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The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

Page 42

by Mildred Benson


  “No, I suppose not,” replied Louise.

  Penny paused, scanning the crowd on the dock. Her father, Anthony Parker, had promised to meet the excursion boat, but there was no sign of him or his car.

  “Dad must have been detained at the newspaper office,” she remarked. “I suppose we must wait here until he comes.”

  Removing themselves from the stream of traffic, the girls walked a short distance along the dock, halting beside a warehouse. The throng rapidly dispersed, and still Mr. Parker did not arrive.

  “I hope we haven’t missed him,” Penny remarked anxiously. “In this fog one can’t see many yards.”

  They had waited only a few minutes longer when Louise suddenly touched her chum’s arm.

  “Penny, there she is! Alone, too!”

  “Who, Louise?”

  “Why, that girl whose hat you recovered on the Goodtime. See her coming this way?”

  Penny turned to stare at the young woman who was walking hurriedly along the dock. At first glance she was inclined to agree with Louise that it was the same girl, then she was uncertain. The one who approached wore an expensive fur and carried a distinctive beaded bag.

  “I don’t believe I ever saw her before,” she commented.

  “I guess I was mistaken,” admitted Louise. “She’s too well dressed.”

  Apparently the girl did not observe Penny and her chum, for she passed them without a glance. Hurriedly she walked a short distance down the wharf. Then, with a deft movement, she took a package from beneath her smart-fitting coat, and tossed it into the water.

  Turning, she retraced her steps to the gangplank of the Goodtime. A moment later the girls saw her meet a young man in topcoat and derby who had emerged from the crowd on the dock. Entering a gray sedan, they drove away.

  “I wonder what she threw into the river?” mused Penny. “Didn’t you think she acted as if she were afraid someone would see her, Lou?”

  “Yes, I did. Whatever it was, it’s gone to the bottom of the river.”

  Curiously the girls walked to the edge of the dock. Penny glanced over the side and gave an excited cry. Instead of falling into the water, the package had caught fast on a jagged dock post.

  “It’s hanging by the string!” she exclaimed.

  Eagerly Louise peered down. “You’re right!” she agreed. “But we can’t get it.”

  “I’m going to try.”

  “Please don’t,” pleaded Louise. “It’s too far down. You’ll tumble into the water.”

  “Not if you sit on my heels.”

  Undisturbed by what anyone who saw her might think, Penny stretched flat on the dock. With Louise holding to her, she jack-knifed over the edge, clutching at the bundle which dangled an inch above the water.

  “Got it!” she chuckled. “Haul away, Lou.”

  Louise pulled her friend to safety. Eagerly they examined the package which was wrapped in ordinary newspaper.

  “I’ll venture it contains nothing more than the remains of a lunch,” declared Louise. “This is going to be a good joke on you, Penny.”

  “A joke?” quavered Penny.

  Her gaze had focused upon a hole in the paper. Through the opening protruded a long strand of dark hair.

  Louise saw it at the same instant and uttered a choked, horrified scream.

  “Human hair—” she gasped. “Oh, Penny! Turn it over to the police!”

  “It can’t be that,” said Penny in a calmer voice.

  With trembling fingers she untied the string. The paper fell away and several objects dropped at Penny’s feet. Stooping, she picked up a girl’s long black wig. In addition, there was a dark veil, a crushed felt hat, and a cheap cloth jacket.

  “A disguise!” exclaimed Louise.

  “Yes, the girl who tossed this bundle into the river was the same one we saw aboard the steamer! But why did she wear these things and then try to get rid of them?”

  “Why, Penny, don’t you understand?” Louise demanded impressively. “She was a crook just as I thought. And she must have been the one who robbed Tillie Fellows!”

  CHAPTER 2

  THE RIVER’S VICTIM

  Penny stared at the curious array of objects found in the discarded bundle. Unquestionably, they had been worn by the mysterious young woman observed aboard the Goodtime. However, she was not certain she agreed with Louise that the girl or her escort had robbed Tillie Fellows.

  “I never heard of a professional pickpocket bothering with a disguise,” she said doubtfully.

  “Why else would the girl wear one?”

  “I haven’t an idea,” admitted Penny. “Everything about it is queer. For instance, what became of her escort after the steamer docked? And who was that other young man in the gray car?”

  “He appeared to be fairly well-to-do.”

  “Yes, he did. For that matter, the girl was elegantly dressed.”

  Louise kicked at the bundle with her foot. “What shall we do with these things? Toss them away?”

  “Indeed, not!” Penny carefully rewrapped the wig, jacket, and other articles in the crumpled newspaper. “I shall take them home with me. One never knows what may develop.”

  Before Louise could inquire the meaning of her chum’s remark, a taxi drew up nearby. The door swung open and out leaped a lean young man in a well-tailored blue suit and snap-brim hat.

  “Why, it’s Jerry Livingston!” exclaimed Penny, recognizing one of her father’s reporters.

  The young man saw the girls and came toward them. “Hello,” he greeted cheerily. “Swell night for a murder.”

  “I hope you’re not carrying concealed weapons,” laughed Penny. “Where’s Dad?”

  “Delayed at the Star office. He sent me to meet the boat in his place. The fog made traffic slow. That’s why I’m late.”

  Taking each of the girls by an elbow, he steered them to the waiting taxi.

  “Riverview Star,” he instructed the driver, and slammed the car door.

  The fog was not so dense after the cab left the docks, but the entire river valley was blanketed, making it necessary for automobiles to proceed with headlights turned on.

  “Have a nice time?” Jerry inquired as the cab crept along the waterfront streets.

  “Not very,” answered Penny, “but we ran into a little adventure.”

  “Trust you for that,” chuckled the reporter. “City Editor DeWitt was telling the boys at the office that he’d bet you would come home dragging a mystery by its tail!”

  “Here it is,” Penny laughed, thrusting the newspaper bundle into his hands. “Lou and I did a little fishing from the dock and this is what we hooked.”

  While Jerry examined the contents of the strange package, the girls competed with each other in relating their experiences aboard the steamer. Although the reporter was deeply interested, he could offer no theory to explain why the young woman had discarded the bundle of clothing.

  “Louise’s guess seems as good as any,” he commented. “The girl may have been the one who robbed Tillie Fellows.”

  “Pickpockets usually frequent crowds,” said Penny. “During the entire trip both the girl and her escort kept strictly to themselves.”

  Jerry retied the bundle, tossing it into her lap.

  “Your mystery is too much for me,” he said lightly. “Afraid you’ll have to solve it yourself.”

  Penny lapsed into meditative silence, yet oddly her thoughts centered upon nothing in particular. For a reason she never tried to explain, the waterfront seldom failed to cast its magical spell over her. She loved the medley of sounds, deep-throated blasts of coal boats mingling with the staccato toots of the tugboats, the rumble and clank of bridges being raised and lowered.

  Always Penny had felt an intimate connection with the river, for her home overlooked the Big Bear. Not many miles away flowed the Kobalt, so closely associated with Mud-Cat Joe and the Vanishing Houseboat. It was the Kobalt which very nearly had claimed Jerry’s life, yet had brought the Star
one of its greatest news stories.

  Ever since she was a little girl, Penny had loved newspaper work. Her entire life seemed bound up with printer’s ink and all that it connoted. She had learned to write well and Mrs. Weems, who had served as the Parker housekeeper for many years, predicted that one day the girl would become a celebrated journalist.

  The taxi came to a sudden halt and with a start Penny emerged from her reverie. Jerry leaned forward to ask the driver why they had stopped.

  “I can’t see the road very well,” the man replied. “And there’s a bridge ahead.”

  As the car crept forward again, Penny peered from the window. Through the swirling gray mist the indistinct lights which marked the arching steel bridge were faintly visible. A pillar gradually emerged, and beside it the shadowy, slouching figure of a man. His burning cigarette made a pin point of light as he tossed it into the river.

  Suddenly Penny’s blood ran cold, for a second man appeared on the bridge. Stealthily he approached the one who gazed with such absorption into the inky waters. His purpose was shockingly clear to those who watched.

  Penny screamed a warning; the taxi driver halted his cab, shouting huskily. Their cries came too late.

  They saw the attacker leap upon his victim. There was a brief, intense struggle, then a body went hurtling from the bridge, fifty feet to the water below.

  “You saw that?” cried Penny. “That man was pushed off the bridge! He’ll drown!”

  “We’ve got to save him,” said Jerry.

  As the cab came to a standstill, Jerry, the driver, and the two girls, sprang to the pavement. In the murky darkness the bridge appeared deserted, but they could hear the pounding footsteps of the attacker who sought to escape.

  “Leave that guy to me!” exclaimed the cab driver. “I’ll get him!”

  Abandoning his taxi, he darted across the bridge in pursuit.

  Jerry and the girls ran to the river bank. Below they could see a man struggling in the water and hear his choked cry for help.

  Jerry kicked off his shoes.

  “Wait!” commanded Penny. “You may not need to jump in after him. That boat will be there in a minute.”

  She indicated a tugboat which had passed beneath the bridge and was swerving toward the struggling man. As the young people anxiously watched, they saw it lay to while the captain fished the victim from the water with a boat-hook.

  “Thank goodness for that,” murmured Penny. “I hope the poor fellow is all right.”

  “And I hope our driver catches the man who did the pushing,” declared Louise feelingly. “I never witnessed a more vicious attack in my entire life!”

  As she spoke, the cabman recrossed the bridge, scrambling down to the river bank.

  “The fellow got away,” he reported. “He had a car waiting.”

  “You didn’t see the license number?” Jerry inquired.

  “Not a chance.”

  “Too bad.”

  Penny was watching the tugboat which had been tied up only a short distance from the bridge.

  “Jerry, let’s go down there,” she proposed. “I want to be certain that man is all right.”

  The reporter hesitated, then consented. Leaving Louise with the cab driver, he and Penny descended the steep, muddy slope.

  The boat had been made fast to a piling. Face downward on the long leather seat of the pilot-house, lay the rescued man. Working over him was the captain, a short, stocky man with grease-smeared hands and clothing saturated with coal dust.

  “Anything we can do?” called Jerry from shore.

  “Don’t know yet if he’ll need a doctor,” answered the tugboat captain, barely glancing up. “It was a nasty fall.”

  Jerry leaped on deck, leaving Penny behind, for the space was too wide to be easily spanned.

  Inside the cabin Captain Dubbins was expertly applying artificial resuscitation, but he paused as the man on the seat showed signs of reviving.

  “Struck the water flat on his back,” he commented briefly. “Lucky I saw him fall or I never could have fished him out. Not on a night like this.”

  “The fellow didn’t fall,” corrected Jerry. “He was pushed.”

  Captain Dubbins glanced up, meeting the reporter’s gaze steadily. He offered no comment for the man on the seat groaned and rolled over.

  “Steady,” said the captain. “Take it easy. You’ll tumble off the seat if you don’t stay quiet.”

  “My back,” mumbled the man.

  In the glare of the swinging electric light his face was ghastly white and contorted with pain. Jerry judged him to be perhaps thirty-two. He wore tight-fitting blue trousers and a coarse flannel shirt.

  “My back,” he moaned again, pressing his hand to it.

  “You took a hard wrench when you hit the water,” commented the captain. “Here, let’s see.”

  He unbuttoned the shirt, and rolling the man over, started to strip it off.

  “No!” snarled the other with surprising spirit. “Leave me alone! Get away!”

  Jerry stepped forward to assist the captain. Ignoring the man’s feeble struggles, they pulled off his shirt.

  Immediately they understood why he had tried to prevent its removal. Across his bruised, battered back had been tattooed in blue and black, the repulsive figure of an octopus.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE OCTOPUS TATTOO

  Jerry bent closer to examine the strange tattoo. Between the two foremost arms of the octopus was sketched a single word: ALL.

  “‘All,’” he read aloud. “What does that signify?”

  His question angered the man on the couch. Snatching the shirt from Captain Dubbins, he made a feeble, ineffectual effort to get his arms into it.

  “I want out o’ here,” he muttered. “Quit starin’, you two, and give me a hand!”

  “Take it easy,” advised the tugboat captain soothingly. “We was just tryin’ to see if your back was badly hurt.”

  “Sorry,” the man muttered. Relaxing, he leaned weakly against the leather cushions. “I ain’t myself.”

  “You swallowed a little water,” remarked the captain.

  “A little?” growled the other. “Half the river went down my gullet.” As an afterthought he added:“Thanks for pullin’ me out.”

  “You’re welcome,” responded the captain dryly. “Ex-sailor, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. How did you know?”

  “I can usually tell ’em. Out of work?”

  “No.” The man’s curt answers made it clear that he resented questions.

  “You haven’t told us your name.”

  “John Munn,” the man replied after a slight hesitation.

  “We tried to catch the man who pushed you off the bridge,” contributed Jerry. “He got away.”

  The sailor gazed steadily, almost defiantly at the reporter.

  “No one pushed me off the bridge,” he said. “I fell.”

  “You fell?” echoed Jerry. “Why, I thought I saw you and another man struggling—”

  “You thought wrong,” the sailor interrupted. “I was leaning over, lookin’ into the water an’ I lost my balance. That was how it happened.”

  “As you please, Mr. Munn,” said Jerry with exaggerated politeness. “Oh, by the way, what’s the significance of that octopus thing on your back?”

  “Leave me alone, will you?” the sailor muttered. “Ain’t a man got any right to privacy?”

  “Better not bother him while he’s feeling so low,” said the tugboat captain significantly. “I’ll get him into some dry clothes.”

  “Nothing I can do?”

  “No, thanks, he’ll be all right.”

  “Well, so long,” Jerry said carelessly. With another curious glance directed at the sailor, he left the pilot-house, leaping from the deck to shore. Penny stood waiting.

  “Jerry, what was the matter with that fellow?” she demanded in a whisper. “What did he have on his back? And why did he lie about being pushed off the bri
dge?”

  “You heard us talking?”

  “I couldn’t help it. You were fairly shouting at each other for awhile.”

  “Mr. John Munn wasn’t very grateful to the captain for being saved. He took offense when we tried to look at his back.”

  “I thought I heard you say something about an octopus. Was it a tattoo, Jerry?”

  “Yes, and as strange a one as I’ve ever seen. The picture of an octopus. Between its forearms was the word: ‘All.’”

  “What could that mean?”

  “I tried to learn, but Mr. John Munn wasn’t in a talkative mood.”

  “It seems rather mysterious, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Jerry took Penny’s arm to aid her in making the steep climb. “Sailors have some funny ideas regarding self-decoration. This Munn was a peculiar fellow.”

  “It was odd that he would lie about being pushed off the bridge. Jerry, will you write it for the paper?”

  “The story isn’t worth more than a few lines, Penny. We can’t say that Munn was pushed off the bridge.”

  “Why not? It’s true.”

  “Munn would deny it, and then the Star would appear ridiculous.”

  “If I owned a paper, I certainly would use the story,” declared Penny. “Why, it has wonderful possibilities.”

  “I fear your father never would agree. You talk him into printing the yarn and I’ll be glad to write it.”

  “Oh, I suppose we must forget about it,” Penny grumbled. “All the same, I’d like nothing better than to work on the story myself.”

  Reaching the pavement, they cleaned mud from their shoes before walking on to the waiting taxi. Louise immediately plied them with questions, displaying particular interest in the octopus tattoo.

  “Do you suppose the man knew who pushed him off the bridge?” she inquired thoughtfully.

  “I’ll venture he did,” replied Penny. “Probably that was the reason he wouldn’t tell.”

  The taxi crossed the bridge and made slow progress away from the river. As the road gradually wound toward higher ground, the fog became lighter and the driver was able to make faster time. A clock chimed the hour of eleven.

  “How about stopping somewhere for a bite to eat?”Jerry suddenly proposed.

 

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