The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

  “There he is!” Ben exclaimed, suddenly catching another glimpse of the bobbing head. “About done in too!”

  Kicking off his shoes and stripping off his coat, the reporter dived from the dock. He struck the water with an awkward splash, but Penny was relieved to see that he really could swim well. He struck out for the drowning man, but before he could reach him, the fellow slipped quietly beneath the surface.

  Close by were two barges lashed together, and the current would take a body in that direction. Ben jack-knifed and went down into the inky waters in a surface dive. Unable to find the man, he came up, filled his lungs in a noisy gulp, and went down again. He was under such a long time that Penny became frantic with anxiety.

  She decided to turn in an alarm for the city rescue squad. But before she could act, Ben surfaced again, and this time she saw that he held the other man by the hair.

  As Ben slowly towed the fellow toward the dock, Penny realized that she must find some way to get them both out of the river. She could expect no help from anyone aboard the Snark. Gazing upward again, she thought she saw a man watching her from the vessel’s bow, but as her gaze focused upon him, he retreated into deeper shadow, beyond view.

  No guards were anywhere near, and the entire waterfront seemed deserted. Penny’s eyes fastened upon a rope which hung loosely over a dock post. It was long enough to serve her purpose, and finding it unattached, she hurled one end toward Ben.

  He caught it on the second try and made a loop fast about the body of the man he towed. Penny then pulled them both to the dock.

  “You can’t haul us up,” Ben instructed from below. “Just hold on, and I think I can get out of here by myself.”

  He swam off in the darkness and was lost to view. Penny clung desperately to the rope, knowing that if she relaxed for an instant, the man, already half drowned, would submerge for good. Her arms began to ache. It seemed to her she could not hold on another instant.

  Then Ben, his clothes plastered to his thin body, came running across the planks.

  Without a word he seized the rope, and together they raised the man to the dock. In the darkness Penny saw only that he was slender, and in civilian clothes.

  Stretching him out on the dock boards, they prepared to give artificial resuscitation. But it was unnecessary. For at the first pressure on his back, the man rolled over and muttered: “Cut it out. I’m okay.”

  Then he lay still, exhausted, but breathing evenly.

  “You were lucky to get him, Ben,” Penny said as she knelt beside the stranger. “If the current had carried him beneath those barges, he never would have been taken out alive.”

  “I had to dive deep,” Ben admitted. “Found him plastered right against the side of the first barge. Yeah, I was lucky, and so is he.”

  The man stirred again, and sat up. Penny tried to support him, but he moved away, revealing that he wanted no help.

  “Who pushed you overboard?” Ben asked.

  The man stared at him and did not answer.

  Observing that Ben was shivering from cold, and that the stranger too was severely chilled, Penny proposed calling either the rescue squad or an ambulance.

  “Not on your life,” muttered the rescued man, trying to get up. “I’m okay, and I’m getting out of here.”

  With Ben’s help, he managed to struggle to his feet, but they buckled under him when he tried to walk.

  The man looked surprised.

  “We’ll have to call the rescue squad,” Penny decided firmly.

  “I have a better idea,” Ben supplied. “We can take him to my shack.”

  Penny thought that the man should have hospital treatment. However, he sided with Ben, insisting he could walk to the nearby shack.

  “I’m okay,” he repeated again. “All I need is some dry clothes.”

  Supported on either side, the man managed to walk to the shack. Ben unlatched the door and hastily lighting an oil lamp, helped the fellow to the bed where he collapsed.

  “Ben, I think we should have a doctor—” Penny began again, but Ben silenced her with a quick look.

  Drawing her to the door he whispered: “Let him have his way. He’s not badly off, and he has reason for not wanting anyone to know what happened. If we call the rescue squad or a doctor, he’ll have to answer to a lot of questions.”

  “There are some things I’d like to know myself.”

  “We’ll get the answers if we’re patient. Now stay outside for a minute or two until I can get his clothes changed, and into dry ones myself.”

  Penny stepped outside the shack. A chill wind blew from the direction of the river, but with its freshness was blended the disagreeable odor of factory smoke, fish houses and dumpings of refuse.

  “Poor Ben!” she thought. “He never should be living in such a place as this! No matter what he’s done, he deserves another chance.”

  Exactly what she believed about the reporter, Penny could not have said. His courageous act had aroused her deep admiration. On the other hand, she was aware that his story regarding Jason Cordell might have been highly colored to cover his own shortcomings.

  Within a few minutes Ben opened the door to let her in again. The stranger had been put to bed in a pair of the reporter’s pajamas which were much too small for him. In the dim light from the oil lamp, she saw that he had a large, square-shaped face, with a tiny scar above his right eye. It was not a pleasant face. Gazing at him, Penny felt a tiny chill pass over her.

  Ben also had changed his clothes. He busied himself starting a fire in the rusty old stove, and once he had a feeble blaze, hung up all the garments to dry.

  The room was so barren that Penny tried not to give an appearance of noticing. There was only a table, one chair, the sagging bed, and a shelf with a few cracked dishes.

  “I’ll get along with him all right,” Ben said, obviously expecting Penny to leave.

  She refused to take the hint. Instead she said:“This man will either have to go to a hospital or stay here all night. He’s in no condition to walk anywhere.”

  “He can have my bed tonight,” Ben said. “I’ll manage.”

  The stranger’s intent eyes fastened first upon Penny and then Ben. But not a word of gratitude did he speak.

  “You’ll need more blankets and food,” Penny said, thinking aloud. “I can get them from Mrs. Weems.”

  “Please don’t bother,” Ben said stiffly. “We’ll get along.”

  Though rebuffed, Penny went over to the bedside. Instantly she saw a bruise on the stranger’s forehead and a sizeable swollen place.

  “Why, he must have struck his head!” she exclaimed, then corrected herself. “But he didn’t strike anything that we saw. Ben, he must have been slugged while aboard the Snark!”

  The stranger turned so that he looked directly into the girl’s clear blue eyes. “Nuts!” he said emphatically.

  “Our guest doesn’t seem to care to discuss the little affair,” Ben commented dryly. “I wonder why? He escaped drowning by only a few breaths.”

  “Listen,” said the stranger, hitching up on an elbow. “You fished me out of the water, but that don’t give you no right to put me through the third degree. My business is my business—see!”

  “Who are you?” demanded Penny.

  She thought he would refuse to answer, but after a moment he said curtly: “James Webster.”

  Both Penny and Ben were certain that the man had given a fictitious name.

  “You work aboard the Snark?” Ben resumed the questioning.

  “No.”

  “Then what were you doing there?”

  “And why were you pushed overboard?” Penny demanded as the man failed to answer the first question.

  “I wasn’t pushed,” he said sullenly.

  “Then how did you get into the water?” Penny pursued the subject ruthlessly.

  “I tripped and fell.”

  Penny and Ben looked at each other, and the latter shrugged, indicating that it woul
d do no good to question the man. Determined to keep the truth from them, he would tell only lies.

  “You can’t expect us to believe that,” Penny said coldly. “We happened to see you when you went overboard. There was a scuffle. Then the men who threw you in, disappeared. For the life of me, I can’t see why you would wish to protect them.”

  “There are a lot of things you can’t see, sister,” he retorted. “Now will you go away, and let me sleep?”

  “Better go,” Ben urged in a low tone. “Anyone as savage as this egg, doesn’t need a doctor. I’ll let him stay here tonight, then send him on his way tomorrow morning.”

  “You really think that is best?”

  “Yes, I do, Penny. We could call the police, but how far would we get? This bird would deny he was pushed off the boat, and we would look silly. We couldn’t prove a thing.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Penny sighed. “Well, I hope everything goes well tonight.”

  Moving to the door, she paused there, for some reason reluctant to leave.

  “I’ll take you home,” Ben offered.

  “No, stay here,” Penny said firmly. “I’m not afraid to go alone. I only hope you get along all right with your guest.”

  Ben followed her outside the shack.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, once beyond hearing of the stranger. “This fellow is a tough hombre, but I know how to handle him. If he tries to get rough, I’ll heave him out.”

  “I never saw such ingratitude, Ben. After you risked your life to save him—”

  “He’s just a dock rat,” the reporter said carelessly.

  “Even so, why should he refuse to answer questions?”

  “Obviously, he’s mixed up in some mess and doesn’t dare talk, Penny. I’ve always had my suspicions about the Snark and her owners.”

  “What do you mean, Ben?”

  Before the reporter could answer, there came a thumping from inside the shack. Welcoming the interruption, Ben turned quickly to re-enter.

  “Can’t tell you now,” he said hurriedly. “We’ll talk some other time. So long, and don’t worry about anything.”

  Firmly, he closed the door.

  Penny stood there a moment until satisfied that there was no further disturbance inside the shack. Then with a puzzled shake of her head, she crossed the vacant lot to the docks.

  “Those men aboard the Snark should be arrested,” she thought indignantly. “I wish I could learn more about them.”

  She stood for a moment lost in deep reflection. Then with sudden decision, she turned and walked toward the Snark.

  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 b
een 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?”