that the old fellow's memory was short and his eyesight poor. He had
failed to recognize her in everyday clothes.
"Oh, we're just out for a hike," she answered. "You see, we get tired of
all the ordinary places, so we thought we would walk by here."
"We're interested in your bridge," added Louise. "We just love bridges."
"This one ain't so good any more," the old man said disparagingly.
"Doesn't it get lonely here?" ventured Louise. "Sitting here all day
long?"
"It did at first, Miss. But I got used to it. Anyway, it beats leanin' on
a shovel for the gov'ment. I got a little garden over yonder a ways. You
ought to see my tomatoes. Them Ponderosas is as big as a plate."
"Do you ever operate the bridge?" Louise inquired, for Penny had not told
her that the structure was still in use.
"Oh, sure, Miss. That's what I'm here for. But it ain't safe for nothin'
heavier than a passenger car."
"I'd love to see the bridge lowered." Louise stared curiously up at the
tall cantilevers which pointed skyward. "When will you do it next time,
Mr.--?"
"Davis, if you please, Miss. Thorny Davis they calls me. My real name's
Thorndyke."
The old man pulled a large, silver watch from his pocket and consulted
it.
"In about ten minutes now, Mrs. Kippenberg will be comin' back from town.
Then we'll make the old hinge bend down agin'."
"Let's wait," said Louise.
Penny nodded and then as Thorny did not seem to object, she peeped into
the gear house, the door of which stood half open. A maze of machinery
met her eye--an electric motor and several long hand-levers.
Presently Thorny Davis listened intently. Penny thought he looked like an
old fox who had picked up the distant baying of the pack.
"That's _her_ car a-comin' now," he said. "I can tell by the sound of the
engine. Well, I reckon I might as well let 'er down."
Thorny arose and knocked the ashes from his corn-cob pipe. He opened the
door of the gear house and stepped inside.
"May I see how you do it?" asked Penny. "I always was interested in
machinery."
"The women will be runnin' locomotives next," Thorny complained
whimsically. "All right, come on in."
The old watchman pulled a lever on the starting rheostat of the motor
which responded with a sudden jar and then a low purr. It increased its
speed as he pushed the lever all the way over.
"Now the power's on. The next thing is to drop 'er."
Thorny grasped one of the long hand-levers and gently eased it forward.
There was a grind of gears engaging and the bridge slowly crept down out
of the sky.
Penny did not miss a single move. She noted just which levers the
watchman pulled and in what order. When the platform of the bridge was on
an even keel she saw him cut off the motor and throw all the gear back
into its original position.
"Think you could do 'er by yourself now?" Thorny asked.
"Yes, I believe I could," Penny answered gravely.
The old watchman smiled as he stepped to the deck of the bridge.
"It ain't so easy as it looks," he told her. "Well, here comes the Missuz
now and we're all ready for her. Last time she came along I was weedin'
out my corn patch and was she mad?"
As the black limousine rolled up to the drawbridge Penny turned her face
away so that Mrs. Kippenberg would not recognize her. She need have had
no uneasiness, for the lady gazed neither to the right nor the left. The
car crept forward at a snail's pace causing the steel structure to shiver
and shake as if from an attack of ague.
"Dear me, I think this bridge is positively dangerous," Louise declared.
"I shouldn't like to drive over it myself."
As the old watchman again raised the cantilevers, Penny studied his every
move.
"For a girl you're sure mighty interested in machinery," he remarked.
"Oh, I may grow up to be a bridgeman some day," Penny said lightly. "I
notice you keep the gear house locked part of the time."
"I have to do it or folks would tamper with the machinery."
The old man snapped a padlock on the door.
"Now I'm goin' to mosey down to my garden and do a little hoein'," he
announced. "You girls better run along."
Thus dismissed, Louise started away, but Penny made no move to leave. She
intended to ask a few questions.
"Thorny, are you any relation to the Kippenberg's head gardener?" she
inquired with startling abruptness.
"Am I any relation to that old walrus?" Thorny fairly shouted. "Am I any
relation to _him_? Say, you tryin' to insult me?"
"Not at all, but I saw the man this morning, and I fancied I noticed a
resemblance. Perhaps you don't know the one I mean."
"Sure, I know him all right." Thorny spat contemptuously. "New man. He
acts as know-it-all and bossy as if he owned the whole place."
"Then you don't like him?"
"There ain't no one that has anything to do with him. He's so good he
can't live like the rest of the servants. Where do you think I seen him
the other night?"
"I haven't the slightest idea. Where?"
"He was at the Colonial Hotel, eatin' in the main dining room!"
"The Colonial is quite an expensive hotel at Corbin, isn't it?"
"Best there is. They soak you two bucks just to park your feet under one
of their tables. Yep, if you ask me, Mrs. Kippenberg better ask that
gardener of hers a few questions!"
Having delivered himself of this tirade, Thorny became calm again. He
shifted his weight and said pointedly: "Well, I got to tend my garden.
You girls better run along. Mrs. Kippenberg don't want nobody hangin'
around the bridge."
The girls obligingly took leave of him and walked away. But when they
were some distance away, Penny glanced back over her shoulder. She saw
Thorny down on his hands and knees in front of the gear house. He was
slipping some object under the wide crack of the door.
"The key to the padlock!" she chuckled. "So that was why he wanted us to
leave first. We'll remember the hiding place, Lou, just in case we ever
decide to use the drawbridge."
CHAPTER
17
_A SEARCH FOR JERRY_
After leaving the Kippenberg estate, Penny and Louise motored to Corbin.
More from curiosity than for any other reason they dined at the Colonial
Hotel, finding the establishment as luxurious as the old watchman had
intimated. A full hour and a half was required to eat the fine dinner
which was served.
"Our friend, the gardener, does have excellent taste in food," remarked
Louise. "What puzzles me is where does he get the money to pay for all
this?"
"The obvious answer is that he's not a gardener."
"Maybe he has rooms here too, Penny."
"I've been wondering about it. I mean to investigate."
Louise glanced at her wristwatch. "Do you think we should take the time?"
she asked. "It will be late afternoon now before we reach home."
"Oh, it won't take a minute to inquire at the desk."
Leaving the dining room, the girls made their way to the lobby. When the
desk clerk had a free moment Penny asked him if anyone by the name of
Peter Henderson had taken rooms at the hotel.
"No one here by that name," the man told her. "Wait, I'll look to be
sure."
He consulted a card filing system which served as a register, and
confirmed his first statement.
"The man I mean would be around sixty years of age," explained Penny. "He
works as a gardener at the Kippenberg estate."
"Perhaps you have come to the wrong hotel," said the clerk aloofly. "We
do not cater to gardeners."
"Only to people who employ gardeners, I take it."
"Our rates start at ten dollars a day," returned the clerk coldly.
"And does that include free linen and a bath?" Penny asked with pretended
awe.
"Certainly. All of our rooms have private baths."
"How wonderful," giggled Penny. "We thought this might be one of those
places with a bath on every floor!"
Suddenly comprehending that he was being made an object of sport, the
clerk glared at the girls and turned his back.
Penny and Louise went cheerfully to their car, very much pleased with
themselves for having deflated such a conceited young man. They drove
away, and late afternoon brought them to Riverview, tired and dusty from
their long trip.
After dropping her chum off at the Sidell home, Penny rode directly to
the newspaper office. Finding no parking place available on the street,
she ran her car into the loading area at the rear of the building, nosing
into a narrow space which had just been vacated by a paper-laden truck.
"Hey, you lady," shouted an employee. "You can't park that scrap iron
here. Another paper truck will be along in a minute."
Penny switched off the engine.
"I guess you're new around here," she said, climbing out. "The next truck
isn't due until five-twenty-three."
"Say, who do you think you are, tellin' me--?"
The employee trailed off into silence as another workman gave him a sharp
nudge in the ribs.
"Pipe down," he was warned. "If the boss' daughter wants to park her
jitney in the paper chute it's okay, see?"
"Sure, I get it," the other mumbled.
Penny grinned broadly as she crossed the loading area.
"After this, you might mention my automobile in a more respectful tone,"
she tossed over her shoulder. "It's not scrap iron or a jitney either!"
Riding up the freight elevator, Penny passed a few remarks with the
smiling operator and stepped off at the editorial floor. She noticed as
she went through the news room that Jerry Livingston's desk was vacant.
And because the waste basket was empty, the floor beside it free from
paper wads, she knew he had written no story that day.
Penny tapped lightly on the closed door of her father's private office
and went in.
"Hello," he said, glancing up. "Just get back from Corbin?"
"Yes, Louise and I had plenty of excitement, but I didn't dig up any
facts you'll dare print in the paper."
"Did you meet Jerry anywhere?"
"Why, no, Dad."
"The young cub is taking a vacation at my expense, running up a big
motorboat bill! He should have been back here three hours ago."
"Oh, be reasonable, Dad," said Penny teasingly. "You can't expect him to
trace down those men just in a minute."
"It was a wild chase anyway," the editor growled. "I let him do it more
to please you than for any other reason. But that's beside the point. He
was told to be back here by four o'clock at the latest, even if he had
nothing to report."
"Jerry is usually punctual, Dad. But I suppose being on the river he
couldn't get here just when he expected."
"He's probably gone fishing," Mr. Parker declared.
He slammed down the roll top on his desk and picked up his hat.
"Will you ride home with me?" Penny invited. "Leaping Lena would be
highly honored."
"It's a mighty sight more comfortable on the bus," her father replied.
"But then, I can stand a jolting."
As they went out through the main room he paused to speak with DeWitt,
leaving an order that he was to be called at his home as soon as Jerry
Livingston returned.
Mr. Parker raised his eyebrows as he saw where Penny had left the car.
"Haven't I told you that the trucks need this space to load and unload?"
he asked patiently. "There is a ten cent parking lot across the street."
"But Dad, I haven't ten cents to spare. The truth is, I spent almost
every bit of my allowance today over at Corbin."
"NO!" said Mr. Parker firmly. "NO!"
"No what?"
"Not a penny will you get ahead of time."
"You misjudge me, Dad. I had no intention of even mentioning such a
painful subject."
They drove in silence for a few blocks and then Penny indicated the
gasoline gauge on the dashboard.
"Why, it's nearly empty!" she exclaimed. "We won't have enough to reach
home!"
"Well, get some," said Mr. Parker automatically. "We don't want to stall
on the street."
A flip of the steering wheel brought the car to a standstill in front of
a gasoline pump.
"Fill it up," ordered Penny.
While Mr. Parker read his newspaper, the attendant polished the
windshield and checked the oil, finding it low. At a nod from Penny he
added two quarts.
"That will be exactly two fifty-eight."
Penny repeated the figure in a louder tone, giving her father a nudge.
"Wake up, Dad. Two fifty-eight."
Absently, Mr. Parker reached for his wallet. Not until the attendant
brought the change did it dawn upon him that Penny had scored once more.
"Tricked again," he groaned.
"Why, it was your own suggestion that we stop for gasoline," Penny
reminded him. "I shouldn't have minded taking a chance myself. You see,
the gauge is usually at least a gallon off."
"Anyway, I would rather pay for it than have you siphon it out of my
car."
"Thanks for the present," laughed Penny.
Dinner was waiting by the time they reached home. Afterwards, Penny
helped Mrs. Weems with the dishes while her father mowed the lawn.
Hearing the telephone ring he came to the kitchen door.
"Was that a call for me?" he asked.
"No, Dad, it was for Mrs. Weems."
"Strange DeWitt doesn't call," Mr. Parker said. "I believe I'll telephone
him."
After Mrs. Weems had finished with the phone he called the newspaper
office only to be told that Jerry Livingston had not put in an
appearance.
"At least he might have communicated with the office," Mr. Parker said as
he hung up the receiver.
He went back to lawn mowing but paused now and then to stare moodily
toward the Kobalt river which wound through the valley far below the
terrace. Penny finished drying the dishes and went outside to join him.
"You're worried about Jerry, aren't you?" she asked after a moment.
"Not exactly," he replied. "But he should have been back long ago."
"He never would have stayed away without good reason. We both know Jerry
isn't like that."
"No, he's either run into a big story, or he's in trouble. When I sent
him away this morning, I didn't look upon the assignment as a
particularly dangerous one."
"And yet if he met those two seamen anything could have happened. They
were tough customers, Dad."
"I could notify the police if Jerry isn't back within an hour or two,"
Mr. Parker said slowly. "Still, I hate to do it."
"Where did Jerry rent his boat, Dad?"
"I told him to get one at Griffith's dock at twenty-third street."
"Then why don't we go there?" suggested Penny. "If he hasn't come in we
might rent a boat of our own and start a search."
Mr. Parker debated and then nodded. "Bring a heavy coat," he told her.
"It may be cold on the river."
Penny ran into the house after the garments and also took a flashlight
from her father's bureau drawer. When she hurried outdoors again her
father had backed his own car from the garage and was waiting.
At the twenty-third street dock, Harry Griffith, owner of the boat house,
answered their questions frankly. Yes, he told them, Jerry Livingston had
rented a motor boat early that morning but had not returned it.
"I been worryin' about that young feller," he admitted, and then with a
quick change of tone: "Say, you're not Mr. Parker, are you?"
"Yes, that's my name."
"Then I got a letter here for you. I reckon maybe it explains what became
of the young feller."
The boatman took a greasy envelope from his trousers pocket and gave it
to the editor.
"Where did you get this, Mr. Griffith?"
"A boy in a rowboat brought it up the river about two hours ago. He said
the young feller gave him a dollar to deliver it to a Mr. Parker. But the
kid was mixed up on the address, so I just held it here."
"Dad, it must be from Jerry," said Penny eagerly.
As her father opened the envelope, she held the flashlight close. In an
almost illegible scrawl Jerry had written:
"Following up a hot tip. Think I've struck trail of key men. Taking off
in boat. Expect to get back by nightfall unless Old Man Trouble catches
up with me."
Mr. Parker looked up from the message, his gaze meeting the frightened
eyes of his daughter.
"Oh, Dad," she said in a tone barely above a whisper, "it's long after
dark now. What do you think has become of Jerry?"
CHAPTER
18
_OVER THE DRAWBRIDGE_
Wasting no moments in useless conversation, Mr. Parker rented a fast
motor boat and prevailed upon Harry Griffith to operate it for him.
Guided by the stars and a half moon which was slowly rising over the
treetops, the party swung down the river.
Riding with the current, they came before long to the locality where
Penny and Jerry had first sighted the two seamen's cruiser. But now there
was no sign of a boat, either large or small.
At a speed which enabled the occupants to scrutinize the shoreline, the
searching craft swept on. The river had never seemed more deserted.
"Jerry might have stopped anywhere along here," Mr. Parker observed. "If
he drew the boat into the bushes we haven't a chance of finding him."
They went on, coming presently to the Kippenberg estate. As they passed
beneath the open drawbridge Penny noted how low it had been swung over
the water. A boat with a high cabin could not possibly go through when
the cantilevers were down.
Gazing upward, she saw a swinging red light at the entrance to the
bridge. A lantern, no doubt, hung there to give warning to any motorist
who might venture upon the private road.
"Thorny probably isn't on duty at this hour," Penny reflected. "But I
should think an open drawbridge might prove more dangerous at night than
in the daytime."
As the bridge was lost to view beyond a bend in the river, she gave all
her attention to watching the coves and inlets. Her father sat hunched
over in the seat beside her, slapping at mosquitoes. Now and then he
would switch on the flashlight to look at his watch.
Gradually the river had widened, so that it was possible to cover only
one shore.
"We'll search the other side on our return trip," Mr. Parker said. "But
it looks to me as if we're not going to have any luck."
As if to add to the discouragement of the party, dark clouds began to
edge across the sky. One by one the stars were inked out. Penny's light
coat offered scant protection from the cold wind.
And then, Harry Griffith throttled down the motor and spun the wheel
sharply to starboard. He leaned forward, trying to pierce the black void
ahead of the boat's bright beam.
"Looks like something over there," he said pointing. "Might be a log. No,
it's a boat."
"I can't see anyone in it!" Penny cried. "It's drifting with the
current."
"That looks like one of my boats, sure as you're born," Griffith
declared, idling the engine. "The same I rented the young feller this
morning."
"But where is Jerry?" cried Penny.
Griffith maneuvered his own boat close to the one which drifted with the
current. Mr. Parker was able to reach out and grasp the long rope
dangling in the water.
"The flashlight, Penny!" he commanded.
She turned the beam on, and as it focused upon the floor of the boat,
drew in her breath sharply. On the bottom, face downward, lay a man.
"It's Jerry!" Penny cried. "Oh, Dad, he's--"
"Steady," said her father. "Steady."
While Griffith held the two boats together, he stepped aboard the smaller
one. He bent over the crumpled figure, feeling Jerry's pulse, gently
turning him upon his back.
"Is he alive, Dad?"
"His pulse is weak, but I can feel it. Yes, he's breathing! Hold that
light steady, Penny."
"Dad, there's blood on his head! I--I can see it trickling down."
"He's been struck with a club or some blunt object," Mr. Parker said
grimly. "He may have a fractured skull."
"Oh, Dad!"
"Keep a grip on yourself," her father ordered sternly, "It may not be as
bad as I think, but we'll have to rush him to the nearest doctor."
"If it was me, I wouldn't try to move him out of there," advised Harry
Griffith. "Leave him where he is. I'll get aboard and we'll take this
boat in tow."
Penny helped the man make their craft fast to the other boat, and then
they both climbed aboard. Griffith started the engine and turned around
in the river.
"I'll head for Covert," he said. "That's about the closest place. There
ought to be a good doctor in a town that size."
While Griffith handled the boat, Penny and her father did what they could
to make Jerry comfortable. They stripped off their coats, using one for a
pillow, and the other to cover his body.
"Those two men he was sent to follow must be responsible for this!" Penny
murmured. "How could they do such a brutal thing?"
"I'll notify the police as soon as we touch shore," her father said
grimly. "We'll search every cove and inlet until we find the ones
responsible!"
As he spoke Mr. Parker bent lower to examine the wound on Jerry's head.
Blood had nearly stopped flowing and he was hopeful that it came from a
flesh wound. He pressed a clean handkerchief against it and the young man
stirred.
"How long do you suppose he's been like this, Dad?"
"Hard to tell. An hour, maybe two hours."
Presently, as the boat made full speed up the river, Jerry stirred once
more. His lips moved but the words were indistinguishable.
"How far to Covert?" Mr. Parker asked anxiously.
"About four miles from this point," Griffith flung over his shoulder.
"It's the next town above the Kippenberg estate. I'm making the best time
I can."
Jerry moved restlessly, his hands plucking at the coat which covered him.
"Flaming eyes," he muttered. "Looking at me--looking at me--"
Penny and her father gazed at each other in startled dismay.
"He's completely out of his head," whispered Penny.
"He's gone back to that other accident which happened last year," nodded
Mr. Parker. "The Vanishing Houseboat affair."
"Jerry's had more than his share of bad luck, Dad. Twice now on this same
river, he's met with disaster. And this time he may not come through."
"I think he will if his skull hasn't been fractured," Mr. Parker told her
encouragingly. "Listen!"
Jerry's lips were moving again, and this time his words were more
rational.
"Got to get word to the Chief," they heard him mutter. "Got to get
word--"
A long while after that Jerry remained perfectly quiet. Suddenly
arousing, his eyes opened wide and he struggled to sit up. Mr. Parker
gently pressed him back.
"Where am I?" Jerry muttered. "Let me out of here! Let me out!"
"Quiet, Jerry," soothed Mr. Parker. "You're with friends."
The reporter's tense grip on the editor's hand relaxed. "That you,
Chief?"
"Yes, Jerry. Just lie quiet. We'll have you to a doctor in a few more
minutes."
"Doctor! I don't need any doctor," he protested, trying once more to sit
up. "What happened anyway?"
"That's what we would like to know."
"Can't you remember anything, Jerry?" Penny asked. "You went out on the
river to try to trace those two men in the cruiser."
"Oh, it's coming back to me now. I ran into their boat down by Cranberry
Cove. They tied up there."
"And then what happened?" Penny demanded, as Jerry paused.
"I saw 'em walk ashore. Thought I would follow so I tied up my boat, too.
They started off through the trees. Pretty soon they met a third man, a
well dressed fellow, educated too."
"Did you hear any of their conversation?" Mr. Parker questioned.
"I heard Kippenberg's name mentioned. That caught my interest so I crept
closer. Must have given myself away because that's about the last I
remember. A ton of dynamite seemed to explode in my head. And here I am."
"Obviously, you were struck from behind with some heavy object," Mr.
Parker said. "They probably dumped you back in your own boat and set it
adrift. You never saw your attacker?"
"No."
Jerry rested for a moment, and then as it dawned upon him that he was
being speeded to a doctor, he began to protest.
"Say, Chief, I'll be all right. I don't need any doc. Head's clear as a
bell now."
"That's fine, Jerry. But you'll see a doctor anyway and have X-rays.
We're taking no chances."
"Then at least let me go back to Riverview," Jerry grumbled. "I don't
want to be stuck in any hick town hospital."
"If you feel equal to the trip, I guess we can grant you that much. You
seem to be all right, but I want to make sure. Can't take chances on the
paper being sued later on, you know."
"Oh, I get the idea," said Jerry with a grimace. "Thinking of the old
cash register, as usual."
Penny drew a deep sigh of relief. If Jerry were able to make jokes he
couldn't be seriously injured. She still felt weak from the fright she
had received.
"The police will find those men who attacked you," she told him. "I hope
they're put in prison for life, too!"
"The police?" Jerry repeated. He stared up into Mr. Parker's face. "Say,
Chief, you're not aiming to spill the story, are you?"
"I was."
"But see here, if you notify the police, we'll show our hand to the rival
paper. If we keep this dark we could do our own investigating, and maybe
land a big scoop."