CHAPTER 1 TROUBLE AFLOAT

A girl in blue slacks, woolen sweater and tennis shoes strode jauntily along the creaking boards of the dark river dock. A large white cotton bag slung carelessly over one shoulder added to the grace of the lithe young figure.

“Hi, Penny!” called a young man who tinkered with the engine of a motorboat. “Out to bury the body?”

Penny Parker chuckled and shifted the bag to the opposite shoulder. “Just thought it would be a good night for a sail, Bill. Have you seen Louise Sidell sneaking around anywhere?”

Before the young sailor could answer, a voice shouted from the darkness, “Here I am!”

Turning her head, Penny glimpsed her chum, a chubby silhouette in the moonlight. Louise, warmly dressed, already was comfortably established in one of the small sailing boats tied up at the wharf.

“Time you’re arriving,” she said accusingly as Penny tossed the sail bag into her hands. “You promised to meet me here at eight o’clock. It’s at least eight-thirty now.”

“Sorry, old dear.” Penny leaped nimbly aboard and with practiced fingers began to put up the mainsail. “After I ’phoned you, I got hung up at home. Dishes and all that sort of thing. Then Dad delayed me ten minutes while he lectured on the undesirability of daughter taking a moonlight sail.”

“I gather you gained the better of the argument,” Louise grinned. “Mother made me agree to wear a life-preserver. Imagine! And there’s barely enough wind stirring to whiff us across the river.”

For many years Penny and Louise had been chums. Students at Riverview High School, they enjoyed the same sports, particularly swimming and sailing. The little mahogany dinghy, appropriately named “Pop’s Worry,” was owned by Penny’s father, Anthony Parker, editor of Riverview’s most enterprising newspaper, the Star.

Together with Mrs. Maud Weems, a housekeeper who had cared for Penny since her mother’s death, he never felt entirely easy when the girls were on the river at night. Nevertheless, Penny was an excellent sailor and rather gloried in the record that her boat had overturned only once during the past season.

“All set?” she asked Louise, casting off the ropes one by one.

As Penny shoved the boat away from the dock, the flapping sail stiffened to the breeze. Louise ducked her head to avoid the swinging boom.

Bill Evans, watching from shore, called a friendly warning: “If you’re planning to sail down river, better not get too close to Thompson’s bridge! The new regulations say seventy-five feet.”

“We’ll give it a wide berth,” responded Penny. She sailed the boat out through the slip into the main channel of the Big Bear river. When well beyond the dock she commented sadly: “Poor old Bill. Always giving advice. Guess he can’t help it.”

“His boat’s just a leaky tub,” replied Louise. “I hear it sunk twice while tied up to the dock. One has to feel sorry for him and treat him with kindness.”

Penny steered “Pop’s Worry” in a diagonal course down stream. On either side of the shore, from houses, factories, and a nearby amusement park, lights twinkled and were reflected on the unruffled surface of the water. The breeze was soft and warm; the stars seemed very close. Overhead a disc of orange moon rode lazily, now and then dodging behind a fleecy cloud.

“It’s a perfect night to sail,” Louise said, snuggling amid the cushions. “Wish we’d brought the phonograph along.”

“Uh-huh,” Penny agreed, her gaze on an approaching motorboat.

The oncoming craft showed no lights. Uncertain that the pilot would see Pop’s Worry, she focused the beam of her flashlight high on the mainsail. The motorboat altered its course instantly and completely. Instead of turning only enough to avoid the sailing craft, it circled in a sharp arc and sped toward the opposite shore. There it was lost to view amid a dark fringe of trees.

“It’s against the regulations to cruise without lights,” Penny commented. “Wonder who piloted that boat?”

“Whoever he was, you seemed to frighten him away.”

“He did turn tail when he saw my light,” Penny agreed, scanning the distant shore. “I imagine the boat came from Ottman’s. At least it looked like one of theirs.”

Ottman’s—a nautical supply shop and boat rental dock—was well known, not only to the girls, but to all sailors who plied nearby waters. Owned and operated by a brother and sister, Sara and Burt Ottman, the establishment provided canoes, sea skiffs and rowboats to all who were able to pay the hourly rate. Because many of the would-be boatmen were more venturesome than experienced, seasoned sailors were inclined to eye such pilots with distrust.

“Careful, Penny!” Louise called as she saw the mainsail begin to flap in the wind. “You’re luffing!”

Reminded of her duties as steersman, Penny headed the little boat on its course once more. As the sail again became taut, she noticed a small object floating in the water directly ahead. At first she could not be certain what it was, and then she decided that it must be a corked bottle.

Deliberately Penny steered close to the object. Remarking that a bottle would create a hazard for the propellers of a motorboat, she reached to snatch it from the water. The current, however, swung it just beyond her reach.

“Bother!” she exclaimed in annoyance. “I want that bottle!”

“Oh, what do you care?” Louise demanded with a shrug. “Someone else will fish it out.”

“It could do a great deal of damage. Besides, as it floated past, I thought I saw a piece of paper inside.”

“If you aren’t the same old Penny!” teased Louise. “Always looking for a mystery. I suppose you think yonder bottle bears a note telling where pirates buried their treasure?”

“Probably just a paper requesting: ‘Please write to your lonely pen pal.’ All the same, I must find out.” Keeping her eye on the floating bottle, Penny skillfully brought the boat about.

“Take the tiller a minute, please,” she requested her chum.

Not without misgivings, Louise reached for the long steering stick. Although she occasionally handled “Pop’s Worry,” she never felt confident of her ability as a sailor. An unexpected puff of wind or a sudden tilt of the boat could send her into a state of panic.

“Grab that old bottle and don’t take twenty years,” she urged nervously.

Penny leaned far out over the boat in an attempt to reach the bottle. Her weight tilted the light craft low into the water. Louise hastily shifted to the opposite side as a counter-balance, and in so doing, released the mainsheet. The boom promptly swung out.

Penny made a wild lunge for the running sheet, but could not prevent disaster. The end of the boom dipped into the water. As the sail became wet and heavy it slowly pulled the boat after it.

“We’re going over!” Louise shrieked, scrambling for the high side.

“We are over,” corrected Penny sadly.

Both girls had been tossed into the water. Louise, protected by a life preserver, immediately grasped the overturned boat and even saved her hair from getting wet. Penny, however, swam after the bobbing bottle. A moment later she came back, triumphantly hugging it against her chest.

“It’s a blue pop bottle, Louise,” she announced, grasping her chum’s extended hand. “And there is a piece of paper inside!”

“You and that stupid old bottle!” Louise retorted. “I guess it was my fault we upset, but you never should have turned the tiller over to me.”

“Oh, who minds a little upset?”

“I do,” Louise said crossly. “The water’s cold, and we’re at least a quarter of a mile from shore. No boats close by, either.”

“Oh, we can get out of this by ourselves,” Penny returned, undismayed. “Hold my bottle while I try to haul in the sail.”

“I’d like to uncork your precious bottle and drop it to the bottom of the river!”

Nevertheless, while her chum worked with the halyard, Louise held tightly to the little object which had caused all the trouble. Neither in shape nor size was the bottle unusual, but the paper it contained did arouse her curiosity. Though she never would have admitted it, she too wondered if it might bear an interesting message.

After pulling in the heavy, water-soaked sail, the girls climbed to the high side of the boat, trying by their combined weight to right it. Time and again they failed. At last, breathless, cold, discouraged, they admitted that the task was beyond their strength.

“Let’s shout for help,” Louise proposed, anxiously watching the distant shore lights.

“All right,” agreed Penny, “but I doubt anyone will hear us. My, we’re drifting down river fast!”

Decidedly worried, the girls shouted many times. There were no boats near, not even the motor craft they had observed a few minutes earlier. The swift current seemed to be swinging them directly toward Thompson’s bridge.

“A watchman always is on guard there night and day,” Penny commented, scanning the arching structure of steel. “If the old fellow isn’t asleep he should see us as we drift by.”

Louise was too cold and miserable to answer. However, she rather unwillingly held the blue bottle while Penny swam and tried to guide the overturned boat toward shore.

When the girls were fairly close to the bridge, they began to shout once more. Although they could see automobiles moving to and fro across the great archway, no one became aware of their plight.

Then as they despaired, there came an answering shout from above. A powerful beam of light played over the water, cutting a bright path.

“Help! Help!” screamed Louise, waving an arm.

“Halt or I’ll fire!” rang out the terse command from the bridge.

“Halt?” cried Penny, too exasperated to consider the significance of the order. “That’s what we’d like to do, but we can’t!”

The searchlight came to rest on the overturned sailboat. The girls were so blinded that for a moment they could see nothing. Then the searchlight shifted slightly to the left, and they were able to distinguish a short, stoop-shouldered man who peered over the railing of the bridge. Apparently satisfied that their plight was genuine, he called reassuringly:

“Okay, take it easy. I’ll heave you a line.”

The watchman disappeared into the little bridge house. Soon he reappeared, and with excellent aim, tossed a weighted rope so that it fell squarely across the overturned boat. Penny seized an end and made it fast.

“I’ll try to pull you in,” the watchman shouted. “Just hang on.”

Leaving his post on the bridge, the old fellow climbed down a steep incline to the muddy shore. By means of the long rope, he slowly and laboriously pulled the water-logged boat with the clinging girls toward a quiet cove.

Once within wading depth, the chums aided the watchman by leading the craft in. Together the three of them beached “Pop’s Worry” on a narrow strip of sand.

“Thanks,” Penny gasped, flipping a wet curl from off her freckled nose. “On second thought, many, many thanks.”

“You’ve no business to get so close to the bridge,” the watchman retorted. “It’s agin’ the regulations. I could have you arrested.”

“But it wasn’t our fault this old sailboat upset,” Penny returned reasonably. “We were reaching for a floating bottle—oh, my Aunt! Where is that bottle, Louise? Don’t tell me we’ve lost it!”

Her chum was given no opportunity to reply, for at that moment a motorboat roared down the river at high speed. Its throttle was wide open, and it appeared to be racing straight toward the bridge.

“Halt!” shouted the watchman, jerking a weapon from a leather holster. “Halt!”

The pilot did not obey the command. Instead, to the amazement of the watchers, he leaped from the cockpit and swam for the opposite shore. Twice the watchman fired at him, but the bullets were well above the swimmer’s head.

The unpiloted boat, its helm securely lashed, drove straight on its course.

“It’s going to strike the bridge!” shouted Louise.

As the boat raced head on into one of the massive concrete piers, there came a deafening explosion. The entire steel structure of the bridge seemed to recoil from the impact. Girders shivered and shook, cables rattled. On the eastern approach, brakes screamed as automobiles were brought to a sudden halt.

“Saboteurs!” the watchman cried hoarsely. “They’ve done it—dynamited the bridge!”