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Danger
at the
Drawbridge
_By_
MILDRED A. WIRT
_Author of_
MILDRED A. WIRT MYSTERY STORIES
TRAILER STORIES FOR GIRLS
_Illustrated_
CUPPLES AND LEON COMPANY
_Publishers_
NEW YORK
_PENNY PARKER_
MYSTERY STORIES
_Large 12 mo. Cloth Illustrated_
TALE OF THE WITCH DOLL
THE VANISHING HOUSEBOAT
DANGER AT THE DRAWBRIDGE
BEHIND THE GREEN DOOR
CLUE OF THE SILKEN LADDER
THE SECRET PACT
THE CLOCK STRIKES THIRTEEN
THE WISHING WELL
SABOTEURS ON THE RIVER
GHOST BEYOND THE GATE
HOOFBEATS ON THE TURNPIKE
VOICE FROM THE CAVE
GUILT OF THE BRASS THIEVES
SIGNAL IN THE DARK
WHISPERING WALLS
SWAMP ISLAND
THE CRY AT MIDNIGHT
COPYRIGHT, 1940, BY CUPPLES AND LEON CO.
Danger at the Drawbridge
PRINTED IN U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
1 AN ASSIGNMENT FOR PENNY _1_
2 REPORTERS NOT WANTED _9_
3 GIFT TO THE BRIDE _19_
4 BEHIND THE BUSHES _28_
5 THE MISSING BRIDEGROOM _35_
6 A RING OF WHITE GOLD _45_
7 THE FORBIDDEN POOL _54_
8 PARENTAL PROTEST _63_
9 A SOCIETY BAZAAR _72_
10 A THROWN STONE _79_
11 QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS _88_
12 FISHERMAN'S LUCK _96_
13 TWO MEN AND A BOAT _105_
14 THE STONE TOWER _113_
15 A CAMEO PIN _122_
16 GATHERING CLUES _129_
17 A SEARCH FOR JERRY _140_
18 OVER THE DRAWBRIDGE _149_
19 A DARING RESCUE _158_
20 AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW _164_
21 THE WHITE CRUISER _171_
22 TRAPPED IN THE CABIN _177_
23 AT THE HIDE-OUT _184_
24 SECRET OF THE LILY POOL _192_
25 VICTORY FOR PENNY _203_
CHAPTER
1
_AN ASSIGNMENT FOR PENNY_
Penny Parker, leaning indolently against the edge of the kitchen table,
watched Mrs. Weems stem strawberries into a bright green bowl.
"Tempting bait for Dad's jaded appetite," she remarked, helping herself
to the largest berry in the dish. "If he can't eat them, I can."
"I do wish you'd leave those berries alone," the housekeeper protested in
an exasperated tone. "They haven't been washed yet."
"Oh, I don't mind a few germs," laughed Penny. "I just toss them off like
a duck shedding water. Shall I take the breakfast tray up to Dad?"
"Yes, I wish you would, Penny," sighed Mrs. Weems. "I'm right tired on my
feet this morning. Hot weather always did wear me down."
She washed the berries and then offered the tray of food to Penny who
started with it toward the kitchen vestibule.
"Now where are you going, Penelope Parker?" Mrs. Weems demanded
suspiciously.
"Oh, just to the automatic lift." Penny's blue eyes were round with
innocence.
"Don't you dare try to ride in that contraption again!" scolded the
housekeeper. "It was never built to carry human freight."
"I'm not exactly freight," Penny said with an injured sniff. "It's strong
enough to carry me. I know because I tried it last week."
"You walk up the stairs like a lady or I'll take the tray myself," Mrs.
Weems threatened. "I declare, I don't know when you'll grow up."
"Oh, all right," grumbled Penny good-naturedly. "But I do maintain it's a
shameful waste of energy."
Balancing the tray precariously on the palm of her hand she tripped
lightly up the stairway and tapped on the door of her father's bedroom.
"Come in," he called in a muffled voice.
Anthony Parker, editor and owner of the _Riverview Star_ sat propped up
with pillows, reading a day-old edition of the newspaper.
"'Morning, Dad," said Penny cheerfully. "How is our invalid today?"
"I'm no more an invalid than you are," returned Mr. Parker testily. "If
that old quack, Doctor Horn, doesn't let me out of bed today--"
"You'll simply explode, won't you, Dad?" Penny finished mischievously.
"Here, drink your coffee and you'll feel less like a stick of dynamite."
Mr. Parker tossed the newspaper aside and made a place on his knees for
the breakfast tray.
"Did I hear an argument between you and Mrs. Weems?" he asked curiously.
"No argument, Dad. I just wanted to ride up in style on the lift. Mrs.
Weems thought it wasn't a civilized way to travel."
"I should think not." The corners of Mr. Parker's mouth twitched slightly
as he poured coffee from the silver pot. "That lift was built to carry
breakfast trays, but not in combination with athletic young ladies."
"What a bore, this business of growing up," sighed Penny. "You can't be
natural at all."
"You seem to manage rather well with all the restrictions," her father
remarked dryly.
Penny twisted her neck to gaze at her reflection in the dresser mirror
beyond the footboard of the big mahogany bed.
"I won't mind growing up if only I'm able to develop plenty of glamour,"
she said speculatively. "Am I getting any better looking, Dad?"
"Not that I've noticed," replied Mr. Parker gruffly, but his gaze
lingered affectionately upon his daughter's golden hair. She really was
growing prettier each day and looked more like her mother who had died
when Penny was a little girl. He had spoiled her, of course, for she was
an only child, but he was proud because he had taught her to think
straight. She was deeply loyal and affectionate and those who loved her
overlooked her casual ways and flippant speech.
"What happened to the paper boy this morning?" Mr. Parker asked between
bites of buttered toast.
"It isn't time for him yet, Dad," said Penny demurely. "You always expect
him at least an hour early."
"First edition's been off the press a good half hour," grumbled the
newspaper owner. "When I get back to the _Star_ office, I'll see that
deliveries are speeded up. Just wait until I talk with Roberts!"
"Haven't you been doing a pretty strenuous job of running the paper right
from your bed?" inquired Penny as she refilled her father's cup.
"Sometimes when you talk with that poor circulation manager I think the
telephone wires will burn off."
"So I'm a tyrant, am I?"
"Oh, everyone knows your bark is worse than your bite, Dad. But you've
certainly not been at your best the last few days."
Mr. Parker's eyes roved about the luxuriously furnished bedroom. Tinted
walls, chintz draperies, the rich, deep rug, were completely lost upon
him. "This place is a prison," he grumbled.
For nearly a week the household had been thrown completely out of its
usual routine by the editor's illness. Overwork combined with an attack
of influenza had sent him to bed, there to remain until he should be
released by a doctor's order. With a telephone at his elbow, Mr. Parker
had kept in close touch with the staff of the _Riverview Star_ but he
fretted at confinement.
"I can't half look after things," he complained. "And now Miss Hilderman,
the society editor, is sick. I don't know how we'll get a good story on
the Kippenberg wedding."
Penny looked up quickly. "Miss Hilderman is ill?"
"Yes, DeWitt, the city editor, telephoned me a few minutes ago. She
wasn't able to show up for work this morning."
"I really don't see why he should bother you about that, Dad. Can't Miss
Hilderman's assistant take over the duties?"
"The routine work, yes, but I don't care to trust her with the Kippenberg
story."
"Is it something extra special, Dad?"
"Surely, you've heard of Mrs. Clayton Kippenberg?"
"The name is familiar but I can't seem to recall--"
"Clayton Kippenberg made a mint of money in the chain drug business. No
one ever knew exactly the extent of his fortune. He built an elaborate
estate about a hundred and twenty-five miles from here, familiarly called
_The Castle_ because of its resemblance to an ancient feudal castle. The
estate is cut off from the mainland on three sides and may be reached
either by boat or by means of a picturesque drawbridge."
"Sounds interesting," commented Penny.
"I never saw the place myself. In fact, Kippenberg never allowed
outsiders to visit the estate. Less than a year ago a rumor floated
around that he had separated from his wife. There also was considerable
talk that he had disappeared because of difficulties with the government
over income tax evasion and wished to escape arrest. At any rate, he
faded out of the picture while his wife remained in possession of _The
Castle_."
"And now she is marrying again?"
"No, it is Mrs. Kippenberg's daughter, Sylvia, who is to be married. The
bridegroom, Grant Atherwald, comes from a very old and distinguished
family."
"I don't see why the story should be so difficult to cover."
"Mrs. Kippenberg has ruled that no reporters or photographers will be
allowed on the estate," explained Mr. Parker.
"That does complicate the situation."
"Yes, it may not be easy to persuade Mrs. Kippenberg to change her mind.
I rather doubt that our assistant society editor has the ingenuity to
handle the story."
"Then why don't you send one of the regular reporters? Jerry Livingston,
for instance?"
"Jerry couldn't tell a tulle wedding veil from one of crinoline. Nor
could any other man on the staff."
"I could get that story for you," Penny said suddenly. "Why don't you try
me?"
Mr. Parker gazed at his daughter speculatively.
"Do you really think you could?"
"Of course." Penny spoke with assurance. "Didn't I bring in two perfectly
good scoops for your old sheet?"
"You certainly did. Your Vanishing Houseboat yarn was one of the best
stories we've published in a year of Sundays. And the town is still
talking about Tale of the Witch Doll."
"After what I went through to get those stories, a mere wedding would be
child's play."
"Don't be too confident," warned Mr. Parker. "If Mrs. Kippenberg doesn't
alter her decision about reporters, the story may be impossible to get."
"May I try?" Penny asked eagerly.
Mr. Parker frowned. "Well, I don't know. I hate to send you so far, and
then I have a feeling--"
"Yes, Dad?"
"I can't put my thoughts into words. It's just that my newspaper instinct
tells me this story may develop into something big. Kippenberg's
disappearance never was fully explained and his wife refused to discuss
the affair with reporters."
"Kippenberg might be at the wedding," said Penny, thinking aloud. "If he
were a normal father he would wish to see his daughter married."
"You follow my line of thought, Penny. When you're at the estate--if you
get in--keep your eyes and ears open."
"Then you'll let me cover the story?" Penny cried in delight.
"Yes, I'll telephone the office now and arrange for a photographer to go
with you."
"Tell them to send Salt Sommers," Penny suggested quickly. "He doesn't
act as know-it-all as some of the other lads."
"I had Sommers in mind," her father nodded as he reached for the
telephone.
"And I have a lot more than Salt Sommers in _my_ mind," laughed Penny.
"Meaning?"
"Another big story, Dad! A scoop for the _Star_ and this for you."
Penny implanted a kiss on her father's cheek and skipped joyously from
the room.
CHAPTER
2
_REPORTERS NOT WANTED_
In the editorial room of the _Riverview Star_ heads turned and eyebrows
lifted as Penny, decked in her best silk dress and white picture hat,
clicked her high-heeled slippers across the bare floor. Jerry Livingston,
reporter, stopped pecking at his typewriter and stared in undisguised
admiration.
"Well, if it isn't our Bright Penny," he bantered. "Didn't recognize you
for a minute in all those glad rags."
"These are my work clothes," replied Penny. "I'm covering the Kippenberg
wedding."
Jerry pushed his hat farther back on his head and grinned.
"Tough assignment. From what I hear of the Kippenberg family, you'll be
lucky if they don't throw the wedding cake at you."
Penny laughed and went on, winding her way through a barricade of desks
to the office of the society editor. Miss Arnold, the assistant, was
talking over the telephone, but in a moment she finished and turned to
face the girl.
"Good morning, Miss Parker," she said stiffly. An edge to her voice told
Penny more clearly than words that the young woman was nettled because
she had not been trusted with the story.
"Good morning," replied Penny politely. "Dad said you would be able to
give me helpful suggestions about covering the Kippenberg wedding."
"There's not much I can tell you, really. The ceremony is to take place
at two o'clock in the garden, so you'll have ample time to reach the
estate. If you get in--" Miss Arnold placed an unpleasant emphasis upon
the words--"take notes on Miss Kippenberg's gown, the flowers, the
decorations, the names of her attendants. Try to keep your facts
straight. Nothing infuriates a bride more than to read in the paper that
she carried a bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley and roses while actually it
was a bouquet of some other flower."
"I'll try not to infuriate Miss Kippenberg," promised Penny.
Miss Arnold glanced quickly at her but the girl's face was perfectly
serene.
"That's all I can tell you, Miss Parker," she said shortly. "Bring in at
least a column. For some reason the city editor rates the wedding an
important story."
"I'll do my best," responded Penny, and arose.
Salt Sommers was waiting for her when she came out of the office. He was
a tall, spare young man, with a deep scar down his left cheek. He talked
nearly as fast as he walked.
"If you're all set, let's go," he said.
Penny found herself three paces behind but she caught up with the
photographer as he waited for the elevator.
"I'm taking Minny along," Salt volunteered, holding his finger steadily
on the signal bell. "May come in handy."
"Minny?" asked Penny, puzzled.
"Miniature camera. You can't always use the Model X."
"Oh," murmured Penny. Deeply embarrassed, she remained silent as the
elevator shot them down to the ground floor.
Salt loaded his photographic equipment into a battered press car which
was parked near the loading dock at the rear of the building. He slid in
behind the wheel and then as an afterthought swung open the car door for
Penny.
Salt seemed to know the way to the Kippenberg estate. They shot through
Riverview traffic, shaving red lights and tooting derisively at slow
drivers. In open country he pressed the accelerator down to the floor and
the car roared down the road, only slackening speed as it raced through a
town.
"How do you travel when you're in a hurry?" Penny gasped, clinging to her
flopping hat.
Salt grinned and lifted his foot from the gasoline pedal.
"Sorry," he said. "I get in the habit of driving fast. We have plenty of
time."
As they rode, Penny gathered scraps of information. The Kippenberg estate
was located six miles from the town of Corbin and was cut off from the
mainland on three sides by the joining of two wide rivers, one with a
direct outlet to the ocean. Salt did not know when the house had been
built but it was considered one of the show places of the locality.
"Do you think we'll have much trouble getting our story?" Penny asked
anxiously.
"All depends," Salt answered briefly. He slammed on the brake so suddenly
that Penny was flung forward in the seat.
Another car coming from the opposite direction had pulled up at the side
of the road. Penny did not recognize the three men who were crowded into
the front seat, but the printed placard, _Ledger_ which was pasted on the
windshield told her they represented a rival newspaper in Riverview.
"What luck, Les?" Salt called, craning his neck out the car window.
"You may as well turn around and go back," came the disgusted reply. "The
old lady won't let a reporter or a photographer on the estate. She has a
guard stationed on the drawbridge to see that you don't get past."
The car drove on toward Riverview. Salt sat staring down the road,
drumming his fingers thoughtfully on the steering wheel.
"Looks like we're up against a tough assignment," he said. "If Les can't
get in--"
"I'm not going back without at least an attempt," announced Penny firmly.
"That's the spirit!" Salt cried with sudden approval. "We'll get on the
estate somehow if we have to swim over."
He jerked the press card from the windshield, and reaching into the back
seat of the car, covered the Model X camera with an old gunny sack. The
miniature camera he placed in his coat pocket.
"No use advertising our profession too early in the game," he remarked.
Twelve-thirty found Penny and Salt in the sleepy little town of Corbin.
Fortifying themselves with a lunch of hot dog sandwiches and pop, they
followed a winding, dusty highway toward the Kippenberg estate.
Presently, through the trees, marking the end of the road, an iron
drawbridge loomed up. It stood in open position so that boats might pass
on the river below. A wooden barrier had been erected across the front of
the structure which bore a large painted sign. Penny read the words
aloud.
"'DANGEROUS DRAWBRIDGE--KEEP OFF.'"
Salt drew up at the side of the road. "Looks as if this is as far as
we're going," he said in disgust. "There's no other road to the estate.
I'll bet that 'dangerous drawbridge' business is just a dodge to keep
undesirables away from the place until after the wedding."
Penny nodded gloomily. Then she brightened as she noticed an old man who
obviously was an estate guard standing at the entrance to the bridge. He
stared toward the old car as if trying to ascertain whether or not the
occupants were expected guests.
"I'm going over to talk with him," Penny said.
"Pretend that you're a guest," suggested Salt. "You look the part in that
fancy outfit of yours."
Penny walked leisurely toward the drawbridge. Appraisingly, she studied
the old man who leaned comfortably against the gearhouse. A dilapidated
hat pulled low over his shaggy brows seemed in keeping with the rest of
his wardrobe--a blue work shirt and a pair of grease-smudged overalls. A
charred corn-cob pipe, thrust at an angle between his lips, provided sure
protection against the mosquitoes swarming up from the river below.
"Good afternoon," began Penny pleasantly. "My friend and I are looking
for the Kippenberg estate. We were told at Corbin to take this road but
we seem to have made a mistake."
"You ain't made no mistake, Miss," the old man replied.
"Then is the estate across the river?"
"That's right, Miss."
"But how are guests to reach the place? I see the sign says the bridge is
out of commission. Are we supposed to swim over?"
"Not if you don't want to," the old man answered evenly. "Mrs. Kippenberg
has a launch that takes the folks back and forth. It's on the other side
now but will be back in no time at all."
"I'll wait in the car out of the hot sun," Penny said. She started away,
then paused to inquire casually: "Is this drawbridge really out of
order?"
The old man was deliberate in his reply. He blew a ring of smoke into the
air, watched it hover like a floating skein of wool and finally
disintegrate as if plucked to pieces by an unseen hand.
"Well, yes, and no," he said. "It ain't exactly sick but she sure is
ailin'. I wouldn't trust no heavy contraption on this bridge."
"Condemned by the state, I suppose?"
"No, Miss, and I'll tell you why. This here bridge doesn't belong to the
state. It's a private bridge on a private road."
"Odd that Mrs. Kippenberg never had it repaired," Penny remarked. "It
must be annoying."
"It is to all them that don't like launches. As for Mrs. Kippenberg, she
don't mind. Fact is, she ain't much afraid of the bridge. She drives her
car across whenever she takes the notion."
"Then the bridge does operate!" Penny exclaimed.
"Sure it does. That's my job, to raise and lower it whenever the owner
says the word. But the bridge ain't fit for delivery trucks and
such-like. One of them big babies would crack through like goin' over
sponge ice."
"Well, I rather envy your employer," said Penny lightly. "It isn't every
lady who has her own private drawbridge."
"She is kind of exclusive-like that way, Miss. Mrs. Kippenberg she keeps
the drawbridge up so she'll have more privacy. And I ain't blamin' her.
These here newspaper reporters always is a-pesterin' the life out of
her."
Penny nodded sympathetically and walked back to make her report to Salt.
"No luck?" he demanded.
"Guess twice," she laughed. "The old bridgeman just took it for granted I
was one of the wedding guests. It will be all right for us to go over in
the guest launch as soon as it arrives."
Salt gazed ruefully at his clothes.
"I don't look much like a guest. Think I'll pass inspection?"
"Maybe you could get by as one of the poor relations," grinned Penny.
"Pull your hat down and straighten your tie."
Salt shook his head. "A business suit with a grease spot on the vest
isn't the correct dress for a formal wedding. You might get by but I
won't."
"Then should I try it alone?"
"I'll have to get those pictures somehow," stated Salt grimly.
"Maybe we could hire a boat of our own," Penny suggested. "Of course it
wouldn't look as well as if we arrived on the guest launch."
"Let's see what we can line up," Salt said, swinging open the car door.
They walked to the river's edge and looked in both directions. There were
no small boats to be seen. The only available craft was a large motor
boat which came slowly downstream toward the open drawbridge. Penny
caught a glimpse of the pilot, a burly man with a red, puffy face.
Salt slid down the bank toward the water's edge, and hailed the boat.
"Hey, you, Cap'n!" he called. "Two bucks to take me across the river."
The man inclined his head, looked steadily at Salt for an instant, then
deliberately turned his back.
"Five!" shouted Salt.
The pilot gave no sign that he had heard. Instead, he speeded up the boat
which passed beneath the drawbridge and went on down the river.
CHAPTER
3
_GIFT TO THE BRIDE_
"Perhaps he didn't hear you," said Penny, peering after the retreating
boat.
"He heard me all right," growled Salt as he scrambled back up the high
bank.
Noticing a small boy in dirty overalls who sat at the water's edge
fishing, he called to him: "Say, sonny, who was that fellow, do you
know?"
"Nope," answered the boy, barely turning his head, "but his boat has been
going up and down the river all morning. That's why I can't catch
anything."
The boat rounded a bend of the river and was lost to view. Only one other
craft appeared on the water, a freshly painted white motor launch which
could be seen coming from the far shore.
"That must be the guest boat now," remarked Penny, shading her eyes
against the glare of the sun. "It seems to be our only hope."
"Let's try to get aboard and see what happens," proposed the
photographer.
They walked leisurely back toward the guard at the drawbridge, timing
their arrival just as the launch swung up to the landing. With a cool
assurance which Penny tried to duplicate, Salt stepped aboard, nodded
indifferently to the wheelsman, and slumped down in one of the leather
seats.
Penny waited uneasily for embarrassing questions which did not come.
Gradually she relaxed as the boatman took no interest in them and the
guard's attention was fully occupied with other cars which had driven up
to the drawbridge.
A few minutes later, two elderly women, both elegantly gowned, were
helped aboard the boat by their chauffeur. One of the women stared
disapprovingly at Salt through her lorgnette and then ignored him.
"We'll get by all right," Salt whispered confidently.
"Wait until Mrs. Kippenberg sees us," warned Penny.
"Oh, we'll keep out of her way until we have our story and plenty of
pictures. Once we're across the river it will be easy."
"I hope you're right," muttered Penny.
While Salt's task of taking pictures might prove relatively simple, she
realized that her own work would be anything but easy. She could not hope
to gather many facts without talking to a member of the family, and the
instant she admitted her identity she likely would be ejected from the
grounds.
"I boasted I'd bring in a front page story," she thought ruefully. "I'll
be lucky if I get a column of routine stuff."
The boat was moving slowly away from the landing when the guard at the
drawbridge called in a loud voice: "Hold it, Joe!"
Penny and Salt stiffened in their chairs, fearing they were to be
exposed. But they were both greatly relieved to see that a long, black
limousine had drawn up at the end of the road. The launch had been
stopped so that additional passengers might be accommodated.
Salt nudged Penny's elbow.
"Grant Atherwald," he contributed, jerking his head toward a tall,
well-built young man who had stepped from the car. "I've seen his picture
plenty of times."
"The bridegroom?" Penny turned to stare.
"Sure. He's one of the blue-bloods, but they say he's a little short on
ready cash."
The young man, dressed immaculately in formal day attire, and accompanied
by two other men, came aboard the launch. He bowed politely to the
elderly women and his gaze fell questioningly upon Penny and Salt. But if
he wondered why they were there, he did not voice his thought.
As the boat put out across the river Penny watched Grant Atherwald
curiously. It seemed to her that he appeared nervous and preoccupied. He
stared straight before him, clenching and unclenching his hands. His face
was colorless and drawn.
"He's nervous and worried," thought Penny. "I guess all bridegrooms are
like that."
A sharp "click" sounded in her ear. Penny did not turn toward Salt, but
she caught her breath, knowing what he had done. He had dared to take a
picture of Grant Atherwald!
She waited, feeling certain that the sound must have been heard by
everyone in the boat. A full minute elapsed and no one spoke. When Penny
finally glanced at Salt he was gazing serenely out across the muddy
water, his miniature camera shielded behind a felt hat which he held on
his knees.
The boat docked. Salt and Penny allowed the others to go ashore first,
and then followed a narrow walk which wound through a deep lane of
evergreen trees.
"Salt," Penny asked abruptly, "how did you get that picture of
Atherwald?"
"Snapped it through a hole in the crown of my hat. It's an old trick. I
always wear this special hat when I'm sent out on a hard assignment."
"I thought a cannon had gone off when the shutter clicked," Penny
laughed. "We were lucky you weren't caught."
Emerging from behind the trees, they obtained their first view of the
Kippenberg house. Sturdily built of brick and stone, it stood upon a
slight hill, its many turrets and towers commanding a view of the two
rivers.
"Nice layout," Salt commented, pausing to snap a second picture. "Wish
someone would give me a castle for a playhouse."
They crossed the moat and found themselves directly behind Grant
Atherwald again. Before the bridegroom could enter the house a servant
stepped forward and handed him a sealed envelope.
"I was told to give this to you as soon as you arrived, sir," he said.
Grant Atherwald nodded, and taking the letter, quickly opened it. A
troubled expression came over his face as he scanned the message. Without
a word he thrust the paper into his pocket. Turning, he walked swiftly
toward the garden.
"Salt, did you notice how queerly Atherwald looked--" Penny began, but
the photographer interrupted her.
"Listen," he said, "we haven't a Chinaman's chance of getting in the
front door. That boy in the fancy knickers is giving everyone the once
over. Let's try a side entrance."
Without attracting attention they walked quickly around the house and
located a door where no servant had been posted. Entering, they passed
through a marble-floored vestibule into a breakfast room crowded with
serving tables. Salt nonchalantly helped himself to an olive from one of
the large glass dishes and led Penny on toward the main hall where many
of the guests had gathered to admire the wedding gifts.
"Now don't swipe any of the silver," Salt said jokingly. "I think that
fellow over by the stairway is a private detective."
"He seems to be looking at us with a suspicious gleam in his eyes," Penny
replied. "I hope we don't get tossed out of here."
"We'll be all right if Mrs. Kippenberg doesn't see us before the
ceremony."
"Do you suppose Mr. Kippenberg could be here, Salt?"
"Not likely. It's my guess that fellow will never be seen again."
"Dad doesn't share your opinion."
"I know," Salt admitted. "We'll keep watch for him, but it would just be
a lucky break if it turns out he's here."
Mingling with the guests, they walked slowly about a long table where the
wedding gifts were displayed. Penny gazed curiously at dishes of solid
silver, crystal bowls, candlesticks, jade ornaments, tea sets and service
plates encrusted with gold.
"Nothing trashy here," muttered Salt.
"I've never seen such an elegant display," Penny whispered in awe. "Do
you suppose that picture is one of the gifts?"
She indicated an oil painting which stood on an easel not far from the
table. So many guests had gathered about the picture that she could not
see it distinctly. But at her elbow, a woman in rustling silk, said to a
companion:
"My dear, a genuine Van Gogh! It must have cost a small fortune!"
When the couple had moved aside, Penny and Salt drew closer to the easel.
One glance assured them that the painting had been executed by a master.
However, it was the subject of the picture which gave Penny a distinct
start.
"Will you look at that!" she whispered to Salt.
"What about it?" he asked carelessly.
"Don't you notice anything significant?"
"Can't say I do. It's just a nice picture of a drawbridge."
"That's just the point, Salt!" Penny's eyes danced with excitement. "A
drawbridge!"
The photographer glanced again at the painting, this time with deeper
interest.
"Say, it looks a lot like the bridge which was built over the river," he
observed. "You think this picture is a copy of it?"
Penny shook her head impatiently. "Salt, your knowledge of art is
dreadful. This Van Gogh was painted ages ago and is priceless. Don't you
see, the drawbridge has to be a copy of the picture?"
"Your theory sounds reasonable," Salt admitted. "I wonder who gave the
painting to the bride? There's no name attached."
"Can't you guess why?"
"I never was good at kid games."
"Why, it's clear as crystal," Penny declared, keeping her voice low.
"This estate with the drawbridge was built by Clayton Kippenberg. He must
have been familiar with the Van Gogh painting, and had the real bridge
modeled after the picture. For that matter, the painting may have been in
his possession--"
"Then you think the picture was presented to Sylvia Kippenberg by her
father?" Salt broke in quickly.
"Yes, I do. Only a person very close to the bride would have given such a
gift."
"H-m," said Salt, squinting at the picture thoughtfully. "If you're right
it means that Clayton Kippenberg's whereabouts must be known to his
family. His disappearance may not be such a deep mystery to Mamma
Kippenberg and daughter Sylvia."
"Oh, Salt, wouldn't it make a grand story if only we could learn what
became of him?"
"Sure. Front page stuff."
"We simply must get the story somehow! If Mrs. Kippenberg would just
answer our questions about this drawbridge painting--"
"I'm afraid Mamma Kippenberg isn't going to break down and tell all,"
Salt said dryly. "But buckle on your steel armor, little girl, because
here she comes now!"
CHAPTER
4
_BEHIND THE BUSHES_
A large, middle-aged woman in rose-colored silk, crossed the room
directly toward Salt and Penny. Her pale blue eyes glinted with anger and
there were hard lines about her mouth. She walked haughtily, but with
grim purpose.
"Unless we do some fast talking, out we go!" muttered Salt. "It's Mrs.
Kippenberg, all right."
They stood their ground, knowing they had been recognized as intruders.
But before the woman could reach them she was stopped by a servant who
spoke a few words in a low tone. For a moment Mrs. Kippenberg forgot
about Penny and Salt as a new problem presented itself.
"I can't talk with anyone now," she said in an agitated voice. "Tell them
to come back later."
"They insist upon talking with you now, Madam," replied the servant.
"Unless you see them they say they will look around for themselves."
"Oh!" Mrs. Kippenberg drew herself up sharply as if from a physical blow.
"Where are they now?"
"In the library, Madam."
Penny did not hear the woman's reply, but she turned and followed the
servant.
"Saved by the bell," mumbled Salt. "Now let's get away from here before
she comes back."
They pushed through the throng and reached a long hallway. Mrs.
Kippenberg had disappeared, but as they drew near an open door they
caught sight of her again. She stood just inside the library, her back
toward them, talking with two men who wore plain gray business suits.
Penny half drew back, fearing discovery, but Salt pulled her along. As
they went quietly past the door they heard Mrs. Kippenberg say in an
excited voice:
"No, no, I tell you he isn't here! Why should I try to deceive you? We
have nothing to hide. You are most inconsiderate to annoy me at such a
time!"
Penny and Salt did not hear the reply. They reached an outside door and
stepped down on a flagstone terrace which overlooked the garden at the
rear of the grounds.
"Who were those men, do you suppose?" Penny whispered, fearful that her
voice might betray them.
"Officers of the law, I should guess," Salt replied in an undertone.
"Government men?"
"Likely as not. I don't believe the locals would bother her. Anyway she's
got the wind up and you can tell she's scared silly in spite of all her
back talk."
"You know what I think they're after?" Penny said thoughtfully.
"Well, if I had just one guess," Salt replied, "I'd say they are after
Mr. Kippenberg."
"I agree with you there."
"Sure, why else would they come sleuthing around at a time like this? The
answer is simple. Daughter gets married. Papa wants to see his darling do
it. Therefore, boys, we'll spread a net for Daddy and he might plump
right into it."
"So that's the way a G man's mind works?" laughed Penny.
"But I would take it that Kippenberg is no fool," Salt went on. "If they
really have a 'man wanted' sign hung on him he would be too cagey to come
around here today."
They were standing beside the stone balustrade which bounded the terrace.
Below them the green foliage of the gardens formed a dark background for
the playing fountains. A cool breeze drifted in from the river and
rattled a window awning just over their heads.
"We're in an exposed place here," observed Salt uneasily. "Maybe we ought
to find a hole somewhere."
"We'll never learn anything in a hole," Penny objected. "In fact, we're
not making much progress in running down any sort of story. I do wish we
could have heard more of that conversation."
"And get thrown out on our collective ear before we even have a chance to
snap a picture of the blushing bride!"
"Pictures! Pictures!" exclaimed Penny. "That's all you photographers
think about. How about poor little me and my story? After all, you can't
bring out a paper full of nothing but pictures and cigarette ads. You
need a little news to go with it."
"You like to work too fast," complained Salt. "Right now the thing to do
is to keep out of sight. I'm telling you the minute Mrs. Kippy finishes
with those men she'll be gunning for us."
"Then I suppose we'll have to go into hiding."
"First, let's mosey out into the rose garden," Salt proposed. "I'll take
a few shots and then we'll duck under somewhere and wait until the
ceremony starts."
"That's all very well for you," grumbled Penny, "but I can't write much
of a story without talking to some member of the family."
Salt started off across the velvety green lawn toward the rose arbor
where the service was to be held. Penny followed reluctantly. She watched
the photographer take several pictures before a servant approached him.
"I beg your pardon," the man said coldly, "but Mrs. Kippenberg gave
orders no pictures were to be taken. If you are from one of the papers--"
"Oh, I saw her in the house just a minute ago," Salt replied carelessly.
"Sorry, sir," the servant apologized, retreating.
Salt finished taking the pictures and slipped the miniature camera back
into his pocket.
"Now let's amble down toward the river and wait," he said to Penny.
"We'll blossom forth just as the ceremony starts. Mrs. Kippy won't dare
interrupt it to have us thrown off the grounds."
They walked down a sloping path, past a glass-enclosed hothouse and on
toward a grove of giant oak and maple trees.
"It's pleasant here when you're away from the crowd," Penny remarked,
gazing up at the leafy canopy. "I wonder where this path leads?"
"Oh, down to the river probably. With water on three sides of us that's a
fairly safe guess."
"Which rivers flow past the estate, Salt?"
"The Big Bear and the Kobalt."
"The same old muddy Kobalt which is near our town," said Penny in
surprise. "I'll always think of it as a river of adventure."
"Because of Mud-Cat Joe and his Vanishing Houseboat?"
Penny nodded and a dreamy look came into her eyes. "So much happened on
the Kobalt, Salt. Remember that big party Dad threw at the Comstock Inn?"
"Do I? Jerry Livingston decided to sleep in Room Seven where so many
persons had disappeared."
"And then he was spirited away almost before our very eyes," added Penny.
"Days later Mud-Cat Joe helped me fish him out of this same old Kobalt.
For awhile we didn't think he'd ever pull through or be able to tell what
had happened to him."
"But as the grand finale you and your friend, Louise Sidell, solved the
mystery and secured a dandy story for the _Star_. Those were the days!"
"You talk as if they were gone forever," laughed Penny. "Other good
stories will come along."
"Maybe," said Salt, "but covering a wedding is pretty tame in
comparison."
"Yet this one does have interesting angles," Penny insisted. "Can't you
almost feel mystery lurking about the place?"
"No, but I do feel a mosquito sinking his stinger into me." Salt slapped
vigorously at his ankle.
They followed the path on toward the river, coming soon to a trail which
branched off to the right. Across it had been stretched a wire barrier
and a neatly lettered sign read:
NO ADMITTANCE BEYOND THIS POINT.
"Why do you suppose the path is blocked off?" Penny speculated.
"Let's find out," Salt suggested with a sudden flare of interest. "Maybe
we'll run into something worth a picture."
Penny hesitated, not wishing to disregard the sign, yet eager to learn
what lay beyond the barrier.
"Listen," said Salt, "just put your little conscience on ice. We're here
to get the 'who, when, why and where.' You'll never be a first class
newspaper reporter if you stifle your curiosity."
"Lead on," laughed Penny. "I will follow. Only isn't it getting late?"
Salt looked at his watch. "We still have a safe fifteen minutes."
He started to step over the wire, only to have Penny reach out and grasp
his hand.
"Wait!" she whispered.
"What's the idea?" Salt turned toward her in astonishment.
"I think someone is watching us! I'm sure I saw the bushes move."
"Your nerves are jumpy," Salt jeered. "It's only the wind."
Even as he spoke the foliage to the left moved ever so slightly and a
dark form could be seen creeping stealthily away along the ground.
CHAPTER
5
_THE MISSING BRIDEGROOM_
Salt acted instinctively. Leaping over the wire barrier he dived into the
bushes. Hurling himself upon the man who crouched there, he pinned him to
the ground. The fellow gave a choked cry and tried to pull free.
"Oh, no, you don't," Salt muttered, coolly sitting down on his stomach.
"Snooping, eh?"
"You let me up!" the man cried savagely. "Let me up, I say!"
"I'll let you up when you explain what you were doing here."
"Why, you impudent young pup!" the man spluttered. "You're the one who
will explain. I am Mrs. Kippenberg's head gardener."
Salt's hand fell from the old man's collar and he apologetically helped
him to his feet. Penny, who had reached the scene, stooped down and
recovered a trowel which had slipped from the gardener's grasp.
"It was just a little mistake on my part," Salt mumbled. "I hope I didn't
hurt you."
"No fault of yours you didn't," the old man snapped. "A fine howdydo when
a person can't even loosen earth around a shrub without being assaulted
by a ruffian!"
The gardener was a short, stout man with graying hair. He wore coarse
garments, a loose fitting pair of trousers, a dark shirt and battered
felt hat. But Penny noticed that his hands and fingernails were clean and
there were no trowel marks around any of the shrubs.
"Salt isn't exactly a ruffian," she said as the photographer offered no
defense. "After all, from where we stood it looked exactly as if you were
hiding in the bushes."
"Then you both need glasses," the man retorted rudely. "A person can't
work without getting down on his hands and knees."
"Where were you digging?" Penny asked innocently.
"I was just starting in when this young upstart leaped on my back!"
"Sorry," said Salt, "but I thought you were trying to get away."
"Who are you anyway?" the gardener demanded bluntly. "You're not guests.
I can tell that."
"You have a very discerning eye," replied Salt smoothly. "We're from the
_Riverview Star_."
"Reporters, eh?" The old man scowled unpleasantly. "Then you've no
business being here at all. You're not wanted, so get out!"
"We're only after a few facts about the wedding," Penny said. "Perhaps
you would be willing to tell me--"
"I'll tell you nothing, Miss! If anything is given out to the papers it
will have to come from Mrs. Kippenberg."
"Fair enough," Salt acknowledged. He glanced curiously down the path
which had been blocked off. "What's down there?"
"Nothing." The gardener spoke irritably. "This part of the estate hasn't
been fixed up. That's why it's closed."
Penny had bent down, pretending to examine a shrub at the edge of the
path.
"What is the name of this bush?" she inquired casually.
"An azalea," the gardener replied after a slight hesitation. "Now get out
of here, will you? I have my work to do."
"Oh, all right," Salt rejoined as he and Penny moved away. "No need to
get so tough."
They stepped over the barrier wire and retraced their way toward the
house. Several times Penny glanced back but she could not see the old
man. He had slipped away somewhere among the trees.
"I don't believe that fellow was a gardener," she said suddenly.
"What makes you think not?"
"Didn't you notice his nice clean hands and fingernails? And then when I
asked him the name of that bush he hesitated and called it an azalea. I
saw another long botanical name attached to it."
"Maybe he just made a mistake, or said the first thing that came into his
head. He wanted to get rid of us."
"I know he did," nodded Penny. "Yet, when he found out we were from the
_Star_ he didn't threaten to report us to Mrs. Kippenberg."
"That's so."
"He was afraid to report us," Penny went on with conviction. "I'll bet a
cent he has no more right here than we have."
Salt had lost all interest in the gardener. He glanced at his watch and
quickened his step.
"Is it two o'clock yet?" Penny asked anxiously.
"Just. After all the trouble we've had getting here we can't afford to
miss the big show."
Emerging from the grove, Salt and Penny were relieved to see that the
ceremony had not yet started. The guests were gathered in the garden, the
minister stood waiting, musicians were in their places, but the bridal
party had not appeared.
"We're just in time," Salt remarked.
Penny observed Mrs. Kippenberg talking with one of the ushers. Even from
a distance it was apparent that the woman had lost her poise. Her hands
fluttered nervously as she conferred with the young man and a worried
frown puckered her eyebrows.
"Something seems to be wrong," said Penny. "I wonder what is causing the
delay?"
Before Salt could reply, the usher crossed the lawn, and came directly
toward them. Penny and Salt instantly were on guard, thinking that he had
been sent by Mrs. Kippenberg to eject them from the grounds. But although
the young man paused, he did not look squarely at them.
"Have you seen Mr. Atherwald anywhere?" he questioned.
"The bridegroom?" Salt asked in astonishment. "What's the matter? Is he
missing?"
"Oh, no, sir," the young man returned stiffly. "Certainly not. He merely
went away for a moment."
"Mr. Atherwald came over on the same boat with us," Penny volunteered.
"And did you see him enter the house?"
"No, he spoke to one of the servants and then went toward the garden."
"Did you notice which path he took?"
"I believe it was this one."
"We've just come from down by the river," added Salt. "We didn't see him
there. The only person we met was an old gardener."
The usher thanked them for the information and hurried on. When the man
was beyond hearing, Salt turned to Penny, saying jubilantly:
"Say, maybe we'll get a big story after all! Sylvia Kippenberg jilted at
the altar! Hot stuff!"
"Aren't you jumping to swift conclusions, Salt? He must be around here
somewhere."
"It's always serious business when a man is late for his wedding. Even if
he does show up, daughter Sylvia may take offense and call the whole
thing off."
"Oh, you're too hopeful," Penny laughed. "He'll probably be here in
another minute. I don't believe he would have come at all if he had
intended to slip away."
"He may have lost his nerve at the last minute," Salt insisted.
"Atherwald did act strangely on the boat," Penny said reflectively. "And
then that message he received--"
"He may have sent it to himself."
"As an excuse for getting away?"
"Why not?"
"I can't see any reason for going to so much unnecessary trouble," Penny
argued. "If he intended to jilt Miss Kippenberg how much easier it would
have been not to come here at all."
"Well, let's see what we can learn," Salt suggested.
Their interest steadily mounting, they went on toward the house and
stationed themselves where they could see advantageously. It was evident
by this time that the guests suspected something had gone amiss.
Significant glances were exchanged, a few persons looked at their
watches, and all eyes focused upon Mrs. Kippenberg who tried desperately
to carry off an embarrassing situation.
Minutes passed. The crowd became increasingly restless. Finally, the
usher returned and spoke quietly to Mrs. Kippenberg. They both retired to
the house.
"It looks as if there will be no wedding today," Salt declared.
"Atherwald hasn't been located."
"I won't dare use the story unless I'm absolutely certain of my facts,"
Penny said anxiously.
"We'll get them, never fear."
Mrs. Kippenberg and the usher had stepped into the breakfast room.
Posting Penny at the outside door, Salt followed the couple. From the
hallway he could hear their conversation distinctly.
"But he must be somewhere on the grounds," the matron argued.
"I can't understand it myself," the young man replied. "Grant's
disappearance is very mysterious to say the least. Several persons saw
him arrive here and everything seemed to be all right."
"What time is it now?"
"Two thirty-five, Mrs. Kippenberg."
"So late? Oh, this is dreadful! How can I face them?"
"I know just how you feel," the young man said with sympathy. "If you
wish I will explain to the guests."
"No, no, this will disgrace us," Mrs. Kippenberg murmured. "Wait until I
have talked with Sylvia."
She turned suddenly and reached the hall door before Salt could escape.
Her eyes blazed with wrath as she faced him.
"So here you are!" she cried furiously. "How dare you disregard my
orders? I will have no reporters on the grounds!"
"I'm only a photographer," Salt said meekly enough. "Sorry to intrude but
I've been assigned to get a picture of the bride. It won't take a
minute--"
"Indeed it won't," Mrs. Kippenberg broke in, her voice rising higher.
"You'll take no pictures here. Not one! Now get out."
"A picture might be better than a story that the bridegroom had skipped
out," Salt said persuasively.
"Why, you--you!" Mrs. Kippenberg's face became fiery red. She choked as
she tried to speak. "Get out, I say!"
Salt did not retreat. Instead he took his camera from his pocket.
"Just one picture, Mrs. Kippenberg. At least of you."
Realizing that the photographer meant to take it whether or not she gave
permission, the woman suddenly lost all control over her temper.
"Don't you dare!" she cried furiously. "Don't you dare!"
Whirling about, she seized an empty plate from the tall stack on the
serving table.
"Hold that pose!" chortled Salt, goading her on.
The woman hurled the plate straight at him. Salt gleefully snapped a
picture and dodged. The plate crashed into the wall behind him,
splintering into a half dozen pieces.
"Swell action picture!" he grinned.
"Don't you dare try to use it!" screamed Mrs. Kippenberg. "I'll telephone
your editor! I'll have you discharged!"
"See here," offered the usher, taking out his wallet. "I'll give you ten
dollars for that picture."
Salt shook his head, still smiling broadly.
The sound of the crash had brought servants running to the scene.