The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

  “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.
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  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!”

  CHAPTER 2

  FRONT PAGE NEWS

  Although one of the main concrete piers had been damaged by the explosion, the approaches to the bridge remained intact. Several automobiles drew up at the curbing, but others, their drivers unaware of what had caused the blast, sped on across.

  From their position beneath the bridge, Louise, Penny, and the watchman could see the entire steel structure quiver. The underpinning had been weakened, but whether or not it was safe for traffic to proceed, only an engineer could determine.

  “Oughtn’t we stop the cars?” Penny demanded, for the watchman seemed stunned by what had happened. His eyes were fixed on the opposite shore, at a point amid the trees where the pilot of the motorboat had crawled from the water.

  “Yes, yes,” he muttered, bringing his attention once more to the bridge. “No chance to catch that saboteur now. We must stop the autos.”

  Shouting as he ran, the watchman scrambled up the steep slope to the western approach of the bridge. Realizing that he would be unable to cope with traffic moving from two directions, the girls hesitated, and then decided to help him. Their wet shoes provided poor traction on the hill. Slipping, sliding, clothing plastered to their bodies, they reached the bridge level.

  “You hold the cars at this end!” ordered the watchman as he glimpsed them. “I’ll lower the gate at the other side!”

  Stationing themselves at the entrance to the bridge, Louise and Penny forced motorists to halt at the curb. Within a minute or two, a long line had formed.

  “What’s wrong?” demanded one irate driver. “An accident?”

  “Bridge damaged,” Penny replied tersely.

  All along the line horns began to toot. A few of the more curious motorists alighted and came to bombard the girls with questions. In the midst of the excitement, one of the cars broke out of line and crept to the very end of the pavement.

  “Listen, Mister,” Penny began indignantly to the driver. “You’ll have to back up. You can’t cross—” she broke off as she recognized the man at the wheel. “Dad! Well, for Pete’s sake!”

  “Penny!” the newspaper man exclaimed, no less dumbfounded. “What are you and Louise doing here? And in those wet clothes?”

  “Policing the bridge. Dad, there’s a big story for you here! A saboteur just blew up one of the piers by ramming it with a motorboat!”

  “I thought I heard an explosion as I was driving down Clark Street!” exclaimed Mr. Parker. Opening the car door, he leaped out and wrapped his overcoat about Penny’s shivering shoulders. “Now tell me exactly what happened.”

  As calmly as they could, the girls reported how the saboteur had dynamited the bridge.

  “This is a front page story!” the newspaper owner cried jubilantly. “Penny, you and Louise take my car and scoot for home. When you get there call the Star office. Have Editor DeWitt send a reporter to help me—Jerry Livingston, if he’s around. We’ll need a crack photographer too—Salt Sommers.”

  “I can get the call through much quicker by running to the drugstore.” Penny jerked her head toward a cluster of buildings not far from the bridge entrance. “As for going home at a moment like this, never!”

  “So you want a case of pneumonia?” Mr. Parker barked. “How’d you get wet anyhow?”

  “Sailboat,” Penny answered briefly. She took the car keys from her father, and pressed them upon Louise.

  “But I don’t want to go if you don’t,” her chum argued.

  “You’re more susceptible to pneumonia than I am,”Penny said, giving her a little push. “Dash on home, and get into warm, dry clothing. And don’t forget to take off that life preserver before you hop into bed!”

  Thus urged, Louise reluctantly backed Mr. Parker’s car to the main street, and drove away.

  “Now I’ll slosh over to the drugstore and call the Star office,” Penny offered briskly. “Lend me a nickel, Dad.”

  “I’m crazy as an eel to let you stay,” Mr. Parker muttered, fumbling in his pocket for a coin. “You should have gone with Louise.”

  “Let’s argue about that tomorrow, Dad. Right now we must work fast unless we want other newspapers to scoop us on this story.”

  While her father remained behind to direct bridge traffic, Penny ran to the nearest drugstore. Darting into the one telephone booth ahead of an astonished woman customer, she called Editor DeWitt of the Star. Tersely she relayed her father’s orders.

  “Jerry and Salt will be out there in five minutes,” DeWitt promised. “Now what can you give us on the explosion? Did you witness it?”

  “Did I?” echoed Penny. “Why, I practically caused it!”

  With no further encouragement, she launched into a vivid, eye-witness account of the bridge dynamiting. As she talked, a re-write man on another telephone, took down everything she reported.

  “Now about the saboteur’s motorboat,” he said as she finished. “Can you give us a description of it?”

  “Not a very good one,” Penny admitted. “It looked like one of Ottman’s rented boats with an outboard attached. In fact, Louise and I saw a similar craft earlier in the evening which was cruising not far from the bridge.”

  “Then you think the saboteur may have rented his boat from Ottman’s?”

  “Well, it’s a possibility.”

  “You’ve given us some good stuff!” the rewrite man praised. “DeWitt’s getting out an extra. Shoot us any new facts as soon as you can.”

  “Dad’s on the job full blast,” Penny answered. “He’ll soon have all the details for you.”

  Slamming out of the telephone booth, she ran back to the bridge. Her father no longer directed traffic, but had turned the task over to a pompous motorist who thoroughly enjoyed his authority.

  “You can’t cross, young lady,” he said as she sought to pass him. “Bridge’s unsafe.”

  “I’m a reporter for the Star,” Penny replied confidently.

  The man stared at her bedraggled clothing. “A reporter?” he inquired dubiously.

  Just then a police car, its siren shrilling, sped up to the bridge. Close behind came another car which bore a printed card “Star” on its windshield. It braked to a standstill nearby and out leaped two young men, Jerry Livingston and Salt Sommers.

  “Hello, Penny!” Jerry greeted her. “Might have known you’d be here. Where’s the Chief?”

  “Somewhere, sleuthing around,” Penny answered. “I lost him a minute ago when I telephoned the Star office.”

  Salt Sommers, a felt hat cocked low over his eyes, began unloading photographic equipment from the coupe.

  “Where’ll I get the best shots?” he asked Penny. “Other side or this?”

  “Under the bridge,” she directed crisply. “None of the damage shows from above.”

  Salt slung the heavy camera over his shoulder, and disappeared down the incline which led to the river bed.

  Before Jerry and Penny could move away, Mr. Parker hurried up with the watchman in tow.

  “This is Carl Oaks, bridge guard,” he announced without preliminary. “Take him over to the drugstore, Jerry, and put him on the wire. We want his complete story for the Star.”

  “Not so fast,” drawled a voice from behind. “We want to talk to Carl Oaks.”

  One of the policemen, a detective, moved over to the group and began to question the watchman.

  “It wasn’t my fault the bridge was dynamited,” the old fellow whined. “I shouted at th
e boatman and fired twice.”

  “He got away?”

  “Yeah. Jumped overboard before the boat struck the pier. Last I saw of him, he was climbing out of the river on the other shore.”

  “At what point?”

  “Right over there.” The watchman indicated a clump of maples beyond the far side of the bridge. “I could see him plainly from the beach.”

  “And what were you doing on the beach?” questioned the detective sharply.

  “Ask her,” Carl Oaks muttered, eyeing Penny.

  “Mr. Oaks helped my friend and me when our sailboat upset,” she supported his story. “It really wasn’t his fault that he was away from his post at the time of the explosion.”

  Both Penny and the watchman were questioned at considerable length by the detective. Meanwhile, other officers were searching for the escaped saboteur. Several members of the squad went beneath the bridge to inspect the damage and collect shattered sections of the wrecked boat.

  Dismissed at last by the detective, Penny, her father and Jerry crossed the bridge to join in the search. Carl Oaks, whose answers did not entirely satisfy police, was detained for further questioning.

  “Penny, tell me more about this fellow Oaks,” Mr. Parker urged his daughter. “I suppose he did his best to stop the saboteur?”

  “It seemed so to me,” Penny replied slowly. “He was a miserable marksman, though. I guess he must have been excited when he fired.”

  Following a trail of moving lights, the trio soon came to a group of policemen who were examining footprints in the mud of the river bank.

  “This is where the saboteur got away,” Penny whispered to her father. “Do you suppose the fellow is still hiding in the woods?”

  “Not likely,” Mr. Parker answered. “A job of this sort would be planned in every detail.”

  The newspaper owner’s words were borne out a few minutes later when a policeman came upon a clump of bushes where an automobile had stood. Grass was crushed, a small patch of oil was visible, and the soft earth showed tire imprints.

  Penny, her father and Jerry, did not remain long in the vicinity. Satisfied that the saboteur had made his get-away by car, they were eager to report their findings to the Star office.