CHAPTER PAGE
1 THE BEARDED STRANGER _1_
2 ALERTING ALL CARS _7_
3 UNFINISHED BUSINESS _16_
4 A TRAFFIC ACCIDENT _25_
5 THE RED STAIN _33_
6 AMBULANCE CALL _42_
7 AN EMPTY BED _50_
8 IN SEARCH OF JERRY _58_
9 THE WIDOW JONES _64_
10 INSIDE THE WOODSHED _73_
11 AN ABANDONED CAR _81_
12 A JOB FOR PENNY _91_
13 INTO THE SWAMP _100_
14 A CODE MESSAGE _107_
15 BEYOND THE BOARDWALK _113_
16 TREED BY A BOAR _121_
17 RESCUE _128_
18 WANTED--A GUIDE _136_
19 PENNY'S PLAN _146_
20 TRAILING HOD HAWKINS _153_
21 THE TUNNEL OF LEAVES _160_
22 HELP FROM TONY _166_
23 LOST IN THE HYACINTHS _175_
24 UNDER THE FENCE POST _183_
25 OUTWITTED _192_
CHAPTER
1
_THE BEARDED STRANGER_
With slow, smooth strokes, Penny Parker sent the flat-bottomed skiff
cutting through the still, sluggish water toward a small point of wooded
land near the swamp's edge.
In the bottom of the boat, her dark-haired companion, Louise Sidell, sat
with her hand resting carelessly on the collar of her dog, Bones, who
drowsed beside her. The girl yawned and shifted cramped limbs.
"Let's go home, Penny," she pleaded. "We have all the flowers you'll need
to decorate the banquet tables tonight."
"But not all I want," Penny corrected with a grin. "See those beautiful
Cherokee roses growing over there on the island point? They're nicer than
anything we have."
"Also harder to get."
Louise craned her neck to gaze at the wild, tangled growth which rose
densely from the water's edge.
"Remember," she admonished, "when Trapper Joe rented us this boat his
last words were: 'Don't go far, and stay in the skiff.'"
"After we gather the flowers, we'll start straight home, Lou. We're too
near the edge of the swamp to lose our way."
Disregarding Louise's frown, Penny tossed a lock of auburn hair out of
her eyes, and dug in again with the oars.
A giant crane, disturbed by the splash, flapped up from the tall water
grass. As he trumpeted angrily, Bones stirred and scrambled to his feet.
"Quiet, Bones!" Louise ordered, giving him a reassuring pat. "It's only a
saucy old crane."
The dog stretched out on the decking again, but through half-closed eyes
watched the bird in flight.
"Lou, hasn't it been fun, coming here today?" Penny demanded in a sudden
outbreak of enthusiasm. "I've loved every minute of it!"
"You certainly have! But it's getting late and we're both hot and tired.
If you must have those flowers, let's get them quickly and start home."
The two girls, students at Riverview high school, had rented the skiff
early that afternoon from Trapper Joe Scoville, a swamper who lived alone
in a shack at the swamp's edge.
For three hours now, they had idled along the entrance channel, gathering
water lilies, late-blooming Cherokee roses, yellow jessamine, and iris.
The excursion had been entirely Penny's idea. That night in a Riverview
hotel, her father, Anthony Parker, publisher of the _Riverview Star_, was
acting as host to a state newspapermen's convention. He had handed Penny
twenty dollars, with instructions to buy flowers for the banquet tables.
Penny, with her usual flare for doing things differently, had decided to
save the money by gathering swamp blooms.
"These flowers are nicer than anything we could have bought from a
florist," she declared, gazing appreciatively at the mass of blooms which
dripped water in the basket at her feet.
"And think what you can do with twenty dollars!" her chum teased.
"Seventeen. Remember, we owe Trapper Joe three dollars for boat rental."
"It will be four if we don't call it a day. Let's get the flowers, if we
must, and start home."
"Fair enough," Penny agreed.
Squinting at the lowering sun, she guided the skiff to a point of the
low-lying island. There she held it steady while her chum stepped out on
the spongy ground.
Bones, eager to explore, leaped after her and was off in a flash before
Louise could seize his collar.
Penny followed her chum ashore, beaching her skiff in a clump of water
plants. "This place looks like a natural haunt for cottonmouths or
moccasins," she remarked. "We'll have to watch out for snakes."
Already Louise was edging along in the soft muck, alertly keeping an eye
upon all overhead limbs from which a poisonous reptile might drop.
Annoyed by thorny bushes which teethed into her jacket, she turned to
protest to Penny that the roses were not worth the trouble it would take
to gather them.
But the words never were spoken.
For just then, from some distance inland, came the sound of men's voices.
Louise listened a moment and retreated toward the boat.
"Someone is here on the island," she whispered nervously. "Let's leave!"
All afternoon the girls had floated through the outer reaches of the
swamp without seeing a single human being. Now to hear voices in this
isolated area was slightly unnerving even to Penny. But she was not one
to turn tail and run without good reason.
"Why should we leave?" she countered, careful to keep her voice low. "We
have a perfect right to be here. They're probably fishermen from
Riverview."
Louise was not so easily reassured.
"We have all the flowers you need, Penny. Please, let's go!"
"You wait for me in the boat, Lou. I'll slip over to the bank and get the
roses. Only take a minute."
Stepping carefully across a half-decayed log, Penny started toward the
roses, visible on a bank farther up shore.
Bones trotted a few feet ahead of her, his sensitive nose to the ground.
"Go back, Bones," Penny ordered softly. "Stay with Louise!"
Bones did not obey. As Penny overtook him and seized the trailing leash,
she suddenly heard voices again.
Two men were talking several yards away, completely hidden by the bushes.
Their words brought her up short.
"There hain't no reason to be afeared if we use our heads," the one was
saying. "Maybe me and the boys will help if ye make it worth our while,
but we hain't aimin' to tangle with no law."
The voice of the man who answered was low and husky.
"You'll help me all right, or I'll tell what I know! Only one thing
brought me back here. I aim to get the guy who put me up! I was in town
last night but didn't get sight of him. I'm going back soon's I leave
here."
Penny had been listening so intently that she completely forgot Bones.
The dog tugged hard at the leash which slipped from the girl's hand. She
scrambled for it, only to have Bones elude her and dart into the
underbrush.
From the boat, Louise saw her pet escaping. Fearful that he would be
lost, she called shrilly: "Bones! Bones! Come back here!"
The dog paid no heed. But Louise's cry had carried far and served to warn
those inland that someone had landed on the point.
A moment of dead silence ensued. Then Penny heard one of the men demand
sharply: "What was that?"
Waiting for no more, she backtracked toward the boat. Before she could
reach it, the bushes behind her parted.
A tall, square-shouldered man whose jaw was covered with a jungle growth
of red beard, peered out at her. He wore a wide-brimmed, floppy, felt hat
and loose fitting work clothes with sturdy boots.
His eyes, fierce and hostile, fastened directly upon Penny.
"Git!" he said harshly.
Penny retreated a step, then held her ground.
"Please, sir, our dog is lost in the underbrush," she began. "We can't
leave without him--"
"Git!" the man repeated. As he started toward her, Penny saw that he
carried a gun in the crook of his arm.
CHAPTER
2
_ALERTING ALL CARS_
Penny was no coward; neither was she foolhardy.
A second look at the bearded stranger, and her mind telegraphed the
warning: "This man means business! Better play along."
The man fingered his gun. "Git goin' now!" he ordered sharply. "And don't
come back!"
In the boat, Louise already had reached nervously for the oars. She wet
her fingers and whistled for Bones, but the dog, off on a fascinating
scent, had been completely swallowed up by the rank undergrowth.
"Ye heard me?" the stranger demanded. "I be a patient man, but I hain't
speakin' agin."
Penny hesitated, half tempted to defy the swamper.
"Let Bones go," Louise called. "Come on."
Thus urged, Penny backed toward the skiff. Stumbling over a vine, she
caught her balance and scrambled awkwardly into the boat.
Louise pushed off with the oars, stroking fast until they were well out
into the channel. Only then did she give vent to anger.
"That mean man! Now we've lost Bones for good. We'll never get him back."
"Maybe we will."
"How? We'll never dare row back there today. He's still watching us."
Penny nodded, knowing that anything she might say would carry clearly
over the water.
The stranger had not moved since the skiff had pulled away. Like a grim
statue, he stood in the shadow of a towering oak, gazing straight before
him.
"Who does he think he is anyhow?" Louise demanded, becoming bolder as
they put greater distance between themselves and the island. "Does he own
this swamp?"
"He seems to think he does--or at least this section of it. Don't feel
too badly about Bones, Lou. We'll come back tomorrow and find him."
"Tomorrow may be too late. He'll be hopelessly lost, or maybe that man
will shoot him! Oh, Penny, Bones was such a cute little dog. He always
brought me the morning paper, and he knew so many clever tricks."
"It was all my fault for insisting upon landing there. Lou, I feel
awful."
"You needn't."
Louise forced herself into a cheerful tone. "Maybe we'll find him again
or he'll come home. If not--well--" her voice broke.
Both girls fell into a gloomy silence. Water swished gently against the
skiff as Louise sent it forward with vicious stabs of the oars.
With growing distaste, Penny eyed the mass of flowers in the bottom of
the boat. Already the blooms were wilting.
"I wish we never had come to the swamp today, Lou. It was a bum idea."
"No, we had a good time until we met that man. Please, Penny, it wasn't
your fault."
Penny drew up her knees for a chin rest and gloomily watched her chum
row. A big fish broke the surface of the still water. Across the channel,
the sun had become a low-hanging, fiery-red disc. But Penny focused her
eyes on the receding island.
"Lou," she said, "there were two men on the point. Did you hear what they
were saying?"
"No, only a murmur of voices."
Her curiosity aroused, Louise waited patiently for more information.
Penny plucked at a floating hyacinth plant and then added:
"I can't quite dope it out, Lou. One of those men seemed to be asking the
other to hide him, and there was talk of evading the law--also a threat
to 'get' someone."
"Us probably."
"No, until you called Bones, they apparently didn't know anyone was
around. Who could those men be?"
"Crooks, I'll bet," Louise said grimly. "Thank goodness, we're almost out
of the swamp now. I can see the clearing ahead and a little tumbledown
house and barn."
"Not Trapper Joe's place?" Penny asked, straightening up to look.
The skiff had swung into faster water.
"We're not that far yet," Louise replied as she rested on the oars a
moment. "Don't you remember--it's a house we passed just after we rented
the boat."
"So it is. My mind is only hitting on half its cylinders today. Anyway,
we're out of the swamp. Let's pull up and ask for a drink of cool water."
With a sigh of relief, Louise guided the skiff to a sagging, make-shift
dock close to the farmhouse.
Some distance back from the river, enclosed by a broken fence, stood an
unpainted, two-story frame house.
Beyond the woodshed rose a barn, its roof shingles badly curled. At the
pump near the house, a middle-aged woman in loose-fitting faded blue
dress, vigorously scrubbed a copper wash boiler.
She straightened quickly as the skiff grated against the dock.
"Howdy," she greeted the girls at their approach. Her tone lacked
cordiality.
"Good afternoon," said Penny. "May we have a drink at the pump?"
"Help yourself."
The woman jerked a gnarled hand toward a gourd cup attached to the pump
with a string. She studied the girls intently, almost suspiciously.
Louise and Penny drank only a few sips, for the water was warm and of
unpleasant taste.
"You'uns be strangers hereabouts," the woman observed.
"Yes, we come from Riverview," Penny replied.
"You hain't been in the swamp?"
"Why, yes," answered Louise, eager to relate details of their adventure.
"We gathered flowers, and then met a horrid man with red whiskers! He
drove us away from the island before I could get my dog."
The woman gazed at the girls in an odd way.
"Sarved you'uns right to be driv off," she said in a grim voice. "The
swamp's no place fer young gals. You might o' been et by a beast or bit
by a snake."
"I don't believe the man we saw was much worried about that," Penny said
dryly. "I wonder who he was?"
The farm woman shrugged and began to scour the copper boiler again. After
a moment she looked up, fixing Penny with a stern and unfriendly eye.
"Let me give you a pocketful o' advice," she said. "Don't fret that purty
head o' yourn about the swamp. And don't go pokin' yer nose into what
ain't none o' your consarn. If I was you, I wouldn't come back. These
here parts ain't none too health fer strangers, even young 'uns."
"But I want my dog," Louise insisted. "He's lost on the island."
"Hain't likely you'll ever see that dawg agin. And if you know what's
good 'n smart, you'uns won't go back there agin."
Having delivered herself of this advice, the woman turned her back and
went on with her work. Made increasingly aware of her hostility, Penny
and Louise said goodbye and returned to the skiff.
As they shoved off, they could see that the woman was watching them.
"We're certainly popular today," Penny remarked when the skiff had
floated on toward Trapper Joe's rental dock. "My, was she a sour pickle!"
Ten minutes later, as the girls brought up at Trapper Joe's place, they
saw the lean old swamper standing near the dock, skinning a rabbit. His
leathery, weather-beaten face crinkled into smiles.
"Sure am glad yer back safe an sound," he greeted them cheerfully. "After
I let you take the skiff I got to worryin' fer fear you'd go too fur and
git lost. 'Pears like you had good sense after all."
"The only thing we lost was my dog," Louise declared, stepping out on the
dock. "Bones is gone for good, I guess."
She quickly told the old trapper what had happened on the island. He
listened attentively, making no comment until she had finished.
"'Pears like you must have run afoul of Ezekiel Hawkins," he said then.
"Leastwise, he's the only one hereabouts with a grizzly red beard."
"Is he a crook or a fugitive from the law?" Penny demanded.
"Not that nobody ever heard of. Ezekiel and his two boys, Hod and Coon,
tend purty much to their own business. But they don't go fer strangers
hangin' around."
"And do they own the island?"
"Not an inch of it--all that swamp's government land. Can't figure why,
if 'twas Ezekiel, he'd drive you away from there. Unless--"
"Unless what?" Penny asked as the trapper fell silent.
"Jest a'thinkin'. Well, I'll keep an eye out fer the dog and maybe have a
talk with Ezekiel."
Penny and Louise thanked the swamper and paid him for use of the boat.
Gathering up the flowers they had picked, they started toward the road
where they had parked Penny's coupe.
The trapper walked with them to the front gate.
"By the way," Penny remarked, "who is the woman on the farm just above
here?"
"At the edge of the swamp? That's the Ezekiel Hawkins' place."
"Not the farm of that bearded man we met today!"
"Reckon so."
"We stopped there for a drink and talked to a tall, dark-haired woman.
She was rather short with us."
"That would be Manthy, Ezekiel's wife. She's sharp-tongued, Manthy is,
and not too friendly. Works hard slavin' and cookin' fer them two no-good
boys of hers."
Penny and Louise asked no more questions, but again saying goodbye to
Trapper Joe, went on down the dusty road.
Once they were beyond earshot, Penny observed: "What a joke on us, Lou!
There we were, complaining to Mrs. Hawkins about her own husband! No
wonder she was short with us."
"We had good reason to complain."
"Yes we did," Penny soberly agreed. "Of course, we can't be dead certain
the bearded man was Ezekiel Hawkins. But Manthy did act unpleasant about
it."
"If it weren't for Bones, I'd never set foot near this place again! Oh, I
hope he finds his way home."
The girls had reached Penny's car, parked just off the sideroad. A clock
on the dashboard warned them it was after five o'clock.
"Jeepers!" Penny exclaimed, snapping on the ignition. "I'll have to step
on it to get dressed in time for the banquet! And I still have the tables
to decorate!"
A fast drive over the bumpy sideroad brought the girls to the main paved
highway. Much later, as they neared Riverview, Penny absently switched on
the shortwave radio.
A number of routine police calls came through. Then the girls were
startled to hear the dispatcher at headquarters say:
"Attention all scout cars! Be on the alert for escaped convict, Danny
Deevers alias Spike Devons. Five-feet nine, blue eyes, brown hair. Last
seen in state prison uniform. Believed heading for Riverview."
"Danny Deevers!" Penny whispered, and quickly turned the volume control.
"I repeat," boomed the dispatcher's voice. "Be on lookout for Danny
Deevers, a dangerous escaped criminal. Believed heading this way."
CHAPTER
3
_UNFINISHED BUSINESS_
"Did you hear that?" Penny demanded of her chum as the police dispatcher
went off the air. "Danny Deevers has escaped!"
The name rang no bell in Louise's memory.
"And who is Danny Deevers?" she inquired. "Anyone you know?"
"Not exactly. But Jerry Livingston has good reason to remember him."
"Jerry Livingston? That reporter you like so well?"
A quick grin brought confession from Penny. "Jerry is only one of my
friends," she said. "But it's a known fact he's better looking and
smarter than all the other _Star_ reporters put together."
"It's a fact known to _you_," teased her chum. "Well, what about this
escaped convict, Danny Deevers?"
Penny stopped for a red light. As it changed to green she replied:
"Don't you recall a series of stories Jerry wrote in our paper nearly a
year ago? They exposed shortages which developed at the Third Federal
Loan Bank. Jerry dug up a lot of evidence, and the result was, thefts
were pinned on Danny Deevers. He was convicted and sent to the
penitentiary for twenty years."
"Oh, yes, now I remember."
"At the time of his conviction, Deevers threatened if ever he went free,
he would get even with Jerry."
"And now he's on the loose!"
"Not only that, but heading for Riverview, according to the police."
"You don't think he'd dare try to carry out his threat?"
Penny frowned and swerved to avoid hitting a cat which scuttled across
the highway.
"Who knows, Lou? The police evidently are hot on Deevers' trail, but if
they don't get him, he may try to seek revenge. It's odd he turns up
today--and those men talking in the swamp--"
Louise's eyes opened wide. "Penny, you don't think Danny Deevers could
have taken refuge in the swamp!"
"It's possible. Wouldn't it be a good hideout?"
"Only for a very courageous person," Louise shivered. "At night, all
sorts of wild animals must prowl about. And one easily could be bitten by
a poisonous snake and could die before help came."
"I'm not saying Danny Deevers was on the island today, Lou. But it's a
thought. Maybe I'll pass it on to the police."
Penny fell into thoughtful silence as she reflected upon the strange
snatch of conversation she had overheard between the two men in the
underbrush. Had the bearded stranger really been Ezekiel Hawkins, and if
so, with whom had he talked? The chance that the second man might have
been Danny Deevers seemed slim, but it was a possibility.
When the car finally reached Riverview, Penny dropped Louise at the
Sidell home and drove on to her own residence.
As she entered her own house, Mrs. Weems, the Parker family housekeeper,
met the girl in the living room archway.
"Oh, Penny, where have you been!" she exclaimed. "Your father has
telephoned twice. He's waiting for you now at the newspaper office."
"Do telephone him I'm practically on my way," Penny pleaded. "I'll grab a
bath, dress, and be out of here in two shakes."
Midway up the stairs, the girl already had stripped off her sports shirt.
"I'll call your father," Mrs. Weems agreed, "but please, after this, pay
more heed to time. You know how much the success of tonight's newspaper
convention means to your father."
Penny's mumbled reply was blotted out by the slam of the bathroom door.
The shower began to run full blast.
With a sigh, Mrs. Weems went to telephone Mr. Parker at the _Riverview
Star_ office.
For several years now, the housekeeper had efficiently supervised the
motherless Parker home. She loved Penny, an only child, as her own, but
there were times when she felt the girl was allowed too much freedom by
an indulgent father.
Penny's active, alert mind was a never-ending source of amazement to Mrs.
Weems. She had not entirely approved when Mr. Parker allowed the girl to
spend her summers working as a reporter on the newspaper he owned.
Nevertheless, the housekeeper had been very proud because Penny had
proved her ability. Not only had the girl written many fine stories which
brought recognition, but also she had demonstrated a true "nose for
news."
One of Penny's first lessons learned on the _Star_ was that a deadline
must always be met. Knowing now that she dared not be late, she hurriedly
brushed her hair and wriggled into a long, full-skirted evening dress.
Almost before Mrs. Weems had completed the telephone call, she was
downstairs again searching frantically for a beaded bag and gloves.
"Here they are, on the table," the housekeeper said. "Your father said he
would wait just fifteen minutes."
"That's all I need, if the lights are green," Penny flung over her
shoulder, as she ran to the parked car. "See you later, Mrs. Weems!"
Leaving an exhausted housekeeper behind, the girl made a quick trip to
the downtown newspaper office.
As she reached the building, newsboys were on the streets crying the
first edition, just off the press.
Upstairs, in the newsroom, reporters were relaxing at their desks, taking
a few minutes' "breather" between editions.
Swinging through the entrance gate, Penny created a slight stir. At one
of the desks under a neon light, Jerry Livingston, pencil behind one ear
and hair slightly rumpled, tapped aimlessly at the keys of a typewriter.
His quick eye appreciatively took in the long flowing skirt and the high
heeled slippers.
"Well, if it isn't our little glamor girl!" he teased. "Cinderella ready
for the ball!"
At another time, Penny would have paused to chat. Now she flashed a quick
smile and clicked on toward the city desk.
Editor DeWitt, a quick-tempered, paunchy man of middle-age stood talking
to her father, who looked more than ever distinguished in a new gray
suit.
"Here she comes now," Mr. DeWitt said as Penny approached. "Your daughter
never missed a deadline yet, Mr. Parker."
"Perhaps not," the publisher admitted, "but it always gives me heart
failure, figuring she will."
"Dad, I'm sorry to have annoyed you," Penny said quickly before he could
get in another word. "I was out at the swamp with Louise."
"The swamp!"
"Gathering flowers for the banquet table," Penny added hastily. "Oh, Dad,
they're simply beautiful--so much nicer than any florist could have
supplied."
"I can imagine." Mr. Parker smiled and looked at the wall clock. "We're
due at the theater in ten minutes. I'm chairman of the program,
unfortunately."
Penny gently broke the news. "Dad, I haven't had time to decorate the
banquet table at the hotel. Will you drive me there?"
"I can't," Mr. Parker said, slightly exasperated. "I'm late now. Have one
of the photographers take you. By the way, where's Salt Sommers?"
Hearing his name spoken, a young photographer whose clothes looked as if
he had slept in them, moved out from behind a newspaper he had been
reading.
"Coming right up, Chief," he answered.
"Run my daughter over to the Hillcrest Hotel," the publisher instructed.
"Make it your job to see that she reaches the theater promptly."
"I guess I can handle her," Salt said, winking at Penny.
"And now, where is Jerry?" the publisher asked. "Has anyone seen him?"
"Relax, Dad," said Penny. "He's right here."
"I am jumpy tonight," Mr. Parker admitted, "but I have a lot on my mind.
That stunt we've planned for the entertainment of our out-of-town men--is
everything set?"
"Sure," DeWitt assured him. "There'll be no hitch. As the mayor winds up
his address of welcome, the stage electrician turns off the stage lights.
Jerry, in view of the audience, orders him to turn 'em on again. He
refuses an' they argue over union rules. The fight gets hotter until
finally the workman pulls a revolver and lets him have it full blast.
Jerry falls, clutching his chest. Our newsboys gallop down the aisles
with copies of the _Riverview Star_ and screaming headlines telling all
about the big murder. Everyone gets a swell laugh, figuring it's pretty
snappy coverage."
"You certainly make it sound corny the way you tell it," Mr. Parker
sighed. "Who thought up the idea anyhow?"
"Why, you did, Chief," grinned Salt. "Remember?"
"It was a poor idea. Maybe we ought to call it off."
"After we got the extras all printed an' everything?" Mr. DeWitt asked,
looking injured. "The boys went to a lot of trouble."
"All right, we'll go ahead just as we planned, but I hope there is no
slip-up. How about the revolver?"
"Right here," said Salt, whipping it from an inside pocket. "Loaded with
blanks." He pointed it at a neon light, pulled the trigger and a loud
bang resulted.
Jerry Livingston sauntered over. "So that's the lethal weapon," he
observed. "Can I trust you guys not to slip a real bullet in when I'm not
looking?"
"I've got to go," cut in Mr. Parker, looking again at the clock. "The
program starts as soon as I get to the theater. Speeches should take
about an hour. Then the stunt. And don't be late!"
"We'll be there," Salt promised. "Jerry, you riding with Penny and me?"
"I'll come later in my own car. Have a story to write first."
Going back to his typewriter, the reporter slipped carbons and paper into
the machine and began pecking the keys.
At that moment a Western Union boy came through the newsroom. Catching
Penny's eye, he pushed a telegram toward her and asked her to sign.
She wrote her name automatically, before noticing that the envelope bore
Jerry's name.
"For you," she said, tossing it onto the roller of his typewriter. "More
fan mail."
"It's probably a threat to bring suit if I don't pay my dry cleaning
bill," Jerry chuckled.
He glanced at the envelope briefly, then slit it up the side. As he read
the wire, his face became a study. His jaw tightened. Then he relaxed and
laughed.
"This is a threat all right," he commented, "but not from the dry
cleaners!"
Jerry reread the telegram, snorted with disgust, and then handed it to
Penny.
In amazement she read: "ARRIVED IN TOWN TODAY TO TAKE CARE OF A LITTLE
UNFINISHED BUSINESS. WILL BE SEEING YOU."
The telegram bore the signature, Danny Deevers.
CHAPTER
4
_A TRAFFIC ACCIDENT_
As word spread through the office that Jerry had received a threat from
the escaped convict, reporters gathered to read the telegram and comment
upon it.
"Great stuff!" exclaimed Editor DeWitt, thinking in terms of headlines.
"_Riverview Star_ reporter threatened by Danny Deevers! We'll build it
up--post a reward for his capture--provide you with a bodyguard."
"But I don't want a bodyguard," Jerry retorted. "Build up the story if
you want to, but skip the kindergarten trimmings."
"You ought to have a bodyguard," DeWitt insisted seriously. "Danny
Deevers is nobody's playboy. He may mean business. Reporters are hard to
get these days. We can't risk having you bumped off."
"Oh, this telegram is pure bluff," Jerry replied, scrambling up the
yellow sheet and hurling it into a tall metal scrap can. "I'll not be
nursemaided by any bodyguard, and that's final!"
"Okay," DeWitt gave in, "but if you get bumped off, don't come crying to
me!"
Jerry took a long drink at the fountain and then said thoughtfully: "You
know, I have a hunch about Danny."
"Spill it," invited DeWitt.
"He didn't come back here to get even with me for those articles I
wrote--or at least it's a secondary purpose."
"Then why did he head for Riverview?"
"I have an idea he may have come back to get $50,000."
"The money he stole from the Third Federal Bank?"
"Sure. The money disappeared, and when Danny took the rap, he refused to
tell where he had hidden it. I'll bet the money is in a safe place
somewhere in Riverview."
"You may be right at that," DeWitt agreed. "Anyway, it's a good story.
Better write a couple pages before you go over to the theater--let that
other stuff go."
Jerry nodded and with a quick glance at the clock, sat down at his
typewriter.
"Ready, Penny?" called Salt, picking up his camera and heading for the
door.
"In a minute."
Penny hesitated and then walked over to Jerry's desk.
"Jerry, you'll be careful, won't you?" she asked anxiously.
"Oh, sure," he agreed. "If I see Danny first, I'll start running."
"Do be serious, Jerry! You know, there's a chance Danny may be hiding in
the swamp."
The carriage of Jerry's typewriter stopped with a jerk. He now gave Penny
his full attention.
"What's that about Danny being in the swamp?"
"I didn't say he is for sure, but today when Louise and I were out there,
we heard a very strange conversation."
Penny swiftly related everything that had occurred on the tiny island
near the swamp entrance. She also described the bearded stranger who had
ordered her away.
"That couldn't have been Danny," Jerry decided. "Not unless he's
disguised his appearance."
"There was another man," Penny reminded him. "Louise and I never saw his
face."
"Well, the swamp angle is worth investigating," the reporter assured her.
"Personally, I doubt Danny would ever try living in the swamp--he's a
city, slum-bred man--but I'll tell the police about it."
"Do be careful," Penny urged again, turning away.
Salt was waiting in the press car when she reached the street. Quickly
transferring the flowers from her own automobile to his, she climbed in
beside him.
"The Hillcrest?" he inquired, shifting gears.
"Yes, I'll decorate the tables. Then we'll drive to the theater."
With a complete disregard for speed laws, safety stops, and red lights,
Salt toured the ten blocks to the hotel in record time. Pulling up at the
entrance, he said:
"While you're in there, I'll amble across the street. Want to do a little
inquiring at the Western Union office."
"About the telegram Danny Deevers sent Jerry?"
"Figured we might find from where it was sent."
"I should have thought of that myself! Do see what you can learn, Salt.
It won't take me long to fix those tables."
Penny disappeared into the hotel but was back in fifteen minutes. A
moment later, Salt sauntered across the street from the Western Union
office.
"Learn anything?" Penny asked.
"A little. The manager told me a boy picked up the message from a rooming
house on Clayton street. That's all they know about it."
"Did you get the address?"
"Sure--1497 Clayton Street--an apartment building. The clue may be a dud
one though. Danny wouldn't likely be dumb enough to leave a wide open
trail."
"All the same, oughtn't we to check into it?"
"We?"
"Naturally I'm included," grinned Penny. "By the way, aren't we near
Clayton street now?"
"It's only a couple of blocks away."
"Then what's delaying us?"
"My conscience for one thing," Salt said, climbing into the car beside
Penny. "Your father's expecting us at the theater. I'm supposed to take
pictures of the visiting big-boys."
"We'll get there in time. This may be our only chance to trace Danny."
"You're a glutton for adventure," Salt said dubiously, studying his
wristwatch. "Me--I'm not so sure."
"Danny probably won't be hiding out at the rooming house," Penny argued.
"But someone may be able to tell us where he went."
"Okay," the photographer agreed, jamming his foot on the starter. "We got
to make it snappy though."
The dingy old brick apartment house at 1497 Clayton Street stood jammed
against other low-rent buildings in the downtown business section.
"You wait here," Salt advised as he pulled up near the dwelling. "If I
don't come back in ten minutes, put in a call to the police. And arrange
to give me a decent burial!"
The photographer disappeared into the building.
He was back almost at once. "It was a dud," he said in disgust. "The
telegram was sent from here all right, but Danny's skipped."
"You talked to the building manager?"
Salt nodded. "A fellow that must have been Danny rented a room last
night, but he pulled out early this morning."
"Why, the telegram didn't come until a few minutes ago!"
"Danny took care of that by having the janitor send it for him. He
evidently escaped from the pen late yesterday, but authorities didn't
give out the story until today."
Disappointed over their failure, Penny and Salt drove on toward the
theater in glum silence.
Suddenly at the intersection of Jefferson and Huron Streets, a long black
sedan driven by a woman, failed to observe a stop sign. Barging into a
line of traffic, it spun unsteadily on two wheels and crashed into an
ancient car in which two men were riding.
"Just another dumb woman driver," observed Salt. He brought up at the
curb and reached for his camera.
"Nobody's hurt so it's hardly worth a picture. But if I don't grab it,
DeWitt'll be asking me why I didn't."
Balancing the camera on the sill of the open car window, he snapped the
shutter just as the two men climbed out of their ancient vehicle.
"Looks as if they're going to put up a big squawk," Salt observed with
interest. "What they beefin' about? That old wreck isn't worth anything,
and anyhow, the lady only bashed in a couple of fenders."
The driver of the black sedan took a quick glance at the two men and said
hastily:
"Please don't call a policeman. I'll gladly pay for all the damage. I'm
covered by insurance. Just give me your names and where you live. Or, if
you prefer, I'll go with you now to a garage where your car can be
repaired."
The two men paid her no heed. In fact, they appeared not to be listening.
Instead, they were gazing across the street at Salt and his camera.
"Button up your lip, lady!" said one of the men rudely.
He was a heavy-set man, dressed in a new dark blue serge suit. His face
was coarse, slightly pale, and his steel-blue eyes had a hard,
calculating glint.
His companion, much younger, might have been a country boy for he wore a
lumber jacket, corduroy pants, and heavy shoes caked with mud.
The older man crossed the street to Salt's car. He glanced at the "press"
placard in the windshield and said curtly:
"Okay, buddy! I saw you take that picture! Hand over the plate!"
CHAPTER
5
_THE RED STAIN_
"Hand over the plate, buddy!" the motorist repeated as Salt gave no hint
that he had heard. "You're from a newspaper, and we don't want our
pictures printed--see?"
"Sure, I see," retorted Salt. "I'm not turning over any pictures."
The man took a wallet from his suit pocket. "Here's a five spot to make
it worth your while."
"No, thanks. Anyway, what's your kick? Your car didn't cause the
accident. You're in the clear."
"Maybe we'll use the picture to collect damages," the man said. "Here,
I'll give you ten."
"Nothing doing."
To put an end to the argument, Salt drove on.
"Wonder who those birds were?" he speculated.
Penny craned her neck to look back through the rear car window.
"Salt!" she exclaimed. "That man who argued with us is writing down our
license plate number!"
"Let him!"
"He intends to find out who you are, Salt! He must want that picture
badly."
"He'll get it all right--on the front page of the _Star_ tomorrow! Maybe
he's a police character and doesn't want any publicity. He looked like a
bad egg."
"I wish we'd taken down _his_ license number."
"We've got it," replied Salt. "It'll show up in the picture."
Penny settled back in the seat, paying no more attention to the traffic
behind them. Neither she nor Salt noticed that they were being followed
by the car with battered fenders.
At the theater, Salt parked in the alleyway.
"Go on in," he told Penny, opening the car door for her. "I want to
collect some of my stuff and then I'll be along."
At the stagedoor, Penny was stopped by Old Jim, the doorman.
"You can't go in here without a pass, Miss," he said. "There's a
newspaper convention on. My orders are not to let anyone in without a
pass."
Penny flashed her press card.
"My mistake," the doorman mumbled.
Once inside, Penny wandered backstage in search of her father or Jerry.
The program had started, but after listening a moment to a singer, she
moved out of range of his voice.
Now and then, from the audience of newspapermen out front, came an
occasional ripple of laughter or clapping of hands as they applauded a
speaker.
"Sounds pretty dull," thought Penny. "Guess it's lucky Dad cooked up the
shooting stunt. If everything goes off right, it should liven things up a
bit."
Wandering on down a hall, she came to one of the dressing rooms. Stacked
against the outside wall were hundreds of freshly printed newspapers
ready for distribution.
Penny flipped one from the pile and read the headline: "REPORTER SHOT IN
ARGUMENT WITH ELECTRICIAN!"
Beneath the banner followed a story of the staged stunt to take place. So
convincingly was it written, Penny had to think twice to realize not a
word was true. Other columns of the paper contained regular wire news
stories and telephoto pictures. Much of the front page also was given
over to an account of the convention itself.
"This will make a nice souvenir edition," Penny thought. "Wonder where
Jerry is? The stunt will be ruined if he doesn't get here."
Salt came down the corridor, loaded heavily with his camera, a tripod, a
reflector, and other photographic equipment.
"Jerry here yet?" he inquired.
"I haven't seen him. It's getting late too."
"He'll be here," Salt said confidently. "Wonder where I'd better leave
this revolver?"
Setting the photographic equipment on the floor, he took the revolver
from his coat pocket, offering it to Penny.
"Don't give it to me," she protested.
"Put it in the dressing room," he advised. "I can't keep it, because I've
got to go out front and shoot some pictures."
"Is the revolver loaded?" Penny asked, taking it unwillingly.
"Sure, with blanks. It's ready for the stunt."
Penny carried the weapon into the dressing room and deposited it on one
of the tables. When she returned to the corridor, Salt had gathered up
his equipment and was starting away.
However, before he could leave, an outside door slammed. Jim, the
doorman, burst in upon them.
"Young feller, is that your car parked in the alley?"
"Yeah!" exclaimed Salt, startled. "Don't tell me the cops are handing me
a ticket!"
"Some feller's out there, riflin' through your things!"
Salt dropped his camera and equipment, racing for the door. Penny was
close behind.
Reaching the alley, they were just in time to see a man in a dark suit
ducking around the corner of the building.
"Hey, you!" shouted Salt angrily.
The man turned slightly and vanished from view.
"Wasn't that the same fellow who was in the auto accident?" Penny
demanded.
"Looked like him! Wonder if he got away with anything?"
"Didn't you lock the car, Salt?"
"Only the rear trunk compartment. Should have done it but I was in a
hurry."
"Shall I call the police, Salt?"
"Why bother? That bird's gone now. Let's see if he stole anything first."
Salt muttered in disgust as he saw the interior of the car. A box of
photographic equipment had been scattered over the back seat. The door of
the glove compartment was open, its contents also helter-skelter.
"Anything missing?" Penny asked.
"Not that I can tell. Yes, there is! Some of the photographic plates!"
"Oh, Salt, I was afraid of it! The thief must have been one of those two
men who were in the auto accident! You wouldn't sell them the picture
they wanted so they followed you here and stole it!"
"They may have tried," the photographer corrected.
"You mean you still have it?"
"The plates that are missing are old ones, extras I exposed at a society
tea and never bothered to develop."
"Then you have the one of the auto accident?"
"Right here in my pocket."
"Oh, Salt, how brilliant of you!" Penny laughed.
"It wasn't brilliancy on my part--just habit," Salt returned. "I wonder
why that bird set such great store by the picture? Maybe for some reason
he's afraid to have it come out in the paper."
"I can hardly wait to see it developed!"
As Penny and the photographer walked back to the theater entrance, a taxi
skidded to a stop at the curb. Jerry alighted.
"Anything wrong?" he inquired, staring curiously at the pair.
Salt told him what had happened.
"Maybe you've got dynamite packed in that plate," Jerry commented when he
had heard the story. "Better shoot it to the office and have it
developed."
"I'm tied up here for half an hour at least."
"Send it back by the cab driver. He can deliver it to DeWitt."
"Good idea," agreed Salt.
He scribbled a note to accompany the plate and gave it to the cab driver,
together with the holder.
"Take good care of this," he warned. "Don't turn it over to any one
except the city editor."
After the cab had driven away, Salt, Jerry, and Penny re-entered the
theater. Mr. Parker had come backstage and was talking earnestly to the
doorman. Glimpsing the three, he exclaimed:
"There you are! And just in time too! The stunt goes on in five minutes."
"Are the newsboys here?" Jerry asked. "And Johnny Bates, the
electrician?"
"The boys are out front. Johnny's waiting in the stage wings. Where's the
revolver, Salt?"
"I'll get it," Penny volunteered, starting for the dressing room.
The revolver lay where she had left it. As she reached for the weapon,
she suddenly sniffed the air. Plainly she could smell strong cigarette
smoke.
Penny glanced swiftly about the room. No one was there and she had seen
no one enter in the last few minutes.
"Someone must have been here," she thought. "Perhaps it was Old Jim, but
he smokes a pipe."
"Penny!" her father called impatiently from outside. "We haven't much
time."
Picking up the revolver, she hurriedly joined him.
"Dad, why not call the stunt off?" she began. "Something might go
wrong--"
"We can't call it off now," her father cut in impatiently. Taking the
revolver from her hand he gave it to Jerry. "Do your stuff, my boy, and
don't be afraid to put plenty of heat into the argument. Remember your
cue?"
"I'm to start talking just as soon as the Mayor finishes his speech."
"He's winding it up now. So get up there fast."
As Jerry started up the stairway, Penny trailed him.
"Someone must have been in the dressing room after I left the revolver
there," she revealed nervously. "Be sure to check it before you turn it
over to Mr. Bates."
The reporter nodded, scarcely hearing her words. His ears were tuned to
the Mayor's closing lines. A ripple of applause from the audience told
him the speech already had ended.
Taking the last few steps in a leap, Jerry reached the wings where John
Bates was waiting. He gave him the revolver and at once plunged into his
lines. So convincingly did he argue about the stage lights that Penny
found herself almost believing the disagreement was genuine.
The argument waxed warmer, and the actors moved out on the stage in full
view of the audience.
"Jerry's good," remarked Salt, who had joined Penny. "Didn't know he had
that much ham in him!"
The quarrel now had reached its climax. As if in a sudden fit of rage,
the electrician raised the revolver and pointed it at Jerry.
"Take that--and that--and that!" he shouted, thrice pulling the trigger.
Jerry staggered back, clutching in the region of his heart. Slowly, his
face contorted, he crumpled to the floor.
Scarcely had he collapsed, than newsboys armed with their papers, began
to rush through the aisles of the theater.
"Read all about it!" they shouted. "Reporter Shot in Argument! Extra!
Extra!"
The newspapermen chuckled at the joke as they accepted the free papers.
On the stage, Jerry still lay where he had fallen. The electrician, his
part ended, had disappeared to attend to regular duties.
"Come on, Jerry!" Salt called to him. "What are you waiting for? More
applause? Break it up!"
The reporter did not stir. But on the floor beside him, a small red stain
began to spread in a widening circle.
Penny and Salt saw it at the same instant and were frozen with horror.
"Ring down the curtain!" the photographer cried hoarsely. "Jerry's really
been shot!"
CHAPTER
6
_AMBULANCE CALL_
Penny ran across the stage to kneel beside Jerry, who lay limp on the
floor. In horror, she saw that the red stain covered a jagged area on his
shirt front.
"Oh, Jerry!" she cried frantically. "Speak to me!"
The reporter groaned loudly and stirred.
"Hold me in your arms," he whispered. "Let my last hours on this earth be
happy ones."
Penny's hands dropped suddenly to her sides. She straightened up
indignantly.
"You faker!" she accused. "I should think you'd be ashamed to frighten us
so! That's not blood on your shirt! It's red ink!"