you. I reckon maybe it explains what became of the young feller.”
The boatman took a greasy envelope from his trousers pocket and gave it to the editor.
“Where did you get this, Mr. Griffith?”
“A boy in a rowboat brought it up the river about two hours ago. He said the young feller gave him a dollar to deliver it to a Mr. Parker. But the kid was mixed up on the address, so I just held it here.”
“Dad, it must be from Jerry,” said Penny eagerly.
As her father opened the envelope, she held the flashlight close. In an almost illegible scrawl Jerry had written:
“Following up a hot tip. Think I’ve struck trail of key men. Taking off in boat. Expect to get back by nightfall unless Old Man Trouble catches up with me.”
Mr. Parker looked up from the message, his gaze meeting the frightened eyes of his daughter.
“Oh, Dad,” she said in a tone barely above a whisper, “it’s long after dark now. What do you think has become of Jerry?”
Wasting no moments in useless conversation, Mr. Parker rented a fast motor boat and prevailed upon Harry Griffith to operate it for him. Guided by the stars and a half moon which was slowly rising over the treetops, the party swung down the river.
Riding with the current, they came before long to the locality where Penny and Jerry had first sighted the two seamen’s cruiser. But now there was no sign of a boat, either large or small.
At a speed which enabled the occupants to scrutinize the shoreline, the searching craft swept on. The river had never seemed more deserted.
“Jerry might have stopped anywhere along here,” Mr. Parker observed. “If he drew the boat into the bushes we haven’t a chance of finding him.”
They went on, coming presently to the Kippenberg estate. As they passed beneath the open drawbridge Penny noted how low it had been swung over the water. A boat with a high cabin could not possibly go through when the cantilevers were down.
Gazing upward, she saw a swinging red light at the entrance to the bridge. A lantern, no doubt, hung there to give warning to any motorist who might venture upon the private road.
“Thorny probably isn’t on duty at this hour,” Penny reflected. “But I should think an open drawbridge might prove more dangerous at night than in the daytime.”
As the bridge was lost to view beyond a bend in the river, she gave all her attention to watching the coves and inlets. Her father sat hunched over in the seat beside her, slapping at mosquitoes. Now and then he would switch on the flashlight to look at his watch.
Gradually the river had widened, so that it was possible to cover only one shore.
“We’ll search the other side on our return trip,” Mr. Parker said. “But it looks to me as if we’re not going to have any luck.”
As if to add to the discouragement of the party, dark clouds began to edge across the sky. One by one the stars were inked out. Penny’s light coat offered scant protection from the cold wind.
And then, Harry Griffith throttled down the motor and spun the wheel sharply to starboard. He leaned forward, trying to pierce the black void ahead of the boat’s bright beam.
“Looks like something over there,” he said pointing. “Might be a log. No, it’s a boat.”
“I can’t see anyone in it!” Penny cried. “It’s drifting with the current.”
“That looks like one of my boats, sure as you’re born,” Griffith declared, idling the engine. “The same I rented the young feller this morning.”
“But where is Jerry?” cried Penny.
Griffith maneuvered his own boat close to the one which drifted with the current. Mr. Parker was able to reach out and grasp the long rope dangling in the water.
“The flashlight, Penny!” he commanded.
She turned the beam on, and as it focused upon the floor of the boat, drew in her breath sharply. On the bottom, face downward, lay a man.
“It’s Jerry!” Penny cried. “Oh, Dad, he’s—”
“Steady,” said her father. “Steady.”
While Griffith held the two boats together, he stepped aboard the smaller one. He bent over the crumpled figure, feeling Jerry’s pulse, gently turning him upon his back.
“Is he alive, Dad?”
“His pulse is weak, but I can feel it. Yes, he’s breathing! Hold that light steady, Penny.”
“Dad, there’s blood on his head! I—I can see it trickling down.”
“He’s been struck with a club or some blunt object,” Mr. Parker said grimly. “He may have a fractured skull.”