Chapter II: Part 2

"You'll have to excuse me," he finally apologized. "I haven't tasted such fine food in a year! Now what is it you want to know, Penny? I'm in a mood to tell almost anything."

"What was this scandal you uncovered about Mr. Cordell?"

"That's the one thing I can't reveal, but it concerned the owner of the Conway Steel Plant. They're bitter enemies you know."

Penny had not known, and the information interested her greatly.

"Did you talk it over with Mr. Cordell?" she asked.

"That was the mistake I made." Ben slowly stirred his coffee. "Cordell didn't have much to say, but the next thing I knew, I was out of a job and on the street."

"Are you sure that was why he discharged you?"

"What else?"

Penny hesitated, not wishing to hurt Ben's feelings. There were several things she had heard about him--that he was undependable and that he drank heavily.

"Most of the things you've been told about me aren't true," Ben said quietly, reading her thoughts. "Jason Cordell started a lot of stories intended to discredit me. He told editors that I had walked off a job and left an important story uncovered. He pictured me as a drunkard and a trouble maker."

"I'll talk to my father," Penny promised. "As short as the _Star_ is of employes, I'm sure there must be a place for you."

"You're swell," Ben said feelingly. "But I'm not asking for charity. I'll get along."

Refusing to talk longer about himself, he told Penny of amusing happenings along the waterfront. After dessert had been finished, she slipped a bill into his hand, and they left the restaurant.

Outside, the streets were dark, for in this section of the city, lights were few and far between. Ben offered to escort Penny back to the _Star_ office or wherever she wished to go.

"This isn't too safe a part of the city for a girl," he declared. "Especially after night."

"All the same, to me the waterfront is the most fascinating part of Riverview," Penny declared. "You seem to know this part of town well, Ben."

"I should. I've lived here for the past six months."

"You have a room?"

"I'll show you where I live," Ben offered. "Wait until we reach the next corner."

They walked on along the river docks, passing warehouses and vessels tied up at the wharves. Twice they passed guards who gazed at them with intent scrutiny. However, Ben was recognized, and with a friendly salute, the men allowed him to pass unchallenged.

"The waterfront is strictly guarded now," the reporter told Penny. "Even so, plenty goes on here that shouldn't."

"Meaning?"

Ben did not answer for they had reached the corner. Beyond, on a vacant lot which Penny suspected might also be a dumping ground, stood three or four dilapidated shacks.

"See the third one," Ben indicated. "Well, that's my little mansion."

"Oh, Ben!"

"It's not bad inside. A little cold when the wind blows through the chinks, but otherwise, fairly comfortable."

"Ben, haven't you any friends or relatives?"

"Not here. I thought I had a few friends, but they dropped me like a hot potato when I ran into trouble."

"This is no life for you, Ben. I'll certainly talk to my father tomorrow."

Ben smiled and said nothing. From his silence, Penny gathered that he had no faith she would be able to do anything for him.

They walked on, and as they approached a small freighter tied up at the wharf, Ben pointed it out.

"That's the _Snark_," he informed her.

The name meant nothing to Penny. "Who owns her?" she inquired carelessly.

"I wish I knew, Penny. There's plenty goes on aboard that vessel, but it's strictly hush-hush. I have my suspicions that--"

Ben suddenly broke off, for several men had appeared on the deck of the _Snark_. The vessel was some distance away, and in the darkness only shadowy forms were visible.

Seizing Penny's arm, Ben pulled her flat against a warehouse.

Amazed by his action, she started to protest. Then she understood. Aboard the _Snark_ there was some sort of disturbance or disagreement. The men, although speaking in low, almost inaudible tones, were arguing. Penny caught only one phrase: "Heave him overboard!"

"Ben, what's happening there?" she whispered anxiously.

"Don't know!" he answered. "But nothing good."

"Where are the guards?"

"Probably at the far end of their beats."

Aboard the _Snark_, there was a brief scuffle, as someone was dragged across the deck to the rail.

"That'll teach you!" they heard one of the men mutter.

Then the helpless victim was raised and dropped over the rail. Shrieking in terror, he fell with a great splash into the inky waters. Frantically, he began to struggle.

"Those fiends!" Penny cried. "They deliberately threw the man overboard, and he can't swim!"

CHAPTER
7
_MAN OVERBOARD!_

Penny and Ben ran to the edge of the dock, peering into the dark, oily waters. On the deck of the _Snark_ there was a murmur of voices, then silence.

Casting a quick glance upward, Penny was angered to see that the men who had been standing there had vanished into a cabin or companionway. Obviously, they had no intention of trying to aid the unfortunate man.

"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 would 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 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?"

CHAPTER
9
_THE METAL DISC_

"We're taking this man to the lockup," the policemen told Penny. "He'll be okay as soon as he sobers up."

"But he's not drunk," she protested earnestly. "Edward McClusky is a diver for the Evirude Salvage Co. Whatever ails him must be serious!"

The policeman stared at Penny and then down at the unconscious man on the stretcher. "A deep sea diver!" he exclaimed. "Well, that's different!"

Deftly he loosened the man's collar, and at once his hand encountered a small disc of metal fastened on a string about his neck. He bent down to read what was engraved on it.

"Edward McClusky, 125 West Newell street," he repeated aloud. "In case of illness or unconsciousness, rush this man with all speed to the nearest decompression lock."

"You see!" cried Penny. "He's had an attack of the bends!"

"You're right!" exclaimed the policeman. He consulted his companions. "Where is the nearest decompression chamber?"

"Aboard the _Yarmouth_ in the harbor."

"Then we'll rush him there." The policeman turned again to Penny. "You say you know this man and his family?"

"Not well, but they live only a few blocks from us."

"Then ride along in the ambulance," the policeman suggested.

Penny rode in front with the driver, who during the speedy dash to the river, questioned her regarding her knowledge of the unconscious man.

"I don't know much about him," she confessed. "Mrs. Weems, our housekeeper, is acquainted with his wife. I've heard her say that Mr. McClusky is subject to the bends. Once on an important diving job he stayed under water too long and wasn't properly put through a decompression lock when he came out. He is supposed to have regular check-ups from a doctor, but he is careless about it."

"Being careless this time might have cost him his life," the driver replied. "When a fellow is in his condition, he'll pass out quick if he isn't rushed to a lock. A night in jail would have finished him."

"Will he be all right now?"

"Can't tell," was the answer. "Even if he does come out of it, he may be paralyzed for life."

"Do you know what causes bends?" Penny inquired curiously.

"Nitrogen forms in bubbles in the blood stream," the driver answered, and drew up at the waterfront.

Penny followed the stretcher aboard the _Yarmouth_. In the emergency of offering quick treatment to McClusky, no one heeded her. The man was rushed into the air lock and placed on a long wooden bench.

A doctor went into the chamber with him, signaling for the pressure to be turned on. Bends could be cured, Penny knew, only by reproducing the deep water conditions under which the man previously had worked. Pressure would be raised, and then reduced by stages.

"How long will it take?" she asked a man who controlled the pressure gauges.

"Ordinarily only about twenty minutes," he replied. "But it will take at least two hours with this fellow."

"Will he come out of it all right?"

"Probably," was the answer. "Too soon to tell yet."

To wait two hours was out of the question for Penny. After discussing the matter with police, she agreed to notify Mrs. McClusky of her husband's difficulty. Glad to be rid of the duty, they dropped her off at the house on West Newell street.

Mrs. McClusky, a stout, red-faced woman with two small children clinging to her skirts, seemed stunned by the news.

"Oh, I knew this would happen!" she cried. "Ed has been so careless lately. Thank heavens, he was taken to the decompression chamber instead of the police station! A good friend of Ed's lost his life because no one understood what was wrong with him."

Penny called a taxicab for Mrs. McClusky while she excitedly bundled up the children.

"Bless you, for letting me know and for helping Ed," the woman murmured gratefully as she climbed into the cab. "Will you tell me your name?"

"Oh, I'm just a reporter at the _Star_," Penny returned carelessly. "I do hope your husband suffers no ill effects."

The taxi rattled away. With a tired sigh, Penny hastened on home. Lights burned downstairs, and both her father and Mrs. Weems had waited up for her.

"Now don't ask me where I've been," the girl pleaded, as she tossed her hat into a chair and collapsed on the sofa. "What a night! I've had enough adventures to fill a book."

Despite her admonition, both Mrs. Weems and her father plied her with questions. Penny told them about the deep sea diver and then worked back to the story of what had happened in the photography room.

"Are you certain anyone came through the skylight?" her father asked dubiously. "It doesn't sound convincing to me."

"Footprints don't lie, Dad. They were on top of the cabinet."

"The janitor may have stood on it to fix a light bulb or something."

Penny became slightly nettled. "I'm sure someone was sneaking around in that room tonight!" she declared flatly. "And it wasn't the janitor either!"

"I'll order the skylight kept locked except during office hours," Mr. Parker declared, yawning. "Any further adventures?"

"Plenty," Penny said, "but they'll keep until morning. There's just one thing I want to ask you. Are you in need of a good male reporter?"

Mr. Parker came instantly to life. "Just lead me to him," he said. "I'm desperate."

"Then why not hire Ben Bartell?"

Mr. Parker's face lost all animation. "I couldn't do that," he commented.

"Why not?"

"He's not the type of reporter I want on my paper."

"Exactly what do you mean?"

"Oh, Penny, I don't like to go into all this with you. Ben has a bad reputation. He's hot tempered and unreliable."

"Because he got into a fist fight with Jason Cordell?"

"Yes, and he foments trouble among employes. I have enough problems without adding him to the list."

"Ben didn't strike me as a trouble maker. Who told you about him?"

"Why, I don't remember--Jason Cordell, I suppose."

"That's just the point!" Penny cried. "Cordell hated him because Ben gained damaging evidence against him! Then to protect himself, Cordell told lies about Ben and got all of Riverview's publishers to blacklist him!"

"What gave you that idea, Penny?"

"I talked to Ben tonight."

"It strikes me he filled you with hot air," the newspaper owner commented dryly. "Penny, you must learn not to believe everything you hear."

"Then you'll not consider hiring Ben?"

"Afraid not," her father declined. "I've no special liking for Jason Cordell, who always impressed me as a stubborn, unscrupulous fellow, but I certainly can't employ Ben without more evidence in his favor than you have presented."

"There is more," said Penny, "but I'm too tired to tell you tonight."

She went wearily to bed, and though she slept hard, still felt tired when the alarm went off the next morning. Hastening through breakfast, she rode with her father to the office, and en route related to him how Ben had rescued the stranger from the river.

"Commendable," nodded her father, "but it still doesn't prove he isn't a trouble maker."

"Oh, Dad, I think you're being unfair to him."

"And I think you have been unduly influenced," Mr. Parker returned. "However, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll have Mr. DeWitt investigate the young man. If his findings are good, we'll give him another chance."

"Oh, Dad! That's grand!" Penny cried, squeezing his arm.

At the office, Penny found a letter tucked behind the roller of her typewriter. Although addressed to her, it had been sent to the _Star_. Instantly she knew the reason, for it was from Jerry Livingston, who had worked for the paper many years.

Eagerly, she ripped open the envelope and read the message. Jerry, in an Army camp in the west, expected to pilot a big bomber to Hawaii within the next few weeks. "Best regards to the newspaper gang," he concluded.

"Any news from Jerry?" inquired Mr. DeWitt, who had recognized the handwriting.

Penny gave him the letter to read.

"Let's tack it on the bulletin board," the editor suggested. "Jerry has a lot of friends here."

Penny allowed him to keep the letter and thought no more of it. Soon she became absorbed in the morning's work. There were obituaries to write as usual, but now and then Mr. DeWitt gave her a more interesting task. Seemingly he had forgotten about her unfortunate experience at the fire.

But Penny had not forgotten. It troubled her that Salt's camera remained missing. When he came to the desk to drop a handful of finished pictures, she asked him what he had learned.

"Haven't been able to trace the car yet," he answered. "But we'll locate it eventually. Don't worry about it, Penny."

The morning wore on. She saw Elda Hunt read Jerry's letter on the bulletin board, and later giggle and laugh as she talked with other girls in the office.

"That little witch said something uncomplimentary about me!" Penny thought. "If I weren't the publisher's daughter, I certainly would tangle with her! Maybe I will yet!"

At twelve o'clock, she put on her hat, intending to go to lunch. As she turned toward the wooden barrier gate, she saw that the receptionist was talking to a male visitor.

"I don't know the name of the girl," she heard him say distinctly, "but she saved my life. I know she works on the _Star_ and I want to thank her."

He turned then and saw her. "Why, she looks like the one my wife described!" he exclaimed.

"Mr. McClusky!" Penny greeted him, extending her hand. "I'm so glad you're up and around today. How do you feel?"

"Fine!" he boomed in a voice which carried to every desk in the room. "Thanks to you. Aren't you the girl who saved my life?"

"I asked the police to take you to the _Yarmouth_ if that's what you mean," Penny said self-consciously. "As for saving your life--"

"You certainly did, and the doc will say the same thing. Another ten minutes and I'd have been too far gone to have pulled out of it. Now I'll be okay--at least unless I have another attack of bends."

"I'm very glad you're feeling better," Penny said, edging away. She was painfully conscious that all of the reporters were listening to the conversation. All noise in the office had ceased.

"If there's anything I can do for you, just let me know!" the diver offered heartily.

"Sometime when I need a good waterfront story, I may call on you," Penny said jokingly.

"If I can give you a tip on anything, I sure will," he promised. "I know every inch of the river, and most of the folks that live along 'er."

"Have you heard of a boat called the _Snark_?" Penny asked impulsively.

McClusky's expression changed. He lowered his voice. "Sure, I know the _Snark_," he nodded soberly. "And here's a little tip. If you want a story--a good hot one with plenty o' trouble hooked up to it, then just go hunting around her berth. Maybe sometime I can help you."

With a friendly nod, he was gone.

CHAPTER
10
_COUNTRY SKIES_

No more was said to Penny about her unfortunate experience at the Conway Steel Plant explosion, but she considered herself responsible for Salt's lost camera. Although the plates no longer would have picture value from the newspaper standpoint, she thought that they might provide a clue to the identity of the man who had escaped by automobile.

Police had been unsuccessful in apprehending any of the persons responsible for the explosion, and the story had died out of the newspapers.

After working for a week at the _Star_, Penny was tired in body and worn in mind. However, she was beginning to enjoy the routine. To receive her first hard-earned pay check gave her a real thrill of pleasure.

Louise Sidell, a school girl friend who lived near the Parker home, asked Penny how she planned to spend the money.

"I think I'll have the check framed," Penny laughed.

She and Louise were sitting on the front steps of the Parker home, watching a chattering squirrel on the lawn. It was a warm, sunny day with scarcely a cloud coasting around in the azure sky.

"Wish we could have a picnic or go to the country," Louise commented wistfully.

"Why not?" Penny asked, getting up. "I intended to drive to the waterfront this morning and see how Ben Bartell is making out. Then we could go out into the country from there."

"Who is Ben Bartell?" Louise inquired with interest.

Penny related her experience near the _Snark_, telling of the stranger who had been given shelter by the newspaper reporter.

"Ben probably has learned all about him by this time," she added. "Shall we stop there?"

"Let's," agreed Louise enthusiastically.

Dressed in comfortable slacks, the chums prepared sandwiches, and then, in Penny's battered old car, drove to the waterfront.

"I haven't much gasoline, so we can't go far," she warned as they parked not far from the vacant lot where Ben's shack stood. "Wonder if anyone will be here?"

Walking across the lot which was strewn with tin cans and rocks, they tapped lightly on the sagging door of the shack. Almost at once it was opened by Ben who looked even less cheerful than when Penny last had seen him.

"Well, how is your patient this morning?" she inquired brightly.

"He's gone," replied Ben flatly. "My watch with him!"

"Your watch!"

Ben nodded glumly. "That's the thanks a fellow gets! I saved his life, took him in and gave him my bed. Then he repays me by stealing my watch and my only good sweater. It makes me sick!"

"Oh, Ben, that is a shame! You didn't learn who the man was?"

"He wouldn't put out a thing. All I know is that his first name was Webb."

"Did you try to find him at the _Snark_?" Penny questioned.

"Sure, but there they just raise their eyebrows, and say they never heard of such a person. So far as anyone aboard that tub is concerned, no one ever fell into the brink either!"

"Ben, why not report to police?"

"I considered it, but what good would it do?" Ben shrugged. "The watch is gone. That's all I care about."

"But those men aboard the _Snark_ must be criminals! We know they pushed Webb off the boat."

"Probably had good reason for doing it too," Ben growled. "But we can't prove anything--no use to try."

"Ben, you're just discouraged."

"Who wouldn't be? I had planned on pawning that watch. It would have kept me going for a couple of weeks at least. I'd join the Army, only they've turned me down three times already."

Penny and Louise had not expected to stay long, but with the reporter in such a black mood, they thought they should do something to restore his spirits. Entering the dingy little shack, Penny talked cheerfully of her newspaper experiences, and told him that she had spoken to her father about adding him to the editorial staff.

"What'd he say?" the reporter demanded quickly.

"He promised to look into the matter."

"Which means he doesn't want me."

"Not necessarily. My father takes his time in arriving at a decision. But it always is a just one."

"Well, thanks anyhow," Ben said gloomily. "I appreciate how you've tried to help, Penny. It's just no use. Maybe I'll pull out of here and go to another city where I'm not known."

"Don't do that," Penny pleaded. "Sit tight for a few days, and something will break. I'm sure of it."

Knowing that Ben was too proud to take money, she did not offer any. But before leaving, she gave him a generous supply of their picnic food, and invited him to ride along into the country.

"No, thanks," he declined. "I would only spoil the fun. I'm in no mood today for anything except grouching."

The visit, brief as it was, tended to depress the girls. However, once they were speeding along the country road, their spirits began to revive. By the time they had reached a little town just beyond the state line, they had forgotten Ben and his troubles.

"Let's stop somewhere near Blue Hole Lake," Penny proposed. "This locality is as pretty as we'll find anywhere. Besides, I haven't much gasoline."

"Suits me," agreed Louise, amiable as always.

Finding a grove within view of the tiny lake, they spread out their picnic lunch. Afterwards, they stretched flat on their backs beneath the trees and relaxed.

"It's getting late," Penny finally remarked regretfully. "Time we're starting home."

"I want a drink of water first," Louise declared. "Pass me the thermos, will you please?"

"It's empty." Penny uncorked the bottle and held it upside down. "But we can stop at a farmhouse. I see one just up the road."

Returning to the car, they drove a few hundred yards down the highway, pulling up near a large two-story frame house which bore a sign in the front yard: "Tourist rooms."

In response to their knock on the side door, a pleasant, tired-faced woman of mid-fifty came to admit them.

"I'm full up," she said, assuming that they wished to rent a room. "My last suite was taken by the professor and his wife."

Penny explained that all they wanted was a drink of water.

"Goodness, just help yourselves at the well!" the woman exclaimed. "Wait, I'll fetch a clean glass."

The deep well, which operated with a chain and a crank, was situated in a vine-covered summer house only a few yards away. The farm woman, who said her name was Mrs. Herman Leonard, showed them how to operate it. The water, coming from deep in the earth, was cool and sweet.

"It must keep you quite busy, running a tourist home," Penny said to make conversation.

"Indeed, it does," sighed the woman. "Most of my roomers aren't so bad, but this last couple runs me ragged. They seem to expect hotel service."

"The professor and his wife?"

"Yes, Professor and Mrs. Bettenridge."

"Bettenridge," Penny repeated alertly. "I've heard that name before. Does the professor come from Silbus City?"

"He never said. But he's an inventor, and he brought his invention with him."

"What sort of invention is it?"

"A light ray machine which explodes mines on land or sea. The affair is very complicated."

At Penny's expression of doubt, Mrs. Leonard added: "It really works too! The first night the professor came here, he exploded a mine out in the lake. Such a splash as it made! I saw it with my own eyes! The professor expects to sell it to the Army or Navy for a lot of money."

"If it will do all he claims, why hasn't the government taken it over before this?"

"Oh, it takes a long while to complete negotiations," Mrs. Leonard replied. "The professor is expecting an officer here tomorrow to witness another demonstration."

"Where is the machine kept? In your house?"

"Oh, dear no! The professor has it in a little shack down by the lake. You can see the place from here."

Mrs. Leonard led the girls a short distance from the summer house, pointing through the trees to a knoll at the edge of Blue Hole Lake.

"The professor and his wife went down there a few minutes ago," she revealed. "Why don't you ask them to show you the invention? They might do it."

"I doubt if we have time."

"Oh, let's take time," Louise urged. "It sounds so interesting, Penny."

Thus urged, Penny agreed, and with her chum, walked down the hill toward the lake.

"It sounds fishy to me," she declared skeptically. "Probably this professor is just a crack-pot who thinks he has a wonderful invention, but hasn't."

"Mrs. Leonard said she saw a successful demonstration."

"I know, Lou. But how could a light ray machine explode mines that were under water? Why, if it could be done, military warfare would be revolutionized!"

"Unbelievable changes are coming every day."

"This one certainly is unbelievable! I'll take no stock in it unless I see the machine work with my own eyes!"

Approaching the shack, the girls saw no one. The door was closed. And it was locked, Penny discovered, upon testing it.

"No one here," she said in disappointment.

"They must be around somewhere," Louise declared, unwilling to give up. "Maybe that car belongs to them."

A sedan stood in a weed-grown lane not far away. Penny, turning to gaze carelessly at it, suddenly became excited.

"Lou, this trip has been worth while!" she cried. "Look at the license number of that auto! It's D F 3005!"

CHAPTER
11
_A FAMILIAR CAR_

Louise gazed again at the automobile parked in the lane and at its mud-splattered license number.

"D F 3005," she read aloud. "What about it, Penny?"

"Why, that is the number of the car that went off with Salt Sommers' camera and plates the night of the big explosion," her chum explained excitedly.

"You're sure it's the same auto?"

"It certainly looks like it. Now I remember! Salt traced the license to an owner named Bettenridge!"

Hopeful of recovering the lost property, Penny, with Louise close at her side, tramped through the high grass to the deserted lane. Apparently the car owner had not gone far, for the doors had not been locked.

Penny climbed boldly in. A glance assured her that the camera or plates were not on the back seat where they had been tossed. As Penny ran her hands beneath the cushions, Louise plucked nervously at her skirt.

"Someone is coming, Penny! A man and a woman! They're heading straight toward this car."

"All the better," declared Penny, undisturbed. "If they own the car, we may be able to learn what became of Salt's property."

The man, middle-aged, was tall and thin and wore rimless glasses. He walked with a very slight limp. His wife, a striking brunette, who appeared many years his junior, might have been attractive had she not resorted to exaggerated make-up.

"Good afternoon," the professor said, eyeing the girls sharply. "My car seems to interest you."

"I was searching for something I thought might be on the back seat," Penny explained.

"Indeed? I'm afraid I don't understand."

"I was looking for a camera and plates."

"I regret I still fail to follow you," the man said stiffly. "Why should our car contain a camera? My wife and I take no interest in photography."

"Aren't you Professor Bettenridge?"

"I am."

Penny gazed again at the car. "This must be the automobile," she said, deeply troubled. "On the night of the Conway Steel Plant explosion, I tossed a camera and photographic plates into the back seat to prevent them being destroyed by a mob."

"Not this car," said the professor with quiet finality. "I have not been in Riverview for nearly a month."

"A woman who resembled your wife was driving the car."

"Are you accusing me of stealing a camera?" the woman demanded angrily.

"Oh, no! Certainly not! I just thought--" Penny became confused and finished: "The camera was expensive and didn't belong to me."

"I know nothing about the matter! You certainly have your nerve accusing me!"

"Come, come," said the professor, giving his wife a significant, warning glance. "There is no need for disagreement. The young ladies are quite welcome to search the car."

"We've already looked," Penny admitted. "The camera isn't there."

"Isn't it possible you were mistaken in the automobile?"

"I may have jotted down a wrong license number," Penny acknowledged reluctantly. "I'm sorry."

She turned to leave.

"That's quite all right," the professor assured her, his tone now becoming more friendly. "Do you girls live near here?"

"In Riverview," Louise supplied eagerly. "We drove over for a picnic. Mrs. Leonard told us about your light ray machine!"

"Indeed." Professor Bettenridge looked none too pleased.

"She said you might be willing to show it to us."

"Mrs. Leonard displays a remarkable interest in our affairs," Mrs. Bettenridge commented sarcastically.

Again her husband shot her a warning glance.

"My dear, it is only natural that she should be interested in such an amazing machine as ours," he said. "I see no reason why the young ladies should not view it."

"Oh, may we?" Louise cried eagerly.

Although his wife scowled with displeasure, the professor bade the girls follow him to the nearby shack. The door was padlocked and he opened it with a key.

Inside, the room was bare of furniture. There were a few boxes and a large table upon which rested a sizeable object covered with canvas.

"My secret ray machine is expected to revolutionize warfare," the professor said proudly. "Behold the product of fifteen years of faithful work!"

Dramatically he jerked aside the canvas cover, revealing a complicated mechanism of convex and concave mirrors which rotated on their bases. In the center of the machine was a small crystal ball.

"How does it operate?" Louise asked, deeply impressed.

"I am afraid a technical explanation would be too involved for you to understand. Briefly, a musical note produced on the crystal globe, is carried by ultra violet ray to the scene of the mine. The vibration will cause any unstable substance such as melinite to explode."

"And you claim you actually can explode mines with this machine?" Penny asked.

"I not only claim it, I have demonstrated the machine's powers," Professor Bettenridge replied. "How I do it, of course, is my own secret."

"Will you explode a mine for us now?" Louise questioned eagerly.

Professor Bettenridge looked mildly amused. "My dear young lady," he said. "Do you realize that mines are very expensive? I have been able to obtain only a few, and naturally I must save them for official tests."

"Of course," stammered Louise. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Besides, the demonstrations have a certain element of danger," the professor resumed. "I never give one without my assistant."

Penny, who had been studying the machine with increasing interest, remarked that a story about it might make an interesting feature for the _Star_. To her surprise, the professor did not seem to favor the idea.

"You are employed by a newspaper?" he inquired.

"Yes, the _Star_."

"I must ask you to say nothing about this matter," the professor directed. "Under no circumstance could I permit a story to be written about my work."

"But why?"

"Publicity at this time might rob me of an opportunity to sell the machine. A very prominent man, James Johnson, is now considering its purchase."

"But I thought you were expecting to sell your invention to the government," Penny said, puzzled.

Professor Bettenridge bit his lip. Obviously, he was beginning to share his wife's annoyance at the girls.

"I regret I can't tell you all the details of my negotiations," he said. "My wife and I are very tired, so if you will excuse us--"

"Certainly," said Penny, taking the hint. "Louise and I must be on our way to Riverview."

They started to leave, but before they could reach the door, someone tapped lightly on it. Professor Bettenridge and his wife exchanged a quick glance which Penny could not fathom. For a fleeting instant, she thought they both looked frightened.

Then the professor went to the door and opened it. A little man in a derby hat and with an apologetic manner stood on the threshold.

"Mr. Johnson!" exclaimed the professor, extending his hand. "My wife and I did not expect you until tomorrow."

"I came a little sooner than I planned," the newcomer admitted. "A business conference I had expected to attend was postponed until tomorrow. Naturally, that has upset my schedule. I had hoped you might consent to a demonstration of your machine tonight."

"Tonight?" The professor seemed caught off guard. "But that is impossible!"

"Impossible?" inquired Mr. Johnson. "Why?"

"For one thing, my assistant is not here."

"Can't you get in touch with him?"

"I doubt it. Besides, I have another engagement." The professor hesitated and added: "Officials of the Navy have invited me to confer with them tonight at the Gables Hotel in Riverview. I rather expect them to make me a very attractive offer for my invention."