"You shouldn't have done it," Penny said, still provoked.
"I wanted to put a little drama into the act. Also, I was curious to see
how you would react."
Penny tossed her head, starting away. "You needn't be so smug about it,
Jerry Livingston! And don't flatter yourself I was concerned about you! I
was thinking what a scandal it would mean for Dad and the paper!"
"Oh, sure," Jerry agreed, pursuing her backstage and down a corridor.
"Listen, Penny, it was only a joke--"
"Not a very funny one!"
"Penny, I'm sorry--I really am. I didn't realize anyone would get so
worked up about it."
"I'm not worked up!" Penny denied, spinning on a heel to face him. "It
just gave me a little shock, that's all. First, that threat from Danny
Deevers. Then when I saw you flattened out, for a minute I thought
someone had substituted a real bullet in the revolver and that you had
been shot."
"It was a rummy joke--I realize that now. Forgive me, will you, Penny?"
"I suppose so. Just don't try anything like it again."
"I won't," Jerry promised. "Now that my part is finished here, suppose we
go somewhere for a bite to eat?"
"With that blotch of red ink on your shirt front?"
"Oh, I'll change it. I brought an extra shirt along. Wait here and I'll
be right with you."
Jerry stepped into the dressing room to make the change. Penny, while
waiting, wandered back to the stage wings to talk to Salt. However, the
photographer had gone out front and was busily engaged taking pictures of
visiting celebrities.
After a few minutes, Penny went downstairs again. Jerry was nowhere to be
seen.
The door of the dressing room stood slightly ajar. Penny tapped lightly
on it, calling: "Get a move on, Jerry! You're slower than a snail!"
No answer came from inside.
Penny paced up and down the corridor and returned to listen at the door.
She could hear no sound inside the room.
"Jerry, are you there?" she called again. "If you are, answer!"
Still there was no reply.
"Now where did he go?" Penny thought impatiently.
She hesitated a moment, then pushed open the door. Jerry's stained shirt
lay on the floor where he had dropped it.
The reporter no longer was in the dressing room. Or so Penny thought at
first glance.
But as her gaze roved slowly about, she was startled to see a pair of
shoes protruding from a hinged decorative screen which stood in one
corner of the room.
Jerry, very definitely was attached to the shoes. Stretched out on the
floor again, his face remained hidden from view.
Penny resisted an impulse to run to his side.
"Jerry Livingston!" she exclaimed. "You've carried your stupid joke
entirely too far! Our date is off!"
Turning her back, she started away. But in the doorway, something held
her. She glanced back.
Jerry had not moved.
"Jerry, get up!" she commanded. "Please!"
The reporter made not the slightest response. Penny told herself that
Jerry was only trying to plague her, yet she could not leave without
being absolutely certain.
Though annoyed at herself for such weakness, she walked across the room
to jerk aside the decorative screen.
Jerry lay flat on his back, eyelids closed. A slight gash was visible on
the side of his head where the skin was bruised.
One glance convinced Penny that the reporter was not shamming this time.
Obviously, he had been knocked unconscious, perhaps by a fall.
"Jerry!" she cried, seizing his hand which was cold to the touch.
Badly frightened, Penny darted to the door and called loudly for help.
Without waiting to learn if anyone had heard her cry, she rushed back to
Jerry. On the dressing table nearby stood a pitcher of water and a glass.
Wetting a handkerchief, Penny pressed it to the reporter's forehead. It
seemed to produce no effect. In desperation, she then poured half a glass
of water over his face.
To her great relief, Jerry sputtered and his eyelids fluttered open.
"For crying out loud!" he muttered. "What you trying to do? Drown me?"
Raising a hand to his head, the reporter gingerly felt of a big bump
which had risen there. He pulled himself to a sitting position.
"What happened, Jerry?" Penny asked after giving him a few minutes to
recover his senses. "Did you trip and fall?"
The question seemed to revive Jerry completely. Without answering, he got
to his feet, and walked unsteadily to the window overlooking the alley.
Penny then noticed for the first time that it was open. She also became
aware of a heavy scent of tobacco smoke in the room--the same cigarette
odor she had noticed earlier. Now however, it was much stronger.
Jerry peered out the window. "He's gone!" he mumbled.
"Who, Jerry? Tell me what happened."
"Things aren't too clear in my mind," the reporter admitted, sinking into
a chair. "Wow! My head!"
"Did someone attack you?"
"With a blackjack. I came in here and changed my shirt. Had a queer
feeling all the while, as if someone were in the room."
"Were you smoking a cigarette, Jerry?"
"Why, no."
"Did you notice smoke in the room? The odor still is here."
Jerry sniffed the air. "Neco's," he decided. "They're one of the
strongest cigarettes on the market and not easy to get. Now that you
mention it, the odor was in the room when I came in! But I didn't think
about it at the time."
"Then whoever struck you must have been in here waiting!"
"Sure. Whoever it was, came in the window. He was hidden behind that
screen. As I started to leave, he reared up and let me have it from
behind! That's all I remember."
"Then you didn't see him?"
"No, it happened too fast."
"Jerry, it may have been Danny Deevers!"
"Maybe so," the reporter agreed. "But I always figured if he caught up
with me, he wouldn't fool around with any rabbit punches."
"He may have been frightened away, hearing me in the hall," Penny said.
"Jerry, do you have other enemies besides Danny?"
"Dozens of them probably. Every reporter has. But I don't know of anyone
who hates me enough to try to lay me out."
The dressing room door now swung open to admit Mr. Parker and several
other newspapermen.
"Penny, did you call for help?" her father demanded. "What's wrong?"
"Jerry was slugged," Penny answered, and told what had happened.
"How do you feel, Jerry?" the publisher inquired. "That's a nasty looking
bump on your head."
"I'm fit as a fiddle and ready for a dinner date," Jerry announced
brightly, winking at Penny. "How about it?"
"Well, I don't know," she replied. "Are you sure you feel up to it?"
"I'm fine." To prove his words, Jerry got to his feet. He started across
the room, weaving unsteadily.
Had not Mr. Parker and another man seized him by the arms, he would have
slumped to the floor.
"Jerry, you're in no shape for anything except a hospital checkup," the
publisher said firmly. "That's where you're going!"
"Oh, Chief, have a heart!"
Mr. Parker turned a deaf ear upon the appeal.
"For all we know, you may have a fractured skull," he said, helping to
ease the reporter into a chair. "We'll have you X-rayed."
"I don't want to be X-rayed," Jerry protested. "I'm okay."
"Besides, with Danny Deevers still at large, a hospital is a nice safe
place," Mr. Parker continued, thinking aloud. "Perhaps we can arrange for
you to stay there a week."
"A week! Chief, I'm not going!"
"No arguments," said Mr. Parker. "You're the same as in Riverview
Hospital now. Penny, telephone for an ambulance."
CHAPTER
7
_AN EMPTY BED_
At Riverview hospital twenty minutes later, Jerry was given a complete
physical check-up.
"The X-rays won't be developed for another half hour," an interne told
him, "but you seem to be all right."
"I not only seem to be, I am," the reporter retorted. "Told you that when
I came here! But would anyone listen to me?"
"Twenty-four hours rest will fix you right up. We have a nice private
room waiting for you on the third floor. Bath and everything."
"Now listen!" exclaimed Jerry. "You said yourself I'm all right. I'm
walking out of here now!"
"Sorry. Orders are you're in for twenty-four hours observation."
"Whose orders?"
"Dr. Bradley. He had a little talk with the publisher of your paper--"
"Oh, I get it! A conspiracy! They're keeping me here to keep me from
checking up on Danny Deevers!"
"What's that?" the interne inquired curiously.
"Never mind," returned Jerry, closing up like a clam. "I'll slip you a
fiver to get me out of here."
"Sorry. No can do."
The interne went to the door, motioning for two other internes who came
in with a stretcher.
"Hop aboard," he told Jerry. "Better come peaceably."
Jerry considered resistance. Deciding it was useless, he rolled onto the
stretcher and was transported via the elevator to the third floor. There
he was deposited none too ceremoniously in a high bed.
"Just to make sure you stay here, I'm taking your clothes," said the
interne. "Now just relax and take it easy."
"Relax!"
"Sure, what you got to kick about? Your bills are all being paid. You get
twenty-four hours rest, a good looking nurse, and a radio. Also three
meals thrown in."
Jerry settled back into the pillow. "Maybe you've got something after
all," he agreed.
"That's the attitude, boy. Well, I'll be seeing you."
Satisfied that Jerry would make no more trouble, he took his clothes and
went outside.
Penny and Salt, who had been waiting in the reception room below, stepped
from the elevator at that moment.
"How is Jerry?" Penny inquired anxiously as she stopped the interne in
the corridor.
"He's all right. Go on in if you want to talk to him."
"Which room?"
"Wait until I put these clothes away and I'll show you."
The interne hung Jerry's suit in a locker at the end of the corridor and
then returned to escort Penny and Salt to Room 318.
Jerry, a picture of gloom, brightened as his friends entered.
"I'm sure glad you came!" he greeted them. "I want you to help me get out
of here."
"Not a chance," said Salt, seating himself on the window ledge. "This is
just the place for you--nice and quiet and safe."
Jerry snorted with disgust.
"Dad and Mr. DeWitt both think Danny Deevers means business," Penny
added. "The paper is offering $10,000 reward for his capture."
"Ten thousand smackers! I could use that money myself. And I have a hunch
about Danny--"
"Forget it," Salt advised. "This is a case for the police. Just lie down
like a nice doggy and behave yourself. We'll keep you informed on the
latest news."
"That reminds me," added Penny. "After the ambulance took you away, Dad
had the theater searched and the alley. No clues."
Jerry lay still for several minutes, his eyes focused thoughtfully on the
ceiling. "If it's the verdict that I stay here, I suppose I may as well
give up and take my medicine."
"Now you're showing sense," approved Salt. "Penny and I have an idea that
may help trace Deevers. We'll tell you about it later."
"Sure," retorted Jerry ironically, "spare me the shock now. By the way,
did you meet an interne in the hall? He was carrying off my clothes."
"Yes, he brought us here," Penny nodded.
"You didn't happen to notice where he hid my clothes?"
"They're safe, Jerry," Penny assured him. "In a locker at the end of the
hall."
The information seemed to satisfy Jerry. Wrapping himself like a cocoon
in a blanket, he burrowed down and closed his eyes.
"I want to catch forty winks now," he said. "If you folks have a big idea
that will lead to Danny's capture, don't let me detain you."
"Jerry, don't be cross with us," Penny pleaded. "We know how you feel,
but honestly, you'll be so much safer here."
Jerry pretended not to hear.
After a moment, Salt and Penny quietly left the room.
"He's taking it hard," the photographer commented as they sped in the
press car toward the _Riverview Star_ building. "In a way, you can't
blame him. Jerry's not the type to be shut up in a nice safe place."
"Dad wants to keep him in the hospital until Danny Deevers is captured,
but it will be hard to do it."
Salt, driving with one hand, looked at his watch.
"It's after nine o'clock," he announced. "Penny, you've missed the dinner
at the Hillcrest."
"I don't mind. So much has happened today, I've had no time to be
hungry."
"Want me to drop you off there now?"
"No, the banquet will be nearly over. I couldn't bear to listen to
speeches. Let's go straight to the office and find out what that traffic
accident picture shows."
"Suits me, only I'm hungry." On impulse, Salt pulled up in front of a
hamburger shop offering curb service. "Let's grab a bite before we really
go to work to crack this case."
He tooted the horn and a uniformed girl came hurrying to take his order.
Fortified by sandwiches, coffee, and ice cream, the pair then drove on to
the _Riverview Star_ office.
Avoiding the busy newsroom, Salt and Penny went up the back stairs to the
photographic studio. Bill Jones, a studio helper, was busy at the wire
photo machine.
"Has that picture of the traffic accident I sent over come up yet?" Salt
asked him.
"On the desk," the boy answered. "Not too sharp."
Salt picked up a dozen pictures which had been printed on glossy paper
and rapidly ran through them until he found the one he sought.
Eagerly Penny peered over his shoulder. The two cars involved in the
accident were plainly shown, the license numbers of both visible. In the
ancient vehicle, the younger man had lowered his head so that his face
was completely hidden. The camera had caught a profile view of the older
man, also not clear.
"Lousy picture," said Salt contemptuously.
"It shows the license number of the car. Can't we trace the driver that
way?"
"The Motor Vehicle Department is closed now. But I know a fellow who
works there. Maybe he'll do us a favor and go back to the office tonight
and look up the information."
Salt made the telephone call, and after ten minutes of argument,
convinced his friend that the requested information was a matter of life
and death.
"He'll do it," the photographer said, hanging up the receiver. "Soon's he
gets the information, he'll telephone us here."
Penny had been studying the photograph again. She now was ready with a
second suggestion. "Even if the faces aren't very clear, let's compare
them with pictures of Danny Deevers in the morgue."
"Good idea," agreed Salt.
The newspaper morgue or library where photographs, cuts and newspaper
clippings were carefully filed for reference, was just a few steps down
the hall. Miss Adams, the librarian, had gone to lunch, so Salt obtained
a key and they searched for their own information.
"Here's an envelope marked Danny Deevers!" Penny cried, pulling it from
one of the long filing drawers. "All sorts of pictures of him too!"
Critically, the pair studied the photographs.
The escaped convict was a middle-aged, sullen looking man with hard,
expressionless eyes. In one of the pictures, parted lips revealed a set
of ugly, uneven teeth.
"This shot I took is so blurred, it's hard to tell if they're the same
person or not," Salt complained. "But it looks like Danny."
"If it is, that would explain why he tried to make you give up the
plate."
"Sure, he knew the car license number would be a tip-off to the police.
But maybe the bird isn't Danny."
"I wish we were certain. Salt, couldn't Jerry identify him from the
picture you took?"
"Maybe. Jerry saw Deevers several times before he was put away in the
pen."
"Then why not take the picture to the hospital now?"
"Okay," agreed Salt. "Let's go."
Fifteen minutes later, at the hospital, they sought unsuccessfully to
pass a receptionist who sat at a desk in the lobby.
"Sorry, visiting hours are over," she explained.
"We're from the _Star_," Salt insisted. "We have to see Jerry Livingston
on an important business matter."
"That's different," the receptionist replied. "You may go up to his room,
but please make the call brief."
An automatic elevator carried the pair to the third floor. Jerry's door
near the end of the corridor stood slightly ajar. Salt tapped lightly on
it, and hearing no answer, pushed it farther open.
"Well, what d'you know!" he exclaimed.
Penny, startled by his tone of voice, peered over his shoulder.
The room was deserted. Jerry's bed, unmade, stood empty.
CHAPTER
8
_IN SEARCH OF JERRY_
"Now what could have become of Jerry?" Penny murmured as she and Salt
gazed about the deserted room in amazement. "Surely we've made no
mistake."
"He was assigned this room all right," the photographer declared. "But
maybe they changed it later."
"That's it," agreed Penny in relief. "For a minute it gave me a shock
seeing that empty bed. I thought perhaps he had taken a bad turn and been
removed for emergency treatment."
The pair sought Miss Brent, a floor supervisor.
"Why, the patient in Room 318 hasn't been changed elsewhere," she
replied. "At least, not to my knowledge. I've been off the floor for the
last half hour."
Inspecting Room 318 to satisfy herself that the bed was empty, Miss Brent
questioned several nurses and an interne. No one seemed to know what had
become of the patient. There was a whispered conference and then Miss
Brent made a call to the superintendent.
"Something has happened to Jerry!" Penny told Salt tensely. "He may have
been abducted!"
A nurse came flying up the hall from the locker room.
"Mr. Livingston's clothes are gone!" she reported.
Light began to dawn on Penny. She recalled the seemingly innocent
question Jerry had asked earlier that night as to the location of the
clothes locker.
"He's probably walked out of the hospital!" she exclaimed.
"Impossible!" snapped Miss Brent, though her voice lacked conviction.
"Nurses have been on duty here all the time. Mr. Livingston couldn't have
obtained his clothes without being observed."
"The floor was deserted for about ten minutes," an interne recalled. "An
emergency case came in and everyone was tied up."
Penny re-entered Jerry's room. The window remained closed and it was a
straight drop of three stories to the yard below. She was satisfied the
reporter had not taken that escape route.
A sheet of paper, propped against the mirror of the dresser attracted her
eye. As she unfolded it, she saw at once that the handwriting was
Jerry's.
"I'm too healthy a pup to stay in bed," he had scrawled. "Sorry, but I'm
walking out."
Penny handed the note to Miss Brent who could not hide her annoyance as
she read it.
"Nothing like this ever happened before!" she exclaimed. "How could the
young man have left this floor and the building without being seen? He's
in no condition to be wandering about the streets."
"Then Jerry really did need hospitalization?" inquired Penny.
"Certainly. He suffered shock and the doctor was afraid of brain injury.
The patient should have been kept under observation for at least
twenty-four hours. Wandering off this way is a very bad sign."
"We'll get him back here pronto!" Salt promised. "He can't have gone
far."
In the lobby he and Penny paused to ask the receptionist if she had
observed anyone answering Jerry's description leave the building.
"Why, no," she replied, only to correct herself. "Wait! A young man in a
gray suit left here about twenty minutes ago. I didn't really notice his
face."
"That must have been Jerry!" cried Penny. "Which way did he go?"
"I'm sorry, I haven't the slightest idea."
"Jerry may have gone to his room," Penny said hopefully. "Let's call his
hotel."
Using a lobby telephone, they dialed the St. Agnes Hotel Apartments where
the reporter lived. The desk clerk reported that Jerry had not been seen
that night.
"Oh, where could he have gone?" Penny said as she and Salt left the
hospital. "He may be wandering the streets in a dazed condition.
Shouldn't we ask police to try to find him?"
"Guess it's all we can do," the photographer agreed. "Jerry sure will be
sore at us though."
A taxi cab pulled up near the hospital steps.
"Taxi?" the driver inquired.
Salt shook his head. "We don't know where we want to go yet. We're
looking for a friend of ours who left the hospital about twenty minutes
ago."
"A girl?"
"No, a man in a gray suit," Penny supplied. "He probably wasn't wearing a
hat."
"Say, he musta been the one that asked me about the fare to the swamp!"
At the pair's look of intense interest, the cab driver added: "I was
waitin' here for a fare when some ladies came out of the hospital. I
pulled up and took 'em aboard. Just then this young feller comes out.
"He didn't seem to notice I had my cab filled, and says: 'How much to
take me to Caleb Corners?'"
"Caleb Corners?" Penny repeated, having never heard of the place.
"That's a long ways out, almost to the swamp. I says to him, 'Sorry,
buddy, but I got a fare. If you can wait a few minutes I'll be right back
and pick you up.'"
"What did Jerry say?" Salt asked.
"He said he wanted to get started right away. Reckon he picked up another
cab."
Thanking the driver for the information, Penny and Salt retreated a few
steps for a consultation.
"If Jerry started for the swamp at this time of night he must be wacky!"
the photographer declared. "That knock on the head must have cracked him
up and he doesn't know what he's doing!"
"Why would he start for the swamp? Maybe he remembers what I told him
about seeing a stranger there today, and in his confusion, has an idea
he'll find Danny Deevers!"
"Jerry can't have had much of a start, and we know he headed for Caleb
Corners! I'll go after him."
"We'll both go," Penny said quickly. "Come on, let's get the car."
Before they could leave the hospital steps, the receptionist came
hurrying outside.
"Oh, I'm glad you're still here!" she said breathlessly, looking at the
photographer. "Aren't you Mr. Sommers?"
"That's me," agreed Salt.
"A telephone call for you."
"Say, maybe it's Jerry! Wait here, Penny. I'll be right back."
Salt was gone perhaps ten minutes. When he returned, his grim expression
instantly informed Penny that the call had not been from Jerry.
"It was from my friend in the Motor Vehicle Department," he reported. "He
traced the license number of the car that was in the accident."
"How did he know you were here, Salt?"
"Telephoned the office, and someone told him to try the hospital."
"Who owns the car, Salt?"
"A woman by the name of Sarah Jones, Route 3, Crissey Road.
"Crissey Road! Why, that's out near the swamp, not far from Trapper Joe's
place! I recall seeing the name on a signpost when Louise and I were out
there this afternoon."
"All roads lead to the swamp tonight," Salt commented. "I'm worried about
Jerry. I called the office and he hasn't shown up there."
"Then he must have started for Caleb Corners! Salt, we're wasting time!"
"We sure are," he agreed. "Let's go!"
The press car had been parked in a circular area fifty yards from the
hospital. Salt and Penny ran to it, and soon were on their way, speeding
into the night on a deserted, narrow road.
CHAPTER
9
_THE WIDOW JONES_
Caleb Corners scarcely was a stopping point on the narrow, dusty, county
highway.
By night the crossroads were dark and gloomy, unlighted even by a traffic
signal. To the right stood a filling station, and directly across from
it, a little grocery store, long since closed for the day.
Salt turned in at the filling station, halting the press car almost at
the doorway of the tiny office.
Inside, a young man who was counting change at a cash register, turned
suddenly and reached for an object beneath the counter. As Salt came in,
he kept his hand out of sight, regarding the photographer with suspicion.
"Relax, buddy," said Salt, guessing that the station owner feared
robbery. "We're from the _Riverview Star_ and need a little information."
"What do you want to know?" The young man still kept his hand beneath the
counter.
"We're looking for a friend of ours who may have come out here a few
minutes ago in a taxi."
"No cab's been through here in the last hour," the filling station man
said. "This is a mighty lonesome corner at night. I should have closed up
hours ago, only I'm expecting a truck to fill up here."
"Why not put that gun away?" Salt suggested pointedly. "We're not here to
rob you. Do we look like crooks?"
"No, you don't," the man admitted, "but I've been taken in before. This
station was broken into three times in the past six months. Only two
weeks ago a man and woman stopped here about this same time of
night--they looked okay and talked easy, but they got away with $48.50 of
my hard earned cash."
"We really are from the _Star_," Penny assured him. "And we're worried
about a friend of ours who slipped away from the hospital tonight. He was
in an accident and wasn't entirely himself. He may get into serious
trouble if we don't find him."
Her words seemed to convince the filling station man that he had nothing
to fear. Dropping the revolver into the cash drawer, he said in a more
friendly tone:
"I guess you folks are on the square. Anyway, you wouldn't get much if
you robbed the till tonight. I only took in $37.50. Not enough to pay me
for keeping open."
"You say a cab hasn't been through here tonight?" Salt asked impatiently.
"There's been cars through, but no taxi cabs."
"Where do these roads lead?"
"One takes you to Belle Plain and on to Three Forks. The other doesn't go
much of anywhere--just on to the swamp."
"Any houses on the swamp road?" Salt inquired.
"An old trapper has a place up there, and the Hawkins' farm is on a
piece. Closest house from here is the Widow Jones'."
"How far?"
"Oh, not more than three--four miles."
"Mrs. Jones drives a car?" Salt asked casually.
"Her?" The filling station man laughed. "Not on your life! She has an old
rattle-trap her husband left her when he died, but she doesn't take it
out of the shed often enough to keep air in the tires."
Penny and Salt inquired the way to the widow's home.
"You can't miss it," replied the station man. "Straight on down the swamp
road about three miles. First house you come to on the right hand side of
Crissey Road. But you won't likely find the widow up at this hour. She
goes to bed with the chickens!"
On the highway once more, Salt and Penny debated their next move. Jerry's
failure to show up at Caleb Corners only partially relieved their
anxiety. Now they could only speculate upon whether the reporter had
remained in Riverview or had driven past the filling station without
being seen.
"Since we've come this far, why not go on to the Widow Jones' place?"
Salt proposed. "She may have seen Jerry. In any case, we can question her
about that car she owns."
Bumping along on the rutty road, they presently rounded a bend and on a
sideroad saw a small, square house which even in its desolation had a
look of sturdy liveability.
"That must be the place," Salt decided, slowing the car. "No lights so I
guess she's abed."
"I see one at the rear!" Penny exclaimed. "Someone is up!"
With a jerk, Salt halted the car beside a mailbox which stood on a high
post. A brick walk, choked with weeds, led to the front door and around
to a back porch.
Through an uncurtained window, the pair glimpsed a tall, wiry woman
filling an oil lamp in the kitchen.
As Salt rapped on the door, they saw her start and reach quickly for a
shotgun which stood in a corner of the room.
"Who's there?" she called sharply.
"We're from Riverview," answered Penny.
Reassured by a feminine voice, the woman opened the door. She towered
above them, a quaint figure in white shirtwaist and a long flowing black
skirt which swept the bare floor of the kitchen.
"Good evening," said Penny. "I hope we didn't startle you."
Slowly the widow's eyes traveled over the pair. She laid the shotgun
aside and then said evenly:
"'Pears like you did. Hain't in the habit o' having visitors this time o'
night. Whar be ye from and what do you want?"
Salt told of their search for Jerry, carefully describing the reporter.
"Hain't seen anyone like that," the Widow Jones said at once. "No one
been by on this road since sundown 'cepting old Ezekiel Hawkins."
"By the way, do you drive a car?" Salt questioned.
"Not if I kin keep from it," the widow retorted. "Cars is the ruination
o' civilization! Last time I tried to drive to town, backed square into a
big sycamore and nigh onto knocked all my teeth out!"
"So you sold your car?" Salt interposed.
"It's a settin' out in the shed. That no-good young'un o' Ezekiel's, Coon
Hawkins, tried to buy it off'en me a year ago, but I turned him down
flat."
"Didn't he offer enough?" Penny asked curiously.
"'Twasn't that. Fust place, I don't think much o' Coon Hawkins! Second
place, that car belonged to my departed husband, and I don't aim nobody
else ever will drive it."
"Then you didn't have the car out today or loan it to anyone?"
"No, I didn't! Say, what you gittin' at anyway with all these questions?"
"Your car was involved in an accident this afternoon in Riverview," Salt
explained.
"What you sayin'?" the woman demanded. "You must be out o' yer mind! My
car ain't been out of the shed fer a month."
"We may have been mistaken," Penny admitted. "The license number of the
car was K-4687."
"Why, that's the plate number of mine!" the Widow Jones exclaimed.
"Leastwise, I recollect it is!"
"You're certain the car still is in the shed?" Salt asked.
"You got me all confused now, and I hain't cartain of anything. Come in
while I get a lantern, and we'll look!"
Penny and Salt stepped into a clean kitchen, slightly fragrant with the
odor of spicy catsup made that afternoon. On a table stood row upon row
of sealed bottles ready to be carried to the cellar.
The Widow Jones lighted a lantern and threw a woolen shawl over her bony
shoulders.
"Follow me," she bade.
At a swift pace, she led the way down a path to a rickety shed which
stood far back from the road.
The woman unfastened the big door which swung back on creaking hinges.
Raising her lantern, she flashed the light on the floor of the shed.
"Hit's gone!" she exclaimed. "Someone's stole the car!"
Only a large blotch of oil on the cracked concrete floor revealed where
the automobile had stood.
"Have you no idea who took the car?" Penny inquired.
Grimly the Widow Jones closed the shed door and slammed the hasp into
place.
"Maybe I have an' maybe I han't! Leastwise, I larned forty years ago to
keep my lips shut less I could back up my words with proof."
In silence the widow started back toward the house. Midway to the house,
she suddenly paused, listening attentively.
From a nearby tree an owl hooted, but Penny and Salt sensed that was not
the sound which had caught the woman's ear.
She blew out the lantern and wordlessly motioned for the pair to move
back into the deep shadow of the tree.
Holding her shirt to keep it from blowing in the night breeze, the woman
gazed intently toward a swamp road some distance from the boundary of her
land. For the first time, Salt and Penny became aware of a muffled sound
of a running truck motor.
"Sounds like a car or truck back there in the swamp," Salt commented. "Is
there a road near here leading in?"
"There's a road yonder," the widow answered briefly.
"It goes into the swamp?"
"Only for a mile or so."
"What would a truck be doing in there at this time of night?" Penny
probed.
"I wouldn't know," answered the widow dryly. "There's some things goes on
in this swamp that smart folkses don't ask questions about."
Without relighting the lantern, she walked briskly on. Reaching the rear
porch, she paused and turned once more to Salt and Penny.
"I be much obliged to ye comin' out here to tell me about my car being
stole. Will ye come in and set a spell?"
"Thanks, we'll have to be getting back to Riverview," Salt declined the
invitation. "It's late."
"You'll catch your death if you stay out in this damp swamp air," the
woman said, her gaze resting disapprovingly on Penny's flimsy dress and
low-cut slippers. "I'd advise you to git right back to town. 'Evenin' to
you both."
She went inside and closed the door.
"Queer character," Salt commented as he and Penny made their way to the
roadside, "Forthright to say the least."
"I rather liked her, Salt. She seemed genuine. And she has courage to
live here alone at the edge of the swamp."
"Sure," the photographer agreed. "Plenty of iron in her soul. Wonder what
she saw there at the edge of the swamp?"
"It seemed to me she was afraid we might try to investigate. Did you
notice how she advised us to go directly to Riverview?"
"She did make the remark a little pointed. The Widow Jones is no
dumbbell! You could tell she has a good idea who stole her auto, and she
wasn't putting out anything about that truck."
Salt had started the car and was ready to turn around. Penny placed a
detaining hand on the steering wheel.
"Let's go the other direction, Salt!"
"On into the swamp?"
"It's only a short distance to that other road. If the truck is still
there, we might see something interesting."
Salt's lips parted in a wide grin.
"Sure thing," he agreed. "What have we got to lose?"
CHAPTER
10
_INSIDE THE WOODSHED_
The throaty croak of frogs filled the night as Salt, car headlights
darkened, brought up at a bend of the road near the swamp's edge.
Entrance to the pinelands could be gained in any one of three ways. A
road, often mired with mud, had been built by a lumber mill, and led for
nearly a mile into the higher section of the area. There it ended
abruptly.
Half a mile away, near Trapper Joe's shack, lay the water course Penny
and Louise had followed. From it branched a maze of confusing channels,
one of which marked the way to the heart of the swamp. But only a few
persons ever had ventured beyond Lookout Island, close to the exit.
The third entrance, also not far from Trapper Joe's, consisted of a
narrow boardwalk path nailed to fallen trees and stumps just above the
water level. The walk had fallen into decay and could be used for only
five hundred feet.
"Seems like a funny time for a truck to be coming out of the swamp road,"
Salt remarked, peering into the gloom of the pine trees. "Hear anything?"
Penny listened intently and shook her head. But a moment later, she
explained: "Now I do! The truck's coming this way."
"Let's get closer to the road exit," Salt proposed. "We'd better leave
the car here, if we don't want to be seen."
Penny's high heels kept twisting on the rutty road, and finally in
exasperation, she took them off, stripped away her stockings, and walked
in her bare feet.
The truck now was very close and the pair could hear its laboring engine.
Salt drew Penny back against the bottle-shaped trunk of a big tree at the
road exitway. There they waited.
Presently the truck chugged into view, its headlights doused. On the main
road, not ten yards from where Salt and Penny crouched, it came to a
jerky halt.
The driver was a husky fellow who wore a heavy jacket and cap which
shadowed his face. With him in the cab were two younger men of athletic
build. Both wore homespun clothes and stout boots.
As the truck halted, the two younger men sprang to the ground.
Instantly Penny and Salt were certain they had seen one of the strangers
before.
"He's the man who drove the accident car this afternoon!" Penny
whispered. "The auto stolen from Widow Jones!"
Salt nodded, placing his hand over the girl's lips. He drew her back
behind the tree.
The precaution was a wise one, for a moment later, a flashlight beam
played over the spot where they had been standing.
"Thought I heard something!" one of the truckers muttered.
"Jest them frogs a-croakin'," his companion answered. "You're gettin'
jumpy."
"Let's get a move on!" growled the driver of the truck. "I gotta get this
load to Hartwell City before dawn. You keepin' any of the stuff?"
"A couple o' gallons will do us. Too durn heavy to carry."
From the rear end of the truck, the two young men who had alighted,
pulled out a large wooden container with handles.
"When do you want me to stop by again?" the truck driver called above the
rumble of the motor.
"Can't tell yet," one of the men answered, swinging the heavy container
across his shoulder. "Pappy'll send word."
The truck pulled away, and the two young men started down the road in the
opposite direction. Not until they were a considerable distance away, did
Penny speak.
"What do you make of it all, Salt?"
"It's got me puzzled," he admitted. "If I'd have seen the truck come out
of the swamp at any other time I wouldn't have thought much about it. But
considering the way Mrs. Jones acted, some funny business seems to be
going on here."
"I'm certain one of those young men was the driver of the accident car
this afternoon!"
"It did look like him."
"They must be the Hawkins boys, Coon and Hod," Penny went on, thinking
aloud. "What were they doing in the swamp so late at night? And what are
they trucking?"
"Echo answers 'what'," Salt replied. "Well, shall we start for
Riverview?"
"Without learning for certain who those two fellows are?"
"I would like to know. The only thing is, your father's going to be
plenty annoyed when he finds how late I've kept you out."
"Leave Dad to me."
"Okay, but if we run into trouble tonight, we can figure we went out of
our way to ask for it."
By this time, the two swampers had vanished into the darkness far up the
road.
"They're heading toward Trapper Joe's place," Penny observed. "The
Hawkins' farm is just beyond, on the waterway."
"We may as well give them a good start and then follow in the car," Salt
decided.
They walked back to the parked automobile where Penny put on her shoes
and stockings again. After giving the two strangers a good five minutes
start, Salt drove slowly after them, keeping headlights turned off.
Trapper Joe's dismal shack loomed up dark and deserted.
"We'll have to park here," Penny instructed, "The road beyond is terrible
and it plays out."
Alighting, the couple looked about for a glimpse of the two swampers. The
nearby marsh seemed cold, unfriendly and menacing. Heavy dew lay on the
earth and a thick mist was rising from among the trees.
From behind a shadowy bush, two gleaming eyes gazed steadily and
unblinkingly at the pair. Penny drew back, nervously gripping Salt's
hand.
"It's only a cat," he chuckled.
"A wild one, maybe," Penny shivered. "All sorts of animals live in the
swamp, Trapper Joe told me."
"Want to stay in the car and spare those pretty shoes of yours?"
"No, let's go on." The gleaming eyes now had vanished and Penny felt
courageous again. Nevertheless, she kept close beside Salt as they
tramped along the dark road.
A pale moon was rising over the treetops, providing faint illumination.
Penny and Salt no longer could see the pair they had followed, and were
afraid they had lost them completely.
Then they spied the swampers crawling over a fence some distance away.
"There they are!" Penny whispered. Just as I thought! They're taking a
short cut to the Hawkins' place."
Unaware that they were being followed, the two swampers crossed a plowed
field, frequently shifting their heavy burden.
Coming at length to the Hawkins' farm, they vanished into the woodshed.
"Guess you were right, Penny," Salt acknowledged, pausing by the fence.
"Evidently they're the Hawkins' boys."
The door of the house had opened and a light now glowed in the window. A
bulky figure stood silhouetted on the threshold.
"Who's there?" the man called sharply. "That you, Coon?"