to have an alligator on the estate. At one time he kept imported
peacocks. The place was fairly overrun with them."
Penny offered no comment. She moved closer to the edge of the lily pool,
gazing down into the now tranquil waters.
"I know what you are trying to imply," Miss Kippenberg said jerkily. "It
couldn't be possible. I refuse even to consider such a ridiculous
theory."
"It does seem rather far-fetched," Penny admitted. "Of course, tragedies
do occur and those foot-prints--"
"Please, not another word or you'll drive me into hysterics!" Sylvia
cried. "You are trying to play upon my feelings so that I will tell you
things! You are only trying to get a story! I'll not talk with you any
longer."
She turned and ran up the path toward the house.
"Overplayed my hand that time," thought Penny ruefully. "As Dad says, I
really have too much imagination to make a good reporter. Also too lively
a tongue."
Miss Kippenberg had vanished into the house by the time the girl retraced
her way to the garden. The black limousine no longer stood at the front
door so she knew she was expected to get back to Andover by her own
efforts.
"If Jerry is still waiting at the drawbridge, I'll ride home with him,"
she told herself. "Otherwise, I'm out of luck completely."
The path which Penny followed brought her toward the rear of the house.
As she drew near, the kitchen door suddenly opened and a stout woman in a
blue uniform came outside. In her arms she carried two large paper sacks
which appeared to be filled with garbage for the bottoms were moist.
Just as the woman reached Penny one of the bags gave away, allowing a
collection of corn husks, watermelon rinds and egg shells to fall on the
sidewalk.
"Now I've done it!" she exclaimed crossly. "Splattered my stockings too."
"Oh, that's too bad," said Penny, pausing.
"This is the only place I ever worked where the cook was expected to
carry out the garbage!" the woman complained. "It makes me good and mad
every time I do it."
"I should think a house of this size would have an incinerator so that
the garbage could be burned," Penny remarked.
"Say, this place doesn't have any conveniences for the servants," the
cook went on. "You're expected to work, work, work from morning to
night."
She broke off quickly, regarding Penny with a suspicious gaze. "You're
not one of Miss Sylvia's guests?" she demanded.
"Oh, no, I only came here on an errand. I wouldn't repeat anything to the
family."
"That's all right then," the woman said in relief. "I liked my job here
well enough until lately. All month it's been one dinner party after
another. Then we spent days getting ready for the wedding feast and not
one scrap of food was touched!"
"But I suppose Mrs. Kippenberg pays you well."
"Listen, she didn't give me one extra cent for all the work I did. Mrs.
Kippenberg always has been real close, and she's a heap worse since her
husband went away. Another week like this last one and I quit!"
"Well, I can't say I blame you," Penny said, leading the woman on. "I
suppose Miss Sylvia is as overbearing as her mother?"
"Oh, Miss Sylvia is all right, as sweet a girl as you'll find anywhere. I
felt mighty sorry for her when that no-account man threw her over."
Penny knew by this time that she must be talking with Mrs. Latch, for the
footman had mentioned the cook's name. As the woman walked on with her
bundles of garbage she fell into step with her.
"It was strange about Mr. Atherwald's disappearance," she remarked. "I
hear he came to the house and then went away just before the wedding."
"I can tell you about that," replied Mrs. Latch with an important air.
"Yesterday morning a boy came to the back door with a letter for Mr.
Atherwald. It's my opinion he sent it to himself."
"Didn't the boy tell you where he had obtained the letter?"
"He said it was given to him by one of Mr. Atherwald's friends. A man in
a boat."
"Oh, I see," said Penny, making a mental note of the information.
Realizing that the cook had told everything she knew about the matter,
she quickly switched the subject. "By the way, who is the head gardener
here?"
"Do you mean Peter Henderson?"
"A fairly old man," described Penny. "Gray hair, stooped shoulders, and I
might add, an unpleasant manner."
"I guess that's Peter. He's not much of a gardener in my opinion. And he
feels too high and mighty to associate with the other servants. He
doesn't even stay here nights."
"Is he a new man?"
"Mrs. Kippenberg hired him only three days before the wedding. I don't
think he's done a lick of honest work since he came here."
"And Mrs. Kippenberg doesn't mind?"
"She's been too busy and bothered to pay any attention to him," the cook
declared. "But she always has time to boss me. I tell you, if dishes
aren't prepared perfectly she raves!"
"No wonder Mr. Kippenberg was forced to leave home," Penny interposed
slyly. "You can't blame him for running away from a violent temper."
"Oh, the Kippenbergs never had any trouble," Mrs. Latch corrected. "Mr.
Kippenberg would just laugh and not say a word when she jumped on him.
They were never heard to quarrel."
"Then it seems odd that he went away."
"Yes, it does," agreed the cook, frowning. "I never did understand it.
And then the way Mrs. Kippenberg changed all the servants!"
"You mean after Mr. Kippenberg went away?"
"She fired everyone except me. I guess she knew she couldn't get another
cook half as good if she let me go. Right away I struck for more money
and she gave it to me without a whimper. But since then she works me like
a dog."
Mrs. Latch clattered the lid of the garbage can into place and turned
toward the house. But as Penny once more fell into step with her, she
paused and regarded the girl with sudden suspicion.
"Say, why am I telling you all this anyway? Who are you? You're not one
of those sneaking reporters?"
"Do I look like a reporter?" countered Penny.
"Well, no, you don't," admitted Mrs. Latch. "But you're as inquisitive as
one. You must be the girl who brought Miss Sylvia's new dress from the
LaRue Shoppe."
Penny hesitated too long over her reply, and the woman gazed at her
sharply.
"You _are_ a reporter!" she exclaimed with conviction. "And you've been
deliberately pumping me! Of all the tricks! I'll tell Miss Kippenberg!"
"Wait, I can explain."
Mrs. Latch paid no heed. With an angry toss of her head she hastened into
the house.
"Overstepped myself again," Penny thought in dismay. "I'll be getting
away from here while the getting is good."
Turning, she ran down the walk toward the river, only to stop short as
she reached the boat dock. The drawbridge was in open position and the
old watchman did not appear to be at his usual post. She had no way of
reaching the mainland.
CHAPTER
12
_FISHERMAN'S LUCK_
Penny looked anxiously about for a means of crossing the river. There
were no small boats available and the only person who stood on the
opposite shore was Jerry Livingston. The other reporters and
photographers, evidently tiring of their long vigil, had gone away.
She cupped her hands and shouted to Jerry: "How am I going to get over
there? Can you lower the bridge?"
"The mechanism is locked," called back the reporter. "And the watchman
won't be back for an hour."
Penny walked a short distance up the shore searching for a boat. The only
available craft was the large launch which she could not hope to operate.
She might return to the house and appeal to Miss Kippenberg but such a
course was not to her liking.
As she considered whether or not to ruin her clothing by swimming across,
Jerry called her attention to a small boat some distance up the river.
The boy who was fishing from it obligingly rowed ashore after Penny had
signaled him.
"I'll give you fifty cents to ferry me across," she offered.
"I'll be glad to do it," he agreed.
Penny stepped into the boat and then asked: "Aren't you the same lad I
saw here yesterday?"
The boy nodded as he reached for the oars. "I remember you," he answered.
"You seem to fish here nearly every day."
"Just about. I caught some nice ones today." Proudly he held up two large
fish for her to see.
"Beauties," praised Penny. "I take it the motor boats haven't been
bothering you as much as they were."
"It's been pretty quiet on the river today," the boy agreed. "Want to see
something else I fished up?"
"Why, yes. What did you hook, a mud turtle?"
The boy opened a large wooden box which contained an assortment of rope,
fishing tackle and miscellaneous articles. He lifted out a man's high
silk hat, bedraggled and shapeless.
"You fished that out of the water?" Penny demanded, leaning forward to
take the article from him. "Where did you find it?"
"Up there a ways." The boy motioned vaguely toward a point on the
Kippenberg estate.
Penny turned the hat over in her hand, examining it closely. She found no
identifying marks, yet she believed that it had belonged to Grant
Atherwald for he had worn similar headdress. The point indicated by the
boy was not far distant from the Kippenberg lily pool.
"How would you like to sell this hat?" she asked.
"Why, it's not worth anything."
"I'd like to have it," said Penny. "I'll give you another fifty cents."
"It's a deal."
Penny offered the boy a dollar bill, and a moment later he beached the
boat. Jerry was waiting to help her ashore. His alert gaze fastened upon
the hat which she hugged close, but he withheld comment. To the boy he
said:
"Son, how would you like to earn five dollars?"
The boy's eyes brightened. "Say, this is my lucky day!" he exclaimed.
"What doin'?"
"It's easy," Jerry told him. "All you need to do is to be here for a
couple of days with your boat. You're not to allow anyone to use it
except me."
"And me," added Penny. "I'll need taxi service myself if I come back
here."
"That's all right," agreed the boy.
"Here's a dollar on deposit," Jerry said. "Now remember, be here tomorrow
from eight o'clock on, and don't hire out to any other person."
"I won't," the boy promised.
Jerry took Penny's elbow and escorted her to the press car.
"So you found Atherwald's hat?" he asked without preliminaries.
"It resembles the one he wore. The boy fished it out of the river."
"Then that looks as if the fellow really was the victim of a plot!"
"I've thought so all along," Penny declared soberly.
"What else did you learn? You seemed to be very chummy with Miss
Kippenberg."
"I'll not be from now on," Penny returned ruefully.
As Jerry backed the car around in the dusty road, she told of her meeting
with Sylvia Kippenberg and the ensuing conversation.
"So Miss Kippenberg doesn't like questions?" Jerry asked. "And she
refuses to notify the police? Well, after we publish our story in the
_Star_ it won't be necessary. The police will come to do their own
investigating."
"I can't really believe she is trying to deceive the authorities," Penny
said thoughtfully. "She seems to have a sincere regard for Grant
Atherwald."
"It may be pretense."
"She wasn't pretending the day of the wedding. Atherwald's disappearance
was a great shock to her."
"Well, even so, she may know a lot more than she's putting out."
"I think that myself. She closed up like a clam when I talked about her
father."
The car came to the main road and a short time later entered the town of
Corbin. As they stopped for a red light, Penny touched Jerry's arm.
"Look over there," she directed. "See those two men standing in front of
the drugstore?"
"What about them?"
"They're G men who attended the Kippenberg wedding. Salt pointed them out
to me."
"You don't say! Maybe we can learn a fact or two from them."
Jerry parked the car at the curb and sprang out. Penny saw him walk over
to the men, introduce himself and show his press credentials. She was too
far away to hear the conversation.
In a few minutes Jerry returned to the car looking none too elated.
"You didn't learn anything, did you?" Penny inquired as they drove on
again.
"Not very much. Government men never will talk. But they did admit they
were here trying to locate James Kippenberg."
"Then they think he is in the locality."
"They had an idea he would show up at his daughter's wedding. But it
didn't turn out that way."
"Did you say anything to them about Grant Atherwald's disappearance?"
"Yes, but they wouldn't discuss it. They said they had nothing to do with
the case."
Penny lapsed into reflective silence as the car went on toward Andover.
Mentally she sorted over the evidence which she had gathered that day,
trying to fit it into a definite pattern.
"Jerry," she said at last.
"Yes?"
"You'll probably laugh at this, but I have a theory about Grant
Atherwald's disappearance."
"Go ahead, spill it."
"Yesterday when Salt and I were waiting at the drawbridge we saw a
motorboat cruise down the river. It was driven by a burly looking fellow
who paid no heed when we tried to hail him."
"You're not suggesting that the man may have had something to do with
Atherwald's disappearance?" Jerry questioned, mildly amused.
"I knew you would laugh."
"Your theory sounds pretty far-fetched to me, I'll admit. It happens
there are any number of burly, tough looking boatmen on the Kobalt. You
can't arrest a man for a crime just because of his appearance."
"All the same, there is supporting evidence. Mrs. Latch told me that
Atherwald's note had been handed to her by a boy who in turn received it
from someone in a boat."
"Boats are rather common too. Your theory is interesting, but that's all
I can say for it."
"All right," said Penny. "I was about to tell you another idea of mine.
Now I won't do it."
No amount of coaxing could induce her to reveal her thought, and the
remainder of the drive to Andover was made in silence. It was well after
five-thirty when the car finally drew up in front of the City Club.
Penny was not surprised to find the doors locked and no sign of Louise or
Miss Frome.
"I thought they would go home without me," she said to Jerry. "I only
wanted to make certain."
For many miles the road led through pleasant countryside and then swung
back toward the Kobalt river. The sun had dropped below the horizon by
the time the automobile sped through the town of Claxton.
"Thirty miles still to go," Jerry sighed. "I'm getting hungry."
"Two souls with but a single thought," remarked Penny.
Directly ahead they noticed an electric sign which drew attention to a
roadside gasoline station with an adjoining restaurant. Jerry eased on
the brake.
"How about it, Penny? Shall we invest a few nickels?"
"I could do with a sandwich," Penny agreed. "Several, in fact."
Not until Jerry had parked the car did they notice the dilapidated
condition of the building. It stood perhaps fifty yards back from the
main road, its rear porch fronting on the Kobalt.
"Strange how one is always running into the river," Penny remarked
absently. "It seems to twist itself over half the state."
Jerry had not heard her words. He was gazing at the restaurant with
disapproval.
"This place doesn't look so good, Penny. If you say the word we'll drive
on."
"Oh, I'd brave anything for a beef barbecue," she laughed.
Through the screen door they caught a discouraging glimpse of the cafe's
interior--dingy walls, cigarette smoke, a group of rough looking men
seated on stools at the counter. Upon the threshold Penny hesitated,
losing courage.
"Let's not go in," Jerry grunted in an undertone. "They'll probably serve
cockroaches in the sandwiches."
Penny half turned away from the door only to stop short. Her attention
focused upon two men who were sitting at the far end of the cafe drinking
coffee from heavy mugs. In the indistinct light she could not be
absolutely sure, yet she was instantly convinced that the heavy-set
fellow in shirt sleeves was the same boatman who had been seen near the
Kippenberg estate.
To Jerry's surprise, Penny resisted the tug of his arm as he sought to
lead her toward the car.
"This place isn't half bad," she said. "Let's try it and see what
happens."
Boldly she reached for the knob of the screen door and entered the cafe.
CHAPTER
13
_TWO MEN AND A BOAT_
Penny ignored several empty tables at the front of the dreary restaurant
and selected one not far from where the two men sat. As they glanced at
her with insolent, appraising eyes, her pulse quickened. She was almost
certain that the heavy-set man was the same fellow she had noticed near
the Kippenberg estate.
A waiter in a soiled white apron shuffled up to take their order.
"Hot roast beef sandwich and coffee," said Jerry. "With plenty of cream."
"Make mine the same," added Penny without looking at the menu.
All her attention centered upon the two men who were now talking together
in low tones. After the first glance they had taken no interest in her
and were unaware of her scrutiny. The heavy-set man bent nearer his
companion and with the point of his knife drew a pattern on the
tablecloth.
"What do you think of this route, Joe?" he asked.
"Too risky," the other muttered. "Once we start we got to make a quick
shoot to the sea."
"Any way we take we might run into trouble. Y'know, I wish we had never
agreed to do the job."
"You and me both!"
"Dietz ain't to be trusted," the heavy-set man said and his shaggy
eyebrows drew together in a scowl. "He's thinking first and last of his
own skin. We've got to watch him."
"And the girl, too. She's a dumb one and plenty apt to talk if the going
gets rough."
Penny lost the remainder of the conversation as Jerry spoke to her.
"We couldn't have picked a worse place," he complained. "Look at all the
breakfast egg on the tablecloth. I'm in favor of walking out even now."
"I'm not," replied Penny.
"Say, what's got into you anyway?" Jerry demanded. "You're acting mighty
funny."
"Notice those two men at the last table," she indicated.
"What about them?"
"See that heavy-set fellow with the tattooed anchor on his arm? Well, I'm
satisfied he is the same boatman who cruised near the Kippenberg estate
yesterday afternoon."
"It might be," Jerry agreed, unimpressed. "The Kobalt is only a stone's
throw away. And this place seems to be frequented by rivermen."
"You didn't hear what they were saying?" whispered Penny. "Listen!"
Jerry immediately fell silent, centering his attention upon the two men.
But by this time they had lowered their voices so that only an occasional
word could be distinguished.
"What were they saying anyway?" Jerry asked curiously.
Before Penny could answer, the proprietor came from the kitchen bearing
two plates of food which he set down before them. The sandwiches were
covered with a dark brown, watery gravy, potatoes bore a heavy coating of
grease and the coffee looked weak.
"Anything more?" the man inquired indifferently.
"That's all," Jerry replied, with emphasis. "In fact, it's too much."
At the adjoining table the two men abruptly hauled to their feet. Paying
their bill they quitted the restaurant.
"Let's leave, too," suggested Penny. "I should like to see where they
go."
Jerry pushed his plate aside. "Suits me," he agreed. "Even my cast-iron
stomach can't wrestle with such food as this."
He paid at the cash register and they went out into the night. Penny
looked about for the two men and saw them walking toward the river.
"Hold on," said Jerry as she started to follow. "Tell me what all the
excitement is about."
Tersely, Penny repeated the conversation she had overheard.
"They're tough looking hombres all right," Jerry admitted. "Likely as not
mixed up in some dirty business. But to say they're involved in the
Kippenberg affair--"
"Oh, Jerry," Penny broke in impatiently, "we'll never learn anything if
we take that attitude. We must run down every possible clue. Please,
let's see if they go down to the river."
"We ought to be getting our story back to the office," Jerry reminded
her. "If we miss the last edition there will be fireworks."
"It will only take a minute," Penny insisted stubbornly. "If you won't
come with me, then I'm going alone!"
She started away and the reporter had no choice but to follow. A narrow,
well-trod path led down a steep slope toward the river. Long before they
came within sight of it they could hear the croak of bullfrogs and feel
the damp, night mists enveloping them like a cloak.
Drawing closer to the two men, Penny and Jerry slackened pace and moved
with greater care. But if they hoped to learn anything from the
conversation of the pair ahead they were disappointed. The talk concerned
only the weather.
Reaching the banks of the river, the two men boarded a sturdy cabin
cruiser which had been moored to a sagging dock.
"It's the very same boat," Penny whispered jubilantly. "I knew I wasn't
mistaken."
"Even so, what does that prove?" demanded Jerry. "It's no crime to run a
motorboat near the Kippenberg estate. The river is free."
"But you must admit there _is_ other evidence. Oh, why can't we follow
them? We might learn something really important."
"We're not going off on any wild chase tonight," stated Jerry sternly.
"Come on, it's home for us before your father sends a police squad to
search for his missing daughter."
"You're losing a golden opportunity, Jerry Livingston."
"Listen, by the time we located a boat those men would be ten miles from
here. They're leaving now. Use your head."
"Oh, all right," Penny gave in. "We'll go home, but I'll bet a cent
you'll be sorry later on."
She waited until the cruiser was lost to view in the darkness and then
allowed the reporter to guide her back up the steep path.
"At least let's try to find out who the men are," Penny urged as they
came near the cafe. "The restaurant owner might know."
More to please her than for any other reason, Jerry said that he would
inquire. He re-entered the cafe, returning in a few minutes to report
that the proprietor had never seen either of the men before.
"And now let's be traveling," he urged. "We've killed enough time here."
During the remainder of the ride back to Riverview, Penny had little to
say. But long after she knew Jerry had forgotten the two boatmen she kept
turning their conversation over in her mind. She only wished she might
prove that her theories were not ridiculous.
Presently, the automobile drew up in front of the Parker residence.
"Won't you come in, Jerry?" Penny invited. "Dad may wish to talk with you
about the case."
"I might stop a minute. I have a question or two to ask him."
The door of the house swung open as Penny and the reporter crossed the
front porch. Anthony Parker stood framed in the bright electric light, a
tall, imposing figure.
"That you, Penny?"
"Yes, Dad."
"I'm glad you're home safe," he said, not trying to hide his relief.
"Mrs. Weems and I have both been worried. It's going on nine o'clock."
"So late? Didn't Louise telephone you?"
"Yes, she said you had gone on to the Kippenberg estate. Knowing you, I
worried all the more. What mischief did you get into this time, Penny?"
"None. Jerry took care of that!"
Mr. Parker held the door open for his daughter and Jerry to pass through.
"Have you had your dinners?" he asked.
"We stopped at a roadside cafe, Dad. But the food was horrible. We didn't
even try to eat it."
"Mrs. Weems can find something for you, I'm sure. She's upstairs."
"Don't call her just yet," said Penny. "First, we want to tell you what
we've learned."
Mr. Parker listened attentively as Penny gave a detailed account of her
visit to the estate, the finding of the silk hat, and finally of her
encounter with the two boatmen at the river cafe.
"I might have learned a lot more if only Jerry hadn't played
grandmother," she said crossly. "He refused to follow the boat down the
river--said it would only be a wild chase."
"Jerry, I'm glad you had will power enough to overrule her," declared Mr.
Parker. "The possibility of those men being connected with the Atherwald
case seems very vague to me."
"Dad, you should have heard what they were saying! The one man drew a
design on the tablecloth and asked his companion what he thought of the
route. They talked about a quick get-away to the sea."
"The men may have been fugitives," Mr. Parker commented. "But even that
isn't very likely."
"They spoke of being uneasy about a certain job they had agreed to do,"
Penny went on earnestly. "They mentioned a girl and said that a fellow
named Dietz would bear watching."
Mr. Parker leaned forward in his chair. "Dietz?" he questioned. "Are you
certain that was the name?"
"Yes, I heard it clearly."
"I don't see how there could be any connection," Mr. Parker mused. "And
yet--"