CHAPTER 14 AN EMPTY BEDROOM
Darkness was inking the sky as Penny drew up at the end of the road. Parking her car between scraggly box-elders, she walked swiftly along the river trail, soon approaching within view of the Parker cottage.
The fallen tree had been sawed into cord wood, the yard cleaned of sticks and debris, and only the damaged porch remained to remind one of the severe storm.
As Penny opened the screen door, Mrs. Weems came from the kitchen.
“Joe is asleep,” she warned in a whisper. “Perhaps we should talk outside.”
Penny nodded and followed the housekeeper to the porch swing.
“How is he doing?” she inquired.
“Oh, much better,” replied Mrs. Weems. “The doctor was here an hour ago. Joe is out of danger but must remain in bed for at least another day.”
“I was afraid when you telephoned that something had gone wrong here.”
“No,” confessed the housekeeper, “I was merely lonesome for news. Is everything going well at home?”
“Oh, yes, we’re getting along fine.”
“I hope you remembered to bring in the milk. And you didn’t neglect the dusting?”
Penny smiled ruefully.
“I might have known you would let everything go,” sighed Mrs. Weems. “No doubt it’s my duty to remain here, but I feel I should be at home.”
“Anchor Joe needs you, Mrs. Weems. Has he talked very much?”
“Not a great deal. He ate a hearty lunch and seems in no pain.”
“Did you see his back, Mrs. Weems?”
“Yes, the cut was an ugly one. The doctor changed the dressing while he was here.”
“I mean the tattoo,” said Penny impatiently. “Didn’t you notice it?”
“I saw that he had one, if that’s what you mean.”
“You didn’t question him about it?”
“Certainly not, Penny. Why should I?”
“Don’t you read the Weekly Times? Anchor Joe’s tattoo is a dead ringer for the one John Munn had on his back. Joe’s already admitted that he knows Munn. For all we know they may be bitter enemies. Perhaps it was Anchor Joe who pushed Munn off the bridge!”
“Penny, your ideas grow wilder each day,” protested Mrs. Weems. “I hope you don’t talk such nonsense to other people.”
“All the same, Anchor Joe bears someone a grudge,” insisted Penny. “He mentioned a person who had ‘ratted.’ Didn’t you learn a single fact about him, Mrs. Weems?”
“His last name is Landa and he came to Riverview three weeks ago. He has no family.”
“I think I’ll question him myself when he awakens.”
“No, I can’t allow that,” said Mrs. Weems sternly. “The doctor would never approve.”
“I promise not to excite him.”
“The answer is no! Now I wish you would help me by bringing in the washing. I must start supper.”
Penny obediently took the basket and unpinned sheets and pillow cases from the line. She had just finished when she observed a tall, well-built young man with military stride, approaching through the trees. He tipped his hat politely.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, “I am trying to find the Parker cottage.”
“Your search is at an end,” answered Penny. “You’ve come to the right place.”
“Do you have a man working here named Joe Landa?”
“Why, yes, we have.”
“Where may I find him, please?”
“Joe is confined to his bed,” explained Penny. “Unless it is very important I am afraid we can’t allow you to talk with him today.”
“It is important,” said the stranger. “I am Clark Moyer, from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Penny’s eyes opened wide. “A G-man?” she demanded.
“I am an investigator for the government,” he replied, smiling.
“And you’re after Anchor Joe?”
“I am here to question him.”
“What has he done, Mr. Moyer?”
“I am not permitted to discuss a case to which I have been assigned,” he returned, amused by her display of interest. “It’s quite possible that Landa is not the man I seek. How long has he worked here?”
“Only a few days. He—he hasn’t killed anyone, has he?”
“No,” smiled the government man, “it’s not that serious. The man I am after is short and wiry, sandy hair and blue eyes. He has a tattooed anchor on his right arm.”
“And one on his back?” Penny asked eagerly.
“I wouldn’t know about that. Does my description fit the man who has been working here?”
“Yes, it does! Almost exactly.”
“Then I’d like to talk with him.”
“Come into the cottage,” invited Penny. “I’ll call Mrs. Weems.”
Summoned from the kitchen, the housekeeper listened to Mr. Moyer’s request that he be permitted to see the injured man.
“If you are a government investigator I suppose it will be all right,” she said reluctantly. “But the doctor’s orders were that he was to be kept absolutely quiet.”
“I’ll only ask a question or two,” promised Mr. Moyer.
“Is Joe wanted on a criminal charge?” the housekeeper asked.
“I was sent to check up on a man who calls himself Joe Landa. That’s all I can tell you.”
From the kitchen came the unmistakable odor of scorching potatoes. Mrs. Weems ran to jerk the pan from the stove.
“Penny, you see if Joe is awake yet,” she called over her shoulder.
“I’ll go with you,” said Mr. Moyer quickly. “If I have made a mistake it may not be necessary to disturb the man.”
“This way,” directed Penny.
She led the government man down the hall to the rear bedroom. The door was closed. She twisted the knob and pushed, at first easily, and then with increasing force.
“It seems to be stuck,” she said. “The recent rains must have caused the wood to swell.”
“Let me try,” offered Mr. Moyer.
He took Penny’s place, and after testing the door, gave it a hard upward push. There was a loud crash as it suddenly swung open.
“Goodness! What was that?” exclaimed Penny.
“A barricade. Keep back.”
To Penny’s astonishment the government man drew his revolver before entering the room. Disregarding the order to remain behind, she followed him inside.
“I might have expected this!” he muttered.
Penny’s gaze swept the room. A chair lay overturned on the floor. The bed, still bearing the imprint of a man’s body, was empty.
“Why, where’s Joe?” murmured Penny. “His clothing is gone, too!”
Mr. Moyer strode to the open window.
“You think he left that way?” Penny questioned. “He must have heard us talking!”
The government man nodded as he stepped through the opening to the ground.
“He heard us all right. There’s no question now that he’s the man I am after! And I’ll get him, too!”
Briefly examining the ground beneath the window, Mr. Moyer turned and walked swiftly toward the river.
