CHAPTER 12 FISHERMAN’S LUCK

Penny looked anxiously about for a means of crossing the river. There were no small boats available and the only person who stood on the opposite shore was Jerry Livingston. The other reporters and photographers, evidently tiring of their long vigil, had gone away.

She cupped her hands and shouted to Jerry: “How am I going to get over there? Can you lower the bridge?”

“The mechanism is locked,” called back the reporter. “And the watchman won’t be back for an hour.”

Penny walked a short distance up the shore searching for a boat. The only available craft was the large launch which she could not hope to operate. She might return to the house and appeal to Miss Kippenberg but such a course was not to her liking.

As she considered whether or not to ruin her clothing by swimming across, Jerry called her attention to a small boat some distance up the river. The boy who was fishing from it obligingly rowed ashore after Penny had signaled him.

“I’ll give you fifty cents to ferry me across,” she offered.

“I’ll be glad to do it,” he agreed.

Penny stepped into the boat and then asked: “Aren’t you the same lad I saw here yesterday?”

The boy nodded as he reached for the oars. “I remember you,” he answered.

“You seem to fish here nearly every day.”

“Just about. I caught some nice ones today.” Proudly he held up two large fish for her to see.

“Beauties,” praised Penny. “I take it the motor boats haven’t been bothering you as much as they were.”

“It’s been pretty quiet on the river today,” the boy agreed. “Want to see something else I fished up?”

“Why, yes. What did you hook, a mud turtle?”

The boy opened a large wooden box which contained an assortment of rope, fishing tackle and miscellaneous articles. He lifted out a man’s high silk hat, bedraggled and shapeless.

“You fished that out of the water?” Penny demanded, leaning forward to take the article from him. “Where did you find it?”

“Up there a ways.” The boy motioned vaguely toward a point on the Kippenberg estate.

Penny turned the hat over in her hand, examining it closely. She found no identifying marks, yet she believed that it had belonged to Grant Atherwald for he had worn similar headdress. The point indicated by the boy was not far distant from the Kippenberg lily pool.

“How would you like to sell this hat?” she asked.

“Why, it’s not worth anything.”

“I’d like to have it,” said Penny. “I’ll give you another fifty cents.”

“It’s a deal.”

Penny offered the boy a dollar bill, and a moment later he beached the boat. Jerry was waiting to help her ashore. His alert gaze fastened upon the hat which she hugged close, but he withheld comment. To the boy he said:

“Son, how would you like to earn five dollars?”

The boy’s eyes brightened. “Say, this is my lucky day!” he exclaimed. “What doin’?”

“It’s easy,” Jerry told him. “All you need to do is to be here for a couple of days with your boat. You’re not to allow anyone to use it except me.”

“And me,” added Penny. “I’ll need taxi service myself if I come back here.”

“That’s all right,” agreed the boy.

“Here’s a dollar on deposit,” Jerry said. “Now remember, be here tomorrow from eight o’clock on, and don’t hire out to any other person.”

“I won’t,” the boy promised.

Jerry took Penny’s elbow and escorted her to the press car.

“So you found Atherwald’s hat?” he asked without preliminaries.

“It resembles the one he wore. The boy fished it out of the river.”

“Then that looks as if the fellow really was the victim of a plot!”

“I’ve thought so all along,” Penny declared soberly.

“What else did you learn? You seemed to be very chummy with Miss Kippenberg.”

“I’ll not be from now on,” Penny returned ruefully.

As Jerry backed the car around in the dusty road, she told of her meeting with Sylvia Kippenberg and the ensuing conversation.

“So Miss Kippenberg doesn’t like questions?” Jerry asked. “And she refuses to notify the police? Well, after we publish our story in the Star it won’t be necessary. The police will come to do their own investigating.”

“I can’t really believe she is trying to deceive the authorities,” Penny said thoughtfully. “She seems to have a sincere regard for Grant Atherwald.”

“It may be pretense.”

“She wasn’t pretending the day of the wedding. Atherwald’s disappearance was a great shock to her.”

“Well, even so, she may know a lot more than she’s putting out.”

“I think that myself. She closed up like a clam when I talked about her father.”

The car came to the main road and a short time later entered the town of Corbin. As they stopped for a red light, Penny touched Jerry’s arm.

“Look over there,” she directed. “See those two men standing in front of the drugstore?”

“What about them?”

“They’re G men who attended the Kippenberg wedding. Salt pointed them out to me.”

“You don’t say! Maybe we can learn a fact or two from them.”

Jerry parked the car at the curb and sprang out. Penny saw him walk over to the men, introduce himself and show his press credentials. She was too far away to hear the conversation.

In a few minutes Jerry returned to the car looking none too elated.

“You didn’t learn anything, did you?” Penny inquired as they drove on again.

“Not very much. Government men never will talk. But they did admit they were here trying to locate James Kippenberg.”

“Then they think he is in the locality.”

“They had an idea he would show up at his daughter’s wedding. But it didn’t turn out that way.”

“Did you say anything to them about Grant Atherwald’s disappearance?”

“Yes, but they wouldn’t discuss it. They said they had nothing to do with the case.”

Penny lapsed into reflective silence as the car went on toward Andover. Mentally she sorted over the evidence which she had gathered that day, trying to fit it into a definite pattern.

“Jerry,” she said at last.

“Yes?”

“You’ll probably laugh at this, but I have a theory about Grant Atherwald’s disappearance.”

“Go ahead, spill it.”

“Yesterday when Salt and I were waiting at the drawbridge we saw a motorboat cruise down the river. It was driven by a burly looking fellow who paid no heed when we tried to hail him.”

“You’re not suggesting that the man may have had something to do with Atherwald’s disappearance?” Jerry questioned, mildly amused.

“I knew you would laugh.”

“Your theory sounds pretty far-fetched to me, I’ll admit. It happens there are any number of burly, tough looking boatmen on the Kobalt. You can’t arrest a man for a crime just because of his appearance.”

“All the same, there is supporting evidence. Mrs. Latch told me that Atherwald’s note had been handed to her by a boy who in turn received it from someone in a boat.”

“Boats are rather common too. Your theory is interesting, but that’s all I can say for it.”

“All right,” said Penny. “I was about to tell you another idea of mine. Now I won’t do it.”

No amount of coaxing could induce her to reveal her thought, and the remainder of the drive to Andover was made in silence. It was well after five-thirty when the car finally drew up in front of the City Club.

Penny was not surprised to find the doors locked and no sign of Louise or Miss Frome.

“I thought they would go home without me,” she said to Jerry. “I only wanted to make certain.”

For many miles the road led through pleasant countryside and then swung back toward the Kobalt river. The sun had dropped below the horizon by the time the automobile sped through the town of Claxton.

“Thirty miles still to go,” Jerry sighed. “I’m getting hungry.”

“Two souls with but a single thought,” remarked Penny.

Directly ahead they noticed an electric sign which drew attention to a roadside gasoline station with an adjoining restaurant. Jerry eased on the brake.

“How about it, Penny? Shall we invest a few nickels?”

“I could do with a sandwich,” Penny agreed. “Several, in fact.”

Not until Jerry had parked the car did they notice the dilapidated condition of the building. It stood perhaps fifty yards back from the main road, its rear porch fronting on the Kobalt.

“Strange how one is always running into the river,” Penny remarked absently. “It seems to twist itself over half the state.”

Jerry had not heard her words. He was gazing at the restaurant with disapproval.

“This place doesn’t look so good, Penny. If you say the word we’ll drive on.”

“Oh, I’d brave anything for a beef barbecue,” she laughed.

Through the screen door they caught a discouraging glimpse of the cafe’s interior—dingy walls, cigarette smoke, a group of rough looking men seated on stools at the counter. Upon the threshold Penny hesitated, losing courage.

“Let’s not go in,” Jerry grunted in an undertone. “They’ll probably serve cockroaches in the sandwiches.”

Penny half turned away from the door only to stop short. Her attention focused upon two men who were sitting at the far end of the cafe drinking coffee from heavy mugs. In the indistinct light she could not be absolutely sure, yet she was instantly convinced that the heavy-set fellow in shirt sleeves was the same boatman who had been seen near the Kippenberg estate.

To Jerry’s surprise, Penny resisted the tug of his arm as he sought to lead her toward the car.

“This place isn’t half bad,” she said. “Let’s try it and see what happens.”

Boldly she reached for the knob of the screen door and entered the cafe.