CHAPTER 8 A SWINGING CHAIN

Approaching the Snark, Penny saw several men moving about on the unlighted decks. But as she drew nearer, their forms melted into the darkness. When she reached the dock, the vessel appeared deserted.

Yet, peering upward at the towering vessel, the girl had a feeling that she was being watched. She was satisfied that the rescue of the man who called himself James Webster had been observed. She was equally certain that those aboard the Snark were aware of her presence now.

“Ahoy, the Snark!” she called impulsively.

There was no answer from aboard the tied-up vessel, but footsteps pounded down the dock. Penny whirled around to find herself the target for a flashlight. Momentarily blinded, she could see nothing. Then, the light shifted away from her face, and she recognized a wharf guard.

“What you doing here?” he demanded gruffly.

Though tempted to tell the entire story, Penny held her tongue. “Just looking,” she mumbled.

“Didn’t I hear you call out?”

“Yes.”

“Know anyone aboard the Snark?”

“No.”

“Then move along,” the guard ordered curtly.

Penny did not argue. Slipping quietly away, she sought a brightly lighted street which led toward the newspaper office. Midway there, she stopped at a corner drugstore to call home and inquire for her father. Mrs. Weems told her that so far as she knew Mr. Parker had returned to the Star office to do a little extra work.

“Then I’ll catch him there,” Penny declared.

“Is anything wrong?” the housekeeper inquired anxiously.

“Just something in connection with a news story,” Penny reassured her. “I’ll be home soon.”

Hanging up the receiver before the housekeeper could ask any more questions, she walked swiftly on to the Star building. The front door was locked, but Penny had her own key. Letting herself in through the darkened advertising room, she climbed the stairs to the news floor.

A few members of the Sunday staff were working at their desks, but otherwise the room was deserted. Typewriters, like hooded ghosts, stood in rigid ranks.

Pausing to chat for a moment with the Sunday editor, Penny asked if her father were in the building.

“He was in his office a few minutes ago,” the man replied. “I don’t know if he left or not.”

Going on through the long newsroom, Penny saw that her father’s office was dark. The door remained locked.

Disappointed, she started to turn back when she noticed a light burning in the photography room. At this hour she knew no one would be working there, unless Salt Sommers or one of the other photographers had decided to develop and print a few of his own pictures.

“Dad, are you there?” she called.

No one answered, but Penny heard a scurry of footsteps.

“Salt!” she called, thinking it must be one of the photographers.

Again there was no reply, but a gust of wind came suddenly down the corridor. The door of the photography room slammed shut.

Startled, Penny decided to investigate. She pushed open the door. The light was on, but no one was in the room.

“Salt!” she called again, thinking that the photographer might be in the darkroom.

He did not reply. As she started forward to investigate, the swinging chain of the skylight drew her attention. The glass panels were closed and there was no breeze in the room. Yet the brass chain swung back and forth as if it had been agitated only a moment before.

“Queer!” thought Penny, staring upward. “Could anyone have come in here through that skylight?”

The idea seemed fantastic. She could think of no reason why anyone should seek such a difficult means of entering the newspaper office. To her knowledge, nothing of great value was kept in the photography rooms.

Yet, the fact remained that the light was on, the chain was swaying back and forth, and a door had slammed as if from a gust of wind.

Studying the skylight with keen interest, Penny decided that it would be possible and not too difficult for a person on the roof to raise the glass panels, and by means of the chain, drop down to the floor. But could a prowler reverse the process?

Penny would have dismissed the feat as impossible, had not her gaze focused upon an old filing cabinet which stood against the wall, almost directly beneath the skylight. Inspecting it, she was disturbed to find imprints of a man’s shoe on its top surface.

“Someone was in here!” Penny thought. “To get out, he climbed up on this cabinet!”

The brass handles of the cabinet drawers offered convenient steps. As she tried them, the cabinet nearly toppled over, but she reached the top without catastrophe. By standing on tiptoe, her head and shoulders would just pass through the skylight.

Pulling the brass chain, she opened it, and peered out onto the dark roof. No one was in sight. In the adjoining building, lights burned in a number of offices.

Suddenly the door of the photography room opened. Startled, Penny ducked down so fast that she bumped her head.

“Well, for Pete’s sake!” exclaimed a familiar voice. “What are you doing up there?”

Penny was relieved to recognize Salt. She closed the skylight and dropped lightly to the floor.

“Looking for termites?” the photographer asked.

“Two legged ones! Salt, someone has been prowling about in here! Whoever he was, he came in through this skylight.”

“What makes you think so, kitten?” Salt looked mildly amused and not in the least convinced.

Penny told him what had happened and showed him the footprints on the filing cabinet. Only then did the photographer take her seriously.

“Well, this is something!” he exclaimed. “But who would sneak in here and for what reason?”

“Do you have anything valuable in the darkroom?”

“Only our cameras. Let’s see if they’re missing.”

Striding across the room, Salt flung open the door of the inner darkroom, and snapped on a light. One glance assured him that the cameras remained untouched. But several old films were scattered on the floor. Picking them up, he examined them briefly, and tossed them into a paper basket.

“Someone has been here all right,” he said softly. “But what was the fellow after?”

“Films perhaps.”

“We haven’t anything of value here, Penny. If we get a good picture we use it right away.”

Methodically, Salt examined the room, but could find nothing missing.

“Perhaps the person, whoever he was, didn’t get what he was after,” Penny speculated. “I’m inclined to think this isn’t his first visit here.”

Questioned by Salt, she revealed Elda Hunt’s recent experience in the photography room.

“That dizzy dame!” he dismissed the subject. “She wouldn’t know whether she saw anything or not.”

“Something frightened her,” Penny insisted. “It may have been this same man trying to get in. Can’t the skylight be locked?”

“Why, I suppose so,” Salt agreed. “The only trouble is that this room gets pretty stuffy in the daytime. We need the fresh air.”

“At least it should be locked when no one is here.”

“I’ll see that it is,” Salt promised. “But it’s not likely the prowler will come back again—especially as you nearly caught him.”

It was growing late. Convinced that her father had left the Star building, Penny decided to take a bus home. As she turned to leave, she asked Salt carelessly:

“By the way, did you know Ben Bartell?”

“Fairly well,” he returned. “Why?”

“Oh, I met him tonight. He’s had a run of hard luck.”

“So I hear.”

“Salt, what did Ben do, that caused him to be blacklisted with all the newspapers?”

“Well, for one thing, he socked an editor on the jaw.”

“Jason Cordell of the Mirror?”

“Yes, they got into a fight of some sort. Ben was discharged, and he didn’t take it very well.”

“Was he a hard drinker?”

“Ben? Not that I ever heard. I used to think he was a pretty fair reporter, but he made enemies.”

Penny nodded, and without explaining why the information interested her, bade Salt goodnight. Leaving the Star building by the back stairway, she walked slowly toward the bus stop.

As she reached the corner, she heard the scream of a police car siren. Down the street came the ambulance, pulling up only a short distance away. Observing that a crowd had gathered, Penny quickened her step to see who had been injured.

Pushing her way through the throng of curious pedestrians, she saw a heavy-set man lying unconscious on the pavement. Policemen were lifting him onto a stretcher.

“What happened?” Penny asked the man nearest her.

“Just a drunk,” he said with a shrug. “The fellow was weaving all over the street, and finally collapsed. A storekeeper called the ambulance crew.”

Penny nodded and started to move away. Just then, the ambulance men pushed past her, and she caught a clear glimpse of the man on the stretcher. She recognized him as Edward McClusky, a deep water diver for the Evirude Salvage Company. She knew too that under no circumstances did he ever touch intoxicating liquors.

“Wait!” she exclaimed to the startled ambulance crew. “I know that man! Where are you taking him?”