CHAPTER 17 A SEARCH FOR JERRY

After leaving the Kippenberg estate, Penny and Louise motored to Corbin. More from curiosity than for any other reason they dined at the Colonial Hotel, finding the establishment as luxurious as the old watchman had intimated. A full hour and a half was required to eat the fine dinner which was served.

“Our friend, the gardener, does have excellent taste in food,” remarked Louise. “What puzzles me is where does he get the money to pay for all this?”

“The obvious answer is that he’s not a gardener.”

“Maybe he has rooms here too, Penny.”

“I’ve been wondering about it. I mean to investigate.”

Louise glanced at her wristwatch. “Do you think we should take the time?” she asked. “It will be late afternoon now before we reach home.”

“Oh, it won’t take a minute to inquire at the desk.”

Leaving the dining room, the girls made their way to the lobby. When the desk clerk had a free moment Penny asked him if anyone by the name of Peter Henderson had taken rooms at the hotel.

“No one here by that name,” the man told her. “Wait, I’ll look to be sure.”

He consulted a card filing system which served as a register, and confirmed his first statement.

“The man I mean would be around sixty years of age,” explained Penny. “He works as a gardener at the Kippenberg estate.”

“Perhaps you have come to the wrong hotel,” said the clerk aloofly. “We do not cater to gardeners.”

“Only to people who employ gardeners, I take it.”

“Our rates start at ten dollars a day,” returned the clerk coldly.

“And does that include free linen and a bath?” Penny asked with pretended awe.

“Certainly. All of our rooms have private baths.”

“How wonderful,” giggled Penny. “We thought this might be one of those places with a bath on every floor!”

Suddenly comprehending that he was being made an object of sport, the clerk glared at the girls and turned his back.

Penny and Louise went cheerfully to their car, very much pleased with themselves for having deflated such a conceited young man. They drove away, and late afternoon brought them to Riverview, tired and dusty from their long trip.

After dropping her chum off at the Sidell home, Penny rode directly to the newspaper office. Finding no parking place available on the street, she ran her car into the loading area at the rear of the building, nosing into a narrow space which had just been vacated by a paper-laden truck.

“Hey, you lady,” shouted an employee. “You can’t park that scrap iron here. Another paper truck will be along in a minute.”

Penny switched off the engine.

“I guess you’re new around here,” she said, climbing out. “The next truck isn’t due until five-twenty-three.”

“Say, who do you think you are, tellin’ me—?”

The employee trailed off into silence as another workman gave him a sharp nudge in the ribs.

“Pipe down,” he was warned. “If the boss’ daughter wants to park her jitney in the paper chute it’s okay, see?”

“Sure, I get it,” the other mumbled.

Penny grinned broadly as she crossed the loading area.

“After this, you might mention my automobile in a more respectful tone,” she tossed over her shoulder. “It’s not scrap iron or a jitney either!”

Riding up the freight elevator, Penny passed a few remarks with the smiling operator and stepped off at the editorial floor. She noticed as she went through the news room that Jerry Livingston’s desk was vacant. And because the waste basket was empty, the floor beside it free from paper wads, she knew he had written no story that day.

Penny tapped lightly on the closed door of her father’s private office and went in.

“Hello,” he said, glancing up. “Just get back from Corbin?”

“Yes, Louise and I had plenty of excitement, but I didn’t dig up any facts you’ll dare print in the paper.”

“Did you meet Jerry anywhere?”

“Why, no, Dad.”

“The young cub is taking a vacation at my expense, running up a big motorboat bill! He should have been back here three hours ago.”

“Oh, be reasonable, Dad,” said Penny teasingly. “You can’t expect him to trace down those men just in a minute.”

“It was a wild chase anyway,” the editor growled. “I let him do it more to please you than for any other reason. But that’s beside the point. He was told to be back here by four o’clock at the latest, even if he had nothing to report.”

“Jerry is usually punctual, Dad. But I suppose being on the river he couldn’t get here just when he expected.”

“He’s probably gone fishing,” Mr. Parker declared.

He slammed down the roll top on his desk and picked up his hat.

“Will you ride home with me?” Penny invited. “Leaping Lena would be highly honored.”

“It’s a mighty sight more comfortable on the bus,” her father replied. “But then, I can stand a jolting.”

As they went out through the main room he paused to speak with DeWitt, leaving an order that he was to be called at his home as soon as Jerry Livingston returned.

Mr. Parker raised his eyebrows as he saw where Penny had left the car.

“Haven’t I told you that the trucks need this space to load and unload?” he asked patiently. “There is a ten cent parking lot across the street.”

“But Dad, I haven’t ten cents to spare. The truth is, I spent almost every bit of my allowance today over at Corbin.”

“NO!” said Mr. Parker firmly. “NO!”

“No what?”

“Not a penny will you get ahead of time.”

“You misjudge me, Dad. I had no intention of even mentioning such a painful subject.”

They drove in silence for a few blocks and then Penny indicated the gasoline gauge on the dashboard.

“Why, it’s nearly empty!” she exclaimed. “We won’t have enough to reach home!”

“Well, get some,” said Mr. Parker automatically. “We don’t want to stall on the street.”

A flip of the steering wheel brought the car to a standstill in front of a gasoline pump.

“Fill it up,” ordered Penny.

While Mr. Parker read his newspaper, the attendant polished the windshield and checked the oil, finding it low. At a nod from Penny he added two quarts.

“That will be exactly two fifty-eight.”

Penny repeated the figure in a louder tone, giving her father a nudge. “Wake up, Dad. Two fifty-eight.”

Absently, Mr. Parker reached for his wallet. Not until the attendant brought the change did it dawn upon him that Penny had scored once more.

“Tricked again,” he groaned.

“Why, it was your own suggestion that we stop for gasoline,” Penny reminded him. “I shouldn’t have minded taking a chance myself. You see, the gauge is usually at least a gallon off.”

“Anyway, I would rather pay for it than have you siphon it out of my car.”

“Thanks for the present,” laughed Penny.

Dinner was waiting by the time they reached home. Afterwards, Penny helped Mrs. Weems with the dishes while her father mowed the lawn. Hearing the telephone ring he came to the kitchen door.

“Was that a call for me?” he asked.

“No, Dad, it was for Mrs. Weems.”

“Strange DeWitt doesn’t call,” Mr. Parker said. “I believe I’ll telephone him.”

After Mrs. Weems had finished with the phone he called the newspaper office only to be told that Jerry Livingston had not put in an appearance.

“At least he might have communicated with the office,” Mr. Parker said as he hung up the receiver.

He went back to lawn mowing but paused now and then to stare moodily toward the Kobalt river which wound through the valley far below the terrace. Penny finished drying the dishes and went outside to join him.

“You’re worried about Jerry, aren’t you?” she asked after a moment.

“Not exactly,” he replied. “But he should have been back long ago.”

“He never would have stayed away without good reason. We both know Jerry isn’t like that.”

“No, he’s either run into a big story, or he’s in trouble. When I sent him away this morning, I didn’t look upon the assignment as a particularly dangerous one.”

“And yet if he met those two seamen anything could have happened. They were tough customers, Dad.”

“I could notify the police if Jerry isn’t back within an hour or two,” Mr. Parker said slowly. “Still, I hate to do it.”

“Where did Jerry rent his boat, Dad?”

“I told him to get one at Griffith’s dock at twenty-third street.”

“Then why don’t we go there?” suggested Penny. “If he hasn’t come in we might rent a boat of our own and start a search.”

Mr. Parker debated and then nodded. “Bring a heavy coat,” he told her. “It may be cold on the river.”

Penny ran into the house after the garments and also took a flashlight from her father’s bureau drawer. When she hurried outdoors again her father had backed his own car from the garage and was waiting.

At the twenty-third street dock, Harry Griffith, owner of the boat house, answered their questions frankly. Yes, he told them, Jerry Livingston had rented a motor boat early that morning but had not returned it.

“I been worryin’ about that young feller,” he admitted, and then with a quick change of tone: “Say, you’re not Mr. Parker, are you?”

“Yes, that’s my name.”

“Then I got a letter here for you. I reckon maybe it explains what became of the young feller.”

The boatman took a greasy envelope from his trousers pocket and gave it to the editor.

“Where did you get this, Mr. Griffith?”

“A boy in a rowboat brought it up the river about two hours ago. He said the young feller gave him a dollar to deliver it to a Mr. Parker. But the kid was mixed up on the address, so I just held it here.”

“Dad, it must be from Jerry,” said Penny eagerly.

As her father opened the envelope, she held the flashlight close. In an almost illegible scrawl Jerry had written:

“Following up a hot tip. Think I’ve struck trail of key men. Taking off in boat. Expect to get back by nightfall unless Old Man Trouble catches up with me.”

Mr. Parker looked up from the message, his gaze meeting the frightened eyes of his daughter.

“Oh, Dad,” she said in a tone barely above a whisper, “it’s long after dark now. What do you think has become of Jerry?”