started to move away, but Penny caught his arm again.
"Ben, you _are_ having dinner with me," she insisted. "I have plenty of
money, and this is my treat. I really want to talk to you."
"I can't let you pay for my dinner," Ben protested, though with less
vigor.
"Silly! You can take me somewhere as soon as you get your job."
"Well, if you put it that way," Ben agreed, falling willingly into step.
"There's a place here on the waterfront that serves good meals, but it's
not stylish."
"All the better. Lead on, Ben."
He took her to a small, crowded little restaurant only a block away. In
the front window, a revolving spit upon which were impaled several
roasting chickens, captured all eyes. Ben's glands began to work as he
watched the birds browning over the charcoal.
"Ben, how long has it been since you've had a real meal?" Penny asked,
picking up the menu.
"Oh, a week. I've mostly kept going on pancakes. But it's my own funeral.
I could have had jobs of a sort if I had been willing to take them."
Penny gave her order to the waitress, taking double what she really
wanted so that her companion would not feel backward about placing a
similar order. Then she said:
"Ben, you remarked awhile ago that you can't get a newspaper job
anywhere."
"That's true. I'm blacklisted."
"Did you try my father's paper, the _Star_?"
"I did. I couldn't even get past his secretary."
"That's not like Dad," Penny said with troubled eyes. "Did you really do
something dreadful?"
"It was Jason Cordell who put the bee on me."
"Jason Cordell?" Penny repeated thoughtfully. "He's the editor of the
_Mirror_, and has an office in the building adjoining the _Star_."
"Right. Well, he fired me."
"Lots of reporters are discharged, Ben, but they aren't necessarily
blacklisted."
Ben squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.
"You needn't tell me if you don't wish," Penny said kindly. "I don't mean
to pry into your personal affairs. I only thought that I might be able to
help you."
"I want to tell you, Penny. I really do. But I don't dare reveal some of
the facts, because I haven't sufficient proof. I'll tell you this much. I
stumbled into a story--a big one--and it discredited Jason Cordell."
"You didn't publish it?"
"Naturally not." Ben laughed shortly. "I doubt if any newspaper would
touch it with a ten-foot pole. Cordell is supposed to be one of our
substantial, respectable citizens."
"Actually?"
"He's as dishonorable as they come."
Knowing that Ben was bitter because of his discharge, Penny discredited
some of the remarks, but she waited expectantly for him to continue. A
waitress brought the dinner, and for awhile, as the reporter ate
ravenously, he had little to say.
"You'll have to excuse me," he finally apologized. "I haven't tasted such
fine food in a year! Now what is it you want to know, Penny? I'm in a
mood to tell almost anything."
"What was this scandal you uncovered about Mr. Cordell?"
"That's the one thing I can't reveal, but it concerned the owner of the
Conway Steel Plant. They're bitter enemies you know."
Penny had not known, and the information interested her greatly.
"Did you talk it over with Mr. Cordell?" she asked.
"That was the mistake I made." Ben slowly stirred his coffee. "Cordell
didn't have much to say, but the next thing I knew, I was out of a job
and on the street."
"Are you sure that was why he discharged you?"
"What else?"
Penny hesitated, not wishing to hurt Ben's feelings. There were several
things she had heard about him--that he was undependable and that he
drank heavily.
"Most of the things you've been told about me aren't true," Ben said
quietly, reading her thoughts. "Jason Cordell started a lot of stories
intended to discredit me. He told editors that I had walked off a job and
left an important story uncovered. He pictured me as a drunkard and a
trouble maker."
"I'll talk to my father," Penny promised. "As short as the _Star_ is of
employes, I'm sure there must be a place for you."
"You're swell," Ben said feelingly. "But I'm not asking for charity. I'll
get along."
Refusing to talk longer about himself, he told Penny of amusing
happenings along the waterfront. After dessert had been finished, she
slipped a bill into his hand, and they left the restaurant.
Outside, the streets were dark, for in this section of the city, lights
were few and far between. Ben offered to escort Penny back to the _Star_
office or wherever she wished to go.
"This isn't too safe a part of the city for a girl," he declared.
"Especially after night."
"All the same, to me the waterfront is the most fascinating part of
Riverview," Penny declared. "You seem to know this part of town well,
Ben."
"I should. I've lived here for the past six months."
"You have a room?"
"I'll show you where I live," Ben offered. "Wait until we reach the next
corner."
They walked on along the river docks, passing warehouses and vessels tied
up at the wharves. Twice they passed guards who gazed at them with intent
scrutiny. However, Ben was recognized, and with a friendly salute, the
men allowed him to pass unchallenged.
"The waterfront is strictly guarded now," the reporter told Penny. "Even
so, plenty goes on here that shouldn't."
"Meaning?"
Ben did not answer for they had reached the corner. Beyond, on a vacant
lot which Penny suspected might also be a dumping ground, stood three or
four dilapidated shacks.
"See the third one," Ben indicated. "Well, that's my little mansion."
"Oh, Ben!"
"It's not bad inside. A little cold when the wind blows through the
chinks, but otherwise, fairly comfortable."
"Ben, haven't you any friends or relatives?"
"Not here. I thought I had a few friends, but they dropped me like a hot
potato when I ran into trouble."
"This is no life for you, Ben. I'll certainly talk to my father
tomorrow."
Ben smiled and said nothing. From his silence, Penny gathered that he had
no faith she would be able to do anything for him.
They walked on, and as they approached a small freighter tied up at the
wharf, Ben pointed it out.
"That's the _Snark_," he informed her.
The name meant nothing to Penny. "Who owns her?" she inquired carelessly.
"I wish I knew, Penny. There's plenty goes on aboard that vessel, but
it's strictly hush-hush. I have my suspicions that--"
Ben suddenly broke off, for several men had appeared on the deck of the
_Snark_. The vessel was some distance away, and in the darkness only
shadowy forms were visible.
Seizing Penny's arm, Ben pulled her flat against a warehouse.
Amazed by his action, she started to protest. Then she understood. Aboard
the _Snark_ there was some sort of disturbance or disagreement. The men,
although speaking in low, almost inaudible tones, were arguing. Penny
caught only one phrase: "Heave him overboard!"
"Ben, what's happening there?" she whispered anxiously.
"Don't know!" he answered. "But nothing good."
"Where are the guards?"
"Probably at the far end of their beats."
Aboard the _Snark_, there was a brief scuffle, as someone was dragged
across the deck to the rail.
"That'll teach you!" they heard one of the men mutter.
Then the helpless victim was raised and dropped over the rail. Shrieking
in terror, he fell with a great splash into the inky waters. Frantically,
he began to struggle.
"Those fiends!" Penny cried. "They deliberately threw the man overboard,
and he can't swim!"
CHAPTER
7
_MAN OVERBOARD!_
Penny and Ben ran to the edge of the dock, peering into the dark, oily
waters. On the deck of the _Snark_ there was a murmur of voices, then
silence.
Casting a quick glance upward, Penny was angered to see that the men who
had been standing there had vanished into a cabin or companionway.
Obviously, they had no intention of trying to aid the unfortunate man.
"There he is!" Ben exclaimed, suddenly catching another glimpse of the
bobbing head. "About done in too!"
Kicking off his shoes and stripping off his coat, the reporter dived from
the dock. He struck the water with an awkward splash, but Penny was
relieved to see that he really could swim well. He struck out for the
drowning man, but before he could reach him, the fellow slipped quietly
beneath the surface.
Close by were two barges lashed together, and the current would take a
body in that direction. Ben jack-knifed and went down into the inky
waters in a surface dive. Unable to find the man, he came up, filled his
lungs in a noisy gulp, and went down again. He was under such a long time
that Penny became frantic with anxiety.
She decided to turn in an alarm for the city rescue squad. But before she
could act, Ben surfaced again, and this time she saw that he held the
other man by the hair.
As Ben slowly towed the fellow toward the dock, Penny realized that she
must find some way to get them both out of the river. She could expect no
help from anyone aboard the _Snark_. Gazing upward again, she thought she
saw a man watching her from the vessel's bow, but as her gaze focused
upon him, he retreated into deeper shadow, beyond view.
No guards were anywhere near, and the entire waterfront seemed deserted.
Penny's eyes fastened upon a rope which hung loosely over a dock post. It
was long enough to serve her purpose, and finding it unattached, she
hurled one end toward Ben.
He caught it on the second try and made a loop fast about the body of the
man he towed. Penny then pulled them both to the dock.
"You can't haul us up," Ben instructed from below. "Just hold on, and I
think I can get out of here by myself."
He swam off in the darkness and was lost to view. Penny clung desperately
to the rope, knowing that if she relaxed for an instant, the man, already
half drowned, would submerge for good. Her arms began to ache. It seemed
to her she could not hold on another instant.
Then Ben, his clothes plastered to his thin body, came running across the
planks.
Without a word he seized the rope, and together they raised the man to
the dock. In the darkness Penny saw only that he was slender, and in
civilian clothes.
Stretching him out on the dock boards, they prepared to give artificial
resuscitation. But it was unnecessary. For at the first pressure on his
back, the man rolled over and muttered: "Cut it out. I'm okay."
Then he lay still, exhausted, but breathing evenly.
"You were lucky to get him, Ben," Penny said as she knelt beside the
stranger. "If the current had carried him beneath those barges, he never
would have been taken out alive."
"I had to dive deep," Ben admitted. "Found him plastered right against
the side of the first barge. Yeah, I was lucky, and so is he."
The man stirred again, and sat up. Penny tried to support him, but he
moved away, revealing that he wanted no help.
"Who pushed you overboard?" Ben asked.
The man stared at him and did not answer.
Observing that Ben was shivering from cold, and that the stranger too was
severely chilled, Penny proposed calling either the rescue squad or an
ambulance.
"Not on your life," muttered the rescued man, trying to get up. "I'm
okay, and I'm getting out of here."
With Ben's help, he managed to struggle to his feet, but they buckled
under him when he tried to walk.
The man looked surprised.
"We'll have to call the rescue squad," Penny decided firmly.
"I have a better idea," Ben supplied. "We can take him to my shack."
Penny thought that the man should have hospital treatment. However, he
sided with Ben, insisting he could walk to the nearby shack.
"I'm okay," he repeated again. "All I need is some dry clothes."
Supported on either side, the man managed to walk to the shack. Ben
unlatched the door and hastily lighting an oil lamp, helped the fellow to
the bed where he collapsed.
"Ben, I think we should have a doctor--" Penny began again, but Ben
silenced her with a quick look.
Drawing her to the door he whispered: "Let him have his way. He's not
badly off, and he has reason for not wanting anyone to know what
happened. If we call the rescue squad or a doctor, he'll have to answer
to a lot of questions."
"There are some things I'd like to know myself."
"We'll get the answers if we're patient. Now stay outside for a minute or
two until I can get his clothes changed, and into dry ones myself."
Penny stepped outside the shack. A chill wind blew from the direction of
the river, but with its freshness was blended the disagreeable odor of
factory smoke, fish houses and dumpings of refuse.
"Poor Ben!" she thought. "He never should be living in such a place as
this! No matter what he's done, he deserves another chance."
Exactly what she believed about the reporter, Penny could not have said.
His courageous act had aroused her deep admiration. On the other hand,
she was aware that his story regarding Jason Cordell might have been
highly colored to cover his own shortcomings.
Within a few minutes Ben opened the door to let her in again. The
stranger had been put to bed in a pair of the reporter's pajamas which
were much too small for him. In the dim light from the oil lamp, she saw
that he had a large, square-shaped face, with a tiny scar above his right
eye. It was not a pleasant face. Gazing at him, Penny felt a tiny chill
pass over her.
Ben also had changed his clothes. He busied himself starting a fire in
the rusty old stove, and once he had a feeble blaze, hung up all the
garments to dry.
The room was so barren that Penny tried not to give an appearance of
noticing. There was only a table, one chair, the sagging bed, and a shelf
with a few cracked dishes.
"I'll get along with him all right," Ben said, obviously expecting Penny
to leave.
She refused to take the hint. Instead she said: "This man will either
have to go to a hospital or stay here all night. He's in no condition to
walk anywhere."
"He can have my bed tonight," Ben said. "I'll manage."
The stranger's intent eyes fastened first upon Penny and then Ben. But
not a word of gratitude did he speak.
"You'll need more blankets and food," Penny said, thinking aloud. "I can
get them from Mrs. Weems."
"Please don't bother," Ben said stiffly. "We'll get along."
Though rebuffed, Penny went over to the bedside. Instantly she saw a
bruise on the stranger's forehead and a sizeable swollen place.
"Why, he must have struck his head!" she exclaimed, then corrected
herself. "But he didn't strike anything that we saw. Ben, he must have
been slugged while aboard the _Snark_!"
The stranger turned so that he looked directly into the girl's clear blue
eyes. "Nuts!" he said emphatically.
"Our guest doesn't seem to care to discuss the little affair," Ben
commented dryly. "I wonder why? He escaped drowning by only a few
breaths."
"Listen," said the stranger, hitching up on an elbow. "You fished me out
of the water, but that don't give you no right to put me through the
third degree. My business is my business--see!"
"Who are you?" demanded Penny.
She thought he would refuse to answer, but after a moment he said curtly:
"James Webster."
Both Penny and Ben were certain that the man had given a fictitious name.
"You work aboard the _Snark_?" Ben resumed the questioning.
"No."
"Then what were you doing there?"
"And why were you pushed overboard?" Penny demanded as the man failed to
answer the first question.
"I wasn't pushed," he said sullenly.
"Then how did you get into the water?" Penny pursued the subject
ruthlessly.
"I tripped and fell."
Penny and Ben looked at each other, and the latter shrugged, indicating
that it would do no good to question the man. Determined to keep the
truth from them, he would tell only lies.
"You can't expect us to believe that," Penny said coldly. "We happened to
see you when you went overboard. There was a scuffle. Then the men who
threw you in, disappeared. For the life of me, I can't see why you would
wish to protect them."
"There are a lot of things you can't see, sister," he retorted. "Now will
you go away, and let me sleep?"
"Better go," Ben urged in a low tone. "Anyone as savage as this egg,
doesn't need a doctor. I'll let him stay here tonight, then send him on
his way tomorrow morning."
"You really think that is best?"
"Yes, I do, Penny. We could call the police, but how far would we get?
This bird would deny he was pushed off the boat, and we would look silly.
We couldn't prove a thing."
"I suppose you're right," Penny sighed. "Well, I hope everything goes
well tonight."
Moving to the door, she paused there, for some reason reluctant to leave.
"I'll take you home," Ben offered.
"No, stay here," Penny said firmly. "I'm not afraid to go alone. I only
hope you get along all right with your guest."
Ben followed her outside the shack.
"Don't worry," he said, once beyond hearing of the stranger. "This fellow
is a tough hombre, but I know how to handle him. If he tries to get
rough, I'll heave him out."
"I never saw such ingratitude, Ben. After you risked your life to save
him--"
"He's just a dock rat," the reporter said carelessly.
"Even so, why should he refuse to answer questions?"
"Obviously, he's mixed up in some mess and doesn't dare talk, Penny. I've
always had my suspicions about the _Snark_ and her owners."
"What do you mean, Ben?"
Before the reporter could answer, there came a thumping from inside the
shack. Welcoming the interruption, Ben turned quickly to re-enter.
"Can't tell you now," he said hurriedly. "We'll talk some other time. So
long, and don't worry about anything."
Firmly, he closed the door.
Penny stood there a moment until satisfied that there was no further
disturbance inside the shack. Then with a puzzled shake of her head, she
crossed the vacant lot to the docks.
"Those men aboard the _Snark_ should be arrested," she thought
indignantly. "I wish I could learn more about them."
She stood for a moment lost in deep reflection. Then with sudden
decision, she turned and walked toward the _Snark_.
CHAPTER
8
_A SWINGING CHAIN_
Approaching the _Snark_, Penny saw several men moving about on the
unlighted decks. But as she drew nearer, their forms melted into the
darkness. When she reached the dock, the vessel appeared deserted.
Yet, peering upward at the towering vessel, the girl had a feeling that
she was being watched. She was satisfied that the rescue of the man who
called himself James Webster had been observed. She was equally certain
that those aboard the _Snark_ were aware of her presence now.
"Ahoy, the _Snark_!" she called impulsively.
There was no answer from aboard the tied-up vessel, but footsteps pounded
down the dock. Penny whirled around to find herself the target for a
flashlight. Momentarily blinded, she could see nothing. Then, the light
shifted away from her face, and she recognized a wharf guard.
"What you doing here?" he demanded gruffly.
Though tempted to tell the entire story, Penny held her tongue. "Just
looking," she mumbled.
"Didn't I hear you call out?"
"Yes."
"Know anyone aboard the _Snark?_"
"No."
"Then move along," the guard ordered curtly.
Penny did not argue. Slipping quietly away, she sought a brightly lighted
street which led toward the newspaper office. Midway there, she stopped
at a corner drugstore to call home and inquire for her father. Mrs. Weems
told her that so far as she knew Mr. Parker had returned to the _Star_
office to do a little extra work.
"Then I'll catch him there," Penny declared.
"Is anything wrong?" the housekeeper inquired anxiously.
"Just something in connection with a news story," Penny reassured her.
"I'll be home soon."
Hanging up the receiver before the housekeeper could ask any more
questions, she walked swiftly on to the _Star_ building. The front door
was locked, but Penny had her own key. Letting herself in through the
darkened advertising room, she climbed the stairs to the news floor.
A few members of the Sunday staff were working at their desks, but
otherwise the room was deserted. Typewriters, like hooded ghosts, stood
in rigid ranks.
Pausing to chat for a moment with the Sunday editor, Penny asked if her
father were in the building.
"He was in his office a few minutes ago," the man replied. "I don't know
if he left or not."
Going on through the long newsroom, Penny saw that her father's office
was dark. The door remained locked.
Disappointed, she started to turn back when she noticed a light burning
in the photography room. At this hour she knew no one would be working
there, unless Salt Sommers or one of the other photographers had decided
to develop and print a few of his own pictures.
"Dad, are you there?" she called.
No one answered, but Penny heard a scurry of footsteps.
"Salt!" she called, thinking it must be one of the photographers.
Again there was no reply, but a gust of wind came suddenly down the
corridor. The door of the photography room slammed shut.
Startled, Penny decided to investigate. She pushed open the door. The
light was on, but no one was in the room.
"Salt!" she called again, thinking that the photographer might be in the
darkroom.
He did not reply. As she started forward to investigate, the swinging
chain of the skylight drew her attention. The glass panels were closed
and there was no breeze in the room. Yet the brass chain swung back and
forth as if it had been agitated only a moment before.
"Queer!" thought Penny, staring upward. "Could anyone have come in here
through that skylight?"
The idea seemed fantastic. She could think of no reason why anyone should
seek such a difficult means of entering the newspaper office. To her
knowledge, nothing of great value was kept in the photography rooms.
Yet, the fact remained that the light was on, the chain was swaying back
and forth, and a door had slammed as if from a gust of wind.
Studying the skylight with keen interest, Penny decided that it would be
possible and not too difficult for a person on the roof to raise the
glass panels, and by means of the chain, drop down to the floor. But
could a prowler reverse the process?
Penny would have dismissed the feat as impossible, had not her gaze
focused upon an old filing cabinet which stood against the wall, almost
directly beneath the skylight. Inspecting it, she was disturbed to find
imprints of a man's shoe on its top surface.
"Someone was in here!" Penny thought. "To get out, he climbed up on this
cabinet!"
The brass handles of the cabinet drawers offered convenient steps. As she
tried them, the cabinet nearly toppled over, but she reached the top
without catastrophe. By standing on tiptoe, her head and shoulders would
just pass through the skylight.
Pulling the brass chain, she opened it, and peered out onto the dark
roof. No one was in sight. In the adjoining building, lights burned in a
number of offices.
Suddenly the door of the photography room opened. Startled, Penny ducked
down so fast that she bumped her head.
"Well, for Pete's sake!" exclaimed a familiar voice. "What are you doing
up there?"
Penny was relieved to recognize Salt. She closed the skylight and dropped
lightly to the floor.
"Looking for termites?" the photographer asked.
"Two legged ones! Salt, someone has been prowling about in here! Whoever
he was, he came in through this skylight."
"What makes you think so, kitten?" Salt looked mildly amused and not in
the least convinced.
Penny told him what had happened and showed him the footprints on the
filing cabinet. Only then did the photographer take her seriously.
"Well, this is something!" he exclaimed. "But who would sneak in here and
for what reason?"
"Do you have anything valuable in the darkroom?"
"Only our cameras. Let's see if they're missing."
Striding across the room, Salt flung open the door of the inner darkroom,
and snapped on a light. One glance assured him that the cameras remained
untouched. But several old films were scattered on the floor. Picking
them up, he examined them briefly, and tossed them into a paper basket.
"Someone has been here all right," he said softly. "But what was the
fellow after?"
"Films perhaps."
"We haven't anything of value here, Penny. If we get a good picture we
use it right away."
Methodically, Salt examined the room, but could find nothing missing.
"Perhaps the person, whoever he was, didn't get what he was after," Penny
speculated. "I'm inclined to think this isn't his first visit here."
Questioned by Salt, she revealed Elda Hunt's recent experience in the
photography room.
"That dizzy dame!" he dismissed the subject. "She wouldn't know whether
she saw anything or not."