Chapter II: Part 2

Jerry sniffed the air. "Neco's," he decided. "They're one of the strongest cigarettes on the market and not easy to get. Now that you mention it, the odor was in the room when I came in! But I didn't think about it at the time."

"Then whoever struck you must have been in here waiting!"

"Sure. Whoever it was, came in the window. He was hidden behind that screen. As I started to leave, he reared up and let me have it from behind! That's all I remember."

"Then you didn't see him?"

"No, it happened too fast."

"Jerry, it may have been Danny Deevers!"

"Maybe so," the reporter agreed. "But I always figured if he caught up with me, he wouldn't fool around with any rabbit punches."

"He may have been frightened away, hearing me in the hall," Penny said. "Jerry, do you have other enemies besides Danny?"

"Dozens of them probably. Every reporter has. But I don't know of anyone who hates me enough to try to lay me out."

The dressing room door now swung open to admit Mr. Parker and several other newspapermen.

"Penny, did you call for help?" her father demanded. "What's wrong?"

"Jerry was slugged," Penny answered, and told what had happened.

"How do you feel, Jerry?" the publisher inquired. "That's a nasty looking bump on your head."

"I'm fit as a fiddle and ready for a dinner date," Jerry announced brightly, winking at Penny. "How about it?"

"Well, I don't know," she replied. "Are you sure you feel up to it?"

"I'm fine." To prove his words, Jerry got to his feet. He started across the room, weaving unsteadily.

Had not Mr. Parker and another man seized him by the arms, he would have slumped to the floor.

"Jerry, you're in no shape for anything except a hospital checkup," the publisher said firmly. "That's where you're going!"

"Oh, Chief, have a heart!"

Mr. Parker turned a deaf ear upon the appeal.

"For all we know, you may have a fractured skull," he said, helping to ease the reporter into a chair. "We'll have you X-rayed."

"I don't want to be X-rayed," Jerry protested. "I'm okay."

"Besides, with Danny Deevers still at large, a hospital is a nice safe place," Mr. Parker continued, thinking aloud. "Perhaps we can arrange for you to stay there a week."

"A week! Chief, I'm not going!"

"No arguments," said Mr. Parker. "You're the same as in Riverview Hospital now. Penny, telephone for an ambulance."

CHAPTER
7
_AN EMPTY BED_

At Riverview hospital twenty minutes later, Jerry was given a complete physical check-up.

"The X-rays won't be developed for another half hour," an interne told him, "but you seem to be all right."

"I not only seem to be, I am," the reporter retorted. "Told you that when I came here! But would anyone listen to me?"

"Twenty-four hours rest will fix you right up. We have a nice private room waiting for you on the third floor. Bath and everything."

"Now listen!" exclaimed Jerry. "You said yourself I'm all right. I'm walking out of here now!"

"Sorry. Orders are you're in for twenty-four hours observation."

"Whose orders?"

"Dr. Bradley. He had a little talk with the publisher of your paper--"

"Oh, I get it! A conspiracy! They're keeping me here to keep me from checking up on Danny Deevers!"

"What's that?" the interne inquired curiously.

"Never mind," returned Jerry, closing up like a clam. "I'll slip you a fiver to get me out of here."

"Sorry. No can do."

The interne went to the door, motioning for two other internes who came in with a stretcher.

"Hop aboard," he told Jerry. "Better come peaceably."

Jerry considered resistance. Deciding it was useless, he rolled onto the stretcher and was transported via the elevator to the third floor. There he was deposited none too ceremoniously in a high bed.

"Just to make sure you stay here, I'm taking your clothes," said the interne. "Now just relax and take it easy."

"Relax!"

"Sure, what you got to kick about? Your bills are all being paid. You get twenty-four hours rest, a good looking nurse, and a radio. Also three meals thrown in."

Jerry settled back into the pillow. "Maybe you've got something after all," he agreed.

"That's the attitude, boy. Well, I'll be seeing you."

Satisfied that Jerry would make no more trouble, he took his clothes and went outside.

Penny and Salt, who had been waiting in the reception room below, stepped from the elevator at that moment.

"How is Jerry?" Penny inquired anxiously as she stopped the interne in the corridor.

"He's all right. Go on in if you want to talk to him."

"Which room?"

"Wait until I put these clothes away and I'll show you."

The interne hung Jerry's suit in a locker at the end of the corridor and then returned to escort Penny and Salt to Room 318.

Jerry, a picture of gloom, brightened as his friends entered.

"I'm sure glad you came!" he greeted them. "I want you to help me get out of here."

"Not a chance," said Salt, seating himself on the window ledge. "This is just the place for you--nice and quiet and safe."

Jerry snorted with disgust.

"Dad and Mr. DeWitt both think Danny Deevers means business," Penny added. "The paper is offering $10,000 reward for his capture."

"Ten thousand smackers! I could use that money myself. And I have a hunch about Danny--"

"Forget it," Salt advised. "This is a case for the police. Just lie down like a nice doggy and behave yourself. We'll keep you informed on the latest news."

"That reminds me," added Penny. "After the ambulance took you away, Dad had the theater searched and the alley. No clues."

Jerry lay still for several minutes, his eyes focused thoughtfully on the ceiling. "If it's the verdict that I stay here, I suppose I may as well give up and take my medicine."

"Now you're showing sense," approved Salt. "Penny and I have an idea that may help trace Deevers. We'll tell you about it later."

"Sure," retorted Jerry ironically, "spare me the shock now. By the way, did you meet an interne in the hall? He was carrying off my clothes."

"Yes, he brought us here," Penny nodded.

"You didn't happen to notice where he hid my clothes?"

"They're safe, Jerry," Penny assured him. "In a locker at the end of the hall."

The information seemed to satisfy Jerry. Wrapping himself like a cocoon in a blanket, he burrowed down and closed his eyes.

"I want to catch forty winks now," he said. "If you folks have a big idea that will lead to Danny's capture, don't let me detain you."

"Jerry, don't be cross with us," Penny pleaded. "We know how you feel, but honestly, you'll be so much safer here."

Jerry pretended not to hear.

After a moment, Salt and Penny quietly left the room.

"He's taking it hard," the photographer commented as they sped in the press car toward the _Riverview Star_ building. "In a way, you can't blame him. Jerry's not the type to be shut up in a nice safe place."

"Dad wants to keep him in the hospital until Danny Deevers is captured, but it will be hard to do it."

Salt, driving with one hand, looked at his watch.

"It's after nine o'clock," he announced. "Penny, you've missed the dinner at the Hillcrest."

"I don't mind. So much has happened today, I've had no time to be hungry."

"Want me to drop you off there now?"

"No, the banquet will be nearly over. I couldn't bear to listen to speeches. Let's go straight to the office and find out what that traffic accident picture shows."

"Suits me, only I'm hungry." On impulse, Salt pulled up in front of a hamburger shop offering curb service. "Let's grab a bite before we really go to work to crack this case."

He tooted the horn and a uniformed girl came hurrying to take his order.

Fortified by sandwiches, coffee, and ice cream, the pair then drove on to the _Riverview Star_ office.

Avoiding the busy newsroom, Salt and Penny went up the back stairs to the photographic studio. Bill Jones, a studio helper, was busy at the wire photo machine.

"Has that picture of the traffic accident I sent over come up yet?" Salt asked him.

"On the desk," the boy answered. "Not too sharp."

Salt picked up a dozen pictures which had been printed on glossy paper and rapidly ran through them until he found the one he sought.

Eagerly Penny peered over his shoulder. The two cars involved in the accident were plainly shown, the license numbers of both visible. In the ancient vehicle, the younger man had lowered his head so that his face was completely hidden. The camera had caught a profile view of the older man, also not clear.

"Lousy picture," said Salt contemptuously.

"It shows the license number of the car. Can't we trace the driver that way?"

"The Motor Vehicle Department is closed now. But I know a fellow who works there. Maybe he'll do us a favor and go back to the office tonight and look up the information."

Salt made the telephone call, and after ten minutes of argument, convinced his friend that the requested information was a matter of life and death.

"He'll do it," the photographer said, hanging up the receiver. "Soon's he gets the information, he'll telephone us here."

Penny had been studying the photograph again. She now was ready with a second suggestion. "Even if the faces aren't very clear, let's compare them with pictures of Danny Deevers in the morgue."

"Good idea," agreed Salt.

The newspaper morgue or library where photographs, cuts and newspaper clippings were carefully filed for reference, was just a few steps down the hall. Miss Adams, the librarian, had gone to lunch, so Salt obtained a key and they searched for their own information.

"Here's an envelope marked Danny Deevers!" Penny cried, pulling it from one of the long filing drawers. "All sorts of pictures of him too!"

Critically, the pair studied the photographs.

The escaped convict was a middle-aged, sullen looking man with hard, expressionless eyes. In one of the pictures, parted lips revealed a set of ugly, uneven teeth.

"This shot I took is so blurred, it's hard to tell if they're the same person or not," Salt complained. "But it looks like Danny."

"If it is, that would explain why he tried to make you give up the plate."

"Sure, he knew the car license number would be a tip-off to the police. But maybe the bird isn't Danny."

"I wish we were certain. Salt, couldn't Jerry identify him from the picture you took?"

"Maybe. Jerry saw Deevers several times before he was put away in the pen."

"Then why not take the picture to the hospital now?"

"Okay," agreed Salt. "Let's go."

Fifteen minutes later, at the hospital, they sought unsuccessfully to pass a receptionist who sat at a desk in the lobby.

"Sorry, visiting hours are over," she explained.

"We're from the _Star_," Salt insisted. "We have to see Jerry Livingston on an important business matter."

"That's different," the receptionist replied. "You may go up to his room, but please make the call brief."

An automatic elevator carried the pair to the third floor. Jerry's door near the end of the corridor stood slightly ajar. Salt tapped lightly on it, and hearing no answer, pushed it farther open.

"Well, what d'you know!" he exclaimed.

Penny, startled by his tone of voice, peered over his shoulder.

The room was deserted. Jerry's bed, unmade, stood empty.

CHAPTER
8
_IN SEARCH OF JERRY_

"Now what could have become of Jerry?" Penny murmured as she and Salt gazed about the deserted room in amazement. "Surely we've made no mistake."

"He was assigned this room all right," the photographer declared. "But maybe they changed it later."

"That's it," agreed Penny in relief. "For a minute it gave me a shock seeing that empty bed. I thought perhaps he had taken a bad turn and been removed for emergency treatment."

The pair sought Miss Brent, a floor supervisor.

"Why, the patient in Room 318 hasn't been changed elsewhere," she replied. "At least, not to my knowledge. I've been off the floor for the last half hour."

Inspecting Room 318 to satisfy herself that the bed was empty, Miss Brent questioned several nurses and an interne. No one seemed to know what had become of the patient. There was a whispered conference and then Miss Brent made a call to the superintendent.

"Something has happened to Jerry!" Penny told Salt tensely. "He may have been abducted!"

A nurse came flying up the hall from the locker room.

"Mr. Livingston's clothes are gone!" she reported.

Light began to dawn on Penny. She recalled the seemingly innocent question Jerry had asked earlier that night as to the location of the clothes locker.

"He's probably walked out of the hospital!" she exclaimed.

"Impossible!" snapped Miss Brent, though her voice lacked conviction. "Nurses have been on duty here all the time. Mr. Livingston couldn't have obtained his clothes without being observed."

"The floor was deserted for about ten minutes," an interne recalled. "An emergency case came in and everyone was tied up."

Penny re-entered Jerry's room. The window remained closed and it was a straight drop of three stories to the yard below. She was satisfied the reporter had not taken that escape route.

A sheet of paper, propped against the mirror of the dresser attracted her eye. As she unfolded it, she saw at once that the handwriting was Jerry's.

"I'm too healthy a pup to stay in bed," he had scrawled. "Sorry, but I'm walking out."

Penny handed the note to Miss Brent who could not hide her annoyance as she read it.

"Nothing like this ever happened before!" she exclaimed. "How could the young man have left this floor and the building without being seen? He's in no condition to be wandering about the streets."

"Then Jerry really did need hospitalization?" inquired Penny.

"Certainly. He suffered shock and the doctor was afraid of brain injury. The patient should have been kept under observation for at least twenty-four hours. Wandering off this way is a very bad sign."

"We'll get him back here pronto!" Salt promised. "He can't have gone far."

In the lobby he and Penny paused to ask the receptionist if she had observed anyone answering Jerry's description leave the building.

"Why, no," she replied, only to correct herself. "Wait! A young man in a gray suit left here about twenty minutes ago. I didn't really notice his face."

"That must have been Jerry!" cried Penny. "Which way did he go?"

"I'm sorry, I haven't the slightest idea."

"Jerry may have gone to his room," Penny said hopefully. "Let's call his hotel."

Using a lobby telephone, they dialed the St. Agnes Hotel Apartments where the reporter lived. The desk clerk reported that Jerry had not been seen that night.

"Oh, where could he have gone?" Penny said as she and Salt left the hospital. "He may be wandering the streets in a dazed condition. Shouldn't we ask police to try to find him?"

"Guess it's all we can do," the photographer agreed. "Jerry sure will be sore at us though."

A taxi cab pulled up near the hospital steps.

"Taxi?" the driver inquired.

Salt shook his head. "We don't know where we want to go yet. We're looking for a friend of ours who left the hospital about twenty minutes ago."

"A girl?"

"No, a man in a gray suit," Penny supplied. "He probably wasn't wearing a hat."

"Say, he musta been the one that asked me about the fare to the swamp!"

At the pair's look of intense interest, the cab driver added: "I was waitin' here for a fare when some ladies came out of the hospital. I pulled up and took 'em aboard. Just then this young feller comes out.

"He didn't seem to notice I had my cab filled, and says: 'How much to take me to Caleb Corners?'"

"Caleb Corners?" Penny repeated, having never heard of the place.

"That's a long ways out, almost to the swamp. I says to him, 'Sorry, buddy, but I got a fare. If you can wait a few minutes I'll be right back and pick you up.'"

"What did Jerry say?" Salt asked.

"He said he wanted to get started right away. Reckon he picked up another cab."

Thanking the driver for the information, Penny and Salt retreated a few steps for a consultation.

"If Jerry started for the swamp at this time of night he must be wacky!" the photographer declared. "That knock on the head must have cracked him up and he doesn't know what he's doing!"

"Why would he start for the swamp? Maybe he remembers what I told him about seeing a stranger there today, and in his confusion, has an idea he'll find Danny Deevers!"

"Jerry can't have had much of a start, and we know he headed for Caleb Corners! I'll go after him."

"We'll both go," Penny said quickly. "Come on, let's get the car."

Before they could leave the hospital steps, the receptionist came hurrying outside.

"Oh, I'm glad you're still here!" she said breathlessly, looking at the photographer. "Aren't you Mr. Sommers?"

"That's me," agreed Salt.

"A telephone call for you."

"Say, maybe it's Jerry! Wait here, Penny. I'll be right back."

Salt was gone perhaps ten minutes. When he returned, his grim expression instantly informed Penny that the call had not been from Jerry.

"It was from my friend in the Motor Vehicle Department," he reported. "He traced the license number of the car that was in the accident."

"How did he know you were here, Salt?"

"Telephoned the office, and someone told him to try the hospital."

"Who owns the car, Salt?"

"A woman by the name of Sarah Jones, Route 3, Crissey Road.

"Crissey Road! Why, that's out near the swamp, not far from Trapper Joe's place! I recall seeing the name on a signpost when Louise and I were out there this afternoon."

"All roads lead to the swamp tonight," Salt commented. "I'm worried about Jerry. I called the office and he hasn't shown up there."

"Then he must have started for Caleb Corners! Salt, we're wasting time!"

"We sure are," he agreed. "Let's go!"

The press car had been parked in a circular area fifty yards from the hospital. Salt and Penny ran to it, and soon were on their way, speeding into the night on a deserted, narrow road.

CHAPTER
9
_THE WIDOW JONES_

Caleb Corners scarcely was a stopping point on the narrow, dusty, county highway.

By night the crossroads were dark and gloomy, unlighted even by a traffic signal. To the right stood a filling station, and directly across from it, a little grocery store, long since closed for the day.

Salt turned in at the filling station, halting the press car almost at the doorway of the tiny office.

Inside, a young man who was counting change at a cash register, turned suddenly and reached for an object beneath the counter. As Salt came in, he kept his hand out of sight, regarding the photographer with suspicion.

"Relax, buddy," said Salt, guessing that the station owner feared robbery. "We're from the _Riverview Star_ and need a little information."

"What do you want to know?" The young man still kept his hand beneath the counter.

"We're looking for a friend of ours who may have come out here a few minutes ago in a taxi."

"No cab's been through here in the last hour," the filling station man said. "This is a mighty lonesome corner at night. I should have closed up hours ago, only I'm expecting a truck to fill up here."

"Why not put that gun away?" Salt suggested pointedly. "We're not here to rob you. Do we look like crooks?"

"No, you don't," the man admitted, "but I've been taken in before. This station was broken into three times in the past six months. Only two weeks ago a man and woman stopped here about this same time of night--they looked okay and talked easy, but they got away with $48.50 of my hard earned cash."

"We really are from the _Star_," Penny assured him. "And we're worried about a friend of ours who slipped away from the hospital tonight. He was in an accident and wasn't entirely himself. He may get into serious trouble if we don't find him."

Her words seemed to convince the filling station man that he had nothing to fear. Dropping the revolver into the cash drawer, he said in a more friendly tone:

"I guess you folks are on the square. Anyway, you wouldn't get much if you robbed the till tonight. I only took in $37.50. Not enough to pay me for keeping open."

"You say a cab hasn't been through here tonight?" Salt asked impatiently.

"There's been cars through, but no taxi cabs."

"Where do these roads lead?"

"One takes you to Belle Plain and on to Three Forks. The other doesn't go much of anywhere--just on to the swamp."

"Any houses on the swamp road?" Salt inquired.

"An old trapper has a place up there, and the Hawkins' farm is on a piece. Closest house from here is the Widow Jones'."

"How far?"

"Oh, not more than three--four miles."

"Mrs. Jones drives a car?" Salt asked casually.

"Her?" The filling station man laughed. "Not on your life! She has an old rattle-trap her husband left her when he died, but she doesn't take it out of the shed often enough to keep air in the tires."

Penny and Salt inquired the way to the widow's home.

"You can't miss it," replied the station man. "Straight on down the swamp road about three miles. First house you come to on the right hand side of Crissey Road. But you won't likely find the widow up at this hour. She goes to bed with the chickens!"

On the highway once more, Salt and Penny debated their next move. Jerry's failure to show up at Caleb Corners only partially relieved their anxiety. Now they could only speculate upon whether the reporter had remained in Riverview or had driven past the filling station without being seen.

"Since we've come this far, why not go on to the Widow Jones' place?" Salt proposed. "She may have seen Jerry. In any case, we can question her about that car she owns."

Bumping along on the rutty road, they presently rounded a bend and on a sideroad saw a small, square house which even in its desolation had a look of sturdy liveability.

"That must be the place," Salt decided, slowing the car. "No lights so I guess she's abed."

"I see one at the rear!" Penny exclaimed. "Someone is up!"

With a jerk, Salt halted the car beside a mailbox which stood on a high post. A brick walk, choked with weeds, led to the front door and around to a back porch.

Through an uncurtained window, the pair glimpsed a tall, wiry woman filling an oil lamp in the kitchen.

As Salt rapped on the door, they saw her start and reach quickly for a shotgun which stood in a corner of the room.

"Who's there?" she called sharply.

"We're from Riverview," answered Penny.

Reassured by a feminine voice, the woman opened the door. She towered above them, a quaint figure in white shirtwaist and a long flowing black skirt which swept the bare floor of the kitchen.

"Good evening," said Penny. "I hope we didn't startle you."

Slowly the widow's eyes traveled over the pair. She laid the shotgun aside and then said evenly:

"'Pears like you did. Hain't in the habit o' having visitors this time o' night. Whar be ye from and what do you want?"

Salt told of their search for Jerry, carefully describing the reporter.

"Hain't seen anyone like that," the Widow Jones said at once. "No one been by on this road since sundown 'cepting old Ezekiel Hawkins."

"By the way, do you drive a car?" Salt questioned.

"Not if I kin keep from it," the widow retorted. "Cars is the ruination o' civilization! Last time I tried to drive to town, backed square into a big sycamore and nigh onto knocked all my teeth out!"

"So you sold your car?" Salt interposed.

"It's a settin' out in the shed. That no-good young'un o' Ezekiel's, Coon Hawkins, tried to buy it off'en me a year ago, but I turned him down flat."

"Didn't he offer enough?" Penny asked curiously.

"'Twasn't that. Fust place, I don't think much o' Coon Hawkins! Second place, that car belonged to my departed husband, and I don't aim nobody else ever will drive it."

"Then you didn't have the car out today or loan it to anyone?"

"No, I didn't! Say, what you gittin' at anyway with all these questions?"

"Your car was involved in an accident this afternoon in Riverview," Salt explained.

"What you sayin'?" the woman demanded. "You must be out o' yer mind! My car ain't been out of the shed fer a month."

"We may have been mistaken," Penny admitted. "The license number of the car was K-4687."

"Why, that's the plate number of mine!" the Widow Jones exclaimed. "Leastwise, I recollect it is!"

"You're certain the car still is in the shed?" Salt asked.

"You got me all confused now, and I hain't cartain of anything. Come in while I get a lantern, and we'll look!"

Penny and Salt stepped into a clean kitchen, slightly fragrant with the odor of spicy catsup made that afternoon. On a table stood row upon row of sealed bottles ready to be carried to the cellar.

The Widow Jones lighted a lantern and threw a woolen shawl over her bony shoulders.

"Follow me," she bade.

At a swift pace, she led the way down a path to a rickety shed which stood far back from the road.

The woman unfastened the big door which swung back on creaking hinges. Raising her lantern, she flashed the light on the floor of the shed.

"Hit's gone!" she exclaimed. "Someone's stole the car!"

Only a large blotch of oil on the cracked concrete floor revealed where the automobile had stood.

"Have you no idea who took the car?" Penny inquired.

Grimly the Widow Jones closed the shed door and slammed the hasp into place.

"Maybe I have an' maybe I han't! Leastwise, I larned forty years ago to keep my lips shut less I could back up my words with proof."

In silence the widow started back toward the house. Midway to the house, she suddenly paused, listening attentively.

From a nearby tree an owl hooted, but Penny and Salt sensed that was not the sound which had caught the woman's ear.

She blew out the lantern and wordlessly motioned for the pair to move back into the deep shadow of the tree.

Holding her shirt to keep it from blowing in the night breeze, the woman gazed intently toward a swamp road some distance from the boundary of her land. For the first time, Salt and Penny became aware of a muffled sound of a running truck motor.

"Sounds like a car or truck back there in the swamp," Salt commented. "Is there a road near here leading in?"

"There's a road yonder," the widow answered briefly.

"It goes into the swamp?"

"Only for a mile or so."

"What would a truck be doing in there at this time of night?" Penny probed.

"I wouldn't know," answered the widow dryly. "There's some things goes on in this swamp that smart folkses don't ask questions about."

Without relighting the lantern, she walked briskly on. Reaching the rear porch, she paused and turned once more to Salt and Penny.

"I be much obliged to ye comin' out here to tell me about my car being stole. Will ye come in and set a spell?"

"Thanks, we'll have to be getting back to Riverview," Salt declined the invitation. "It's late."

"You'll catch your death if you stay out in this damp swamp air," the woman said, her gaze resting disapprovingly on Penny's flimsy dress and low-cut slippers. "I'd advise you to git right back to town. 'Evenin' to you both."

She went inside and closed the door.

"Queer character," Salt commented as he and Penny made their way to the roadside, "Forthright to say the least."

"I rather liked her, Salt. She seemed genuine. And she has courage to live here alone at the edge of the swamp."

"Sure," the photographer agreed. "Plenty of iron in her soul. Wonder what she saw there at the edge of the swamp?"

"It seemed to me she was afraid we might try to investigate. Did you notice how she advised us to go directly to Riverview?"

"She did make the remark a little pointed. The Widow Jones is no dumbbell! You could tell she has a good idea who stole her auto, and she wasn't putting out anything about that truck."

Salt had started the car and was ready to turn around. Penny placed a detaining hand on the steering wheel.

"Let's go the other direction, Salt!"

"On into the swamp?"

"It's only a short distance to that other road. If the truck is still there, we might see something interesting."

Salt's lips parted in a wide grin.

"Sure thing," he agreed. "What have we got to lose?"

CHAPTER
10
_INSIDE THE WOODSHED_

The throaty croak of frogs filled the night as Salt, car headlights darkened, brought up at a bend of the road near the swamp's edge.

Entrance to the pinelands could be gained in any one of three ways. A road, often mired with mud, had been built by a lumber mill, and led for nearly a mile into the higher section of the area. There it ended abruptly.

Half a mile away, near Trapper Joe's shack, lay the water course Penny and Louise had followed. From it branched a maze of confusing channels, one of which marked the way to the heart of the swamp. But only a few persons ever had ventured beyond Lookout Island, close to the exit.

The third entrance, also not far from Trapper Joe's, consisted of a narrow boardwalk path nailed to fallen trees and stumps just above the water level. The walk had fallen into decay and could be used for only five hundred feet.

"Seems like a funny time for a truck to be coming out of the swamp road," Salt remarked, peering into the gloom of the pine trees. "Hear anything?"

Penny listened intently and shook her head. But a moment later, she explained: "Now I do! The truck's coming this way."

"Let's get closer to the road exit," Salt proposed. "We'd better leave the car here, if we don't want to be seen."

Penny's high heels kept twisting on the rutty road, and finally in exasperation, she took them off, stripped away her stockings, and walked in her bare feet.

The truck now was very close and the pair could hear its laboring engine. Salt drew Penny back against the bottle-shaped trunk of a big tree at the road exitway. There they waited.

Presently the truck chugged into view, its headlights doused. On the main road, not ten yards from where Salt and Penny crouched, it came to a jerky halt.

The driver was a husky fellow who wore a heavy jacket and cap which shadowed his face. With him in the cab were two younger men of athletic build. Both wore homespun clothes and stout boots.

As the truck halted, the two younger men sprang to the ground.

Instantly Penny and Salt were certain they had seen one of the strangers before.

"He's the man who drove the accident car this afternoon!" Penny whispered. "The auto stolen from Widow Jones!"

Salt nodded, placing his hand over the girl's lips. He drew her back behind the tree.

The precaution was a wise one, for a moment later, a flashlight beam played over the spot where they had been standing.

"Thought I heard something!" one of the truckers muttered.

"Jest them frogs a-croakin'," his companion answered. "You're gettin' jumpy."

"Let's get a move on!" growled the driver of the truck. "I gotta get this load to Hartwell City before dawn. You keepin' any of the stuff?"

"A couple o' gallons will do us. Too durn heavy to carry."

From the rear end of the truck, the two young men who had alighted, pulled out a large wooden container with handles.

"When do you want me to stop by again?" the truck driver called above the rumble of the motor.

"Can't tell yet," one of the men answered, swinging the heavy container across his shoulder. "Pappy'll send word."

The truck pulled away, and the two young men started down the road in the opposite direction. Not until they were a considerable distance away, did Penny speak.

"What do you make of it all, Salt?"

"It's got me puzzled," he admitted. "If I'd have seen the truck come out of the swamp at any other time I wouldn't have thought much about it. But considering the way Mrs. Jones acted, some funny business seems to be going on here."

"I'm certain one of those young men was the driver of the accident car this afternoon!"

"It did look like him."

"They must be the Hawkins boys, Coon and Hod," Penny went on, thinking aloud. "What were they doing in the swamp so late at night? And what are they trucking?"

"Echo answers 'what'," Salt replied. "Well, shall we start for Riverview?"

"Without learning for certain who those two fellows are?"

"I would like to know. The only thing is, your father's going to be plenty annoyed when he finds how late I've kept you out."

"Leave Dad to me."

"Okay, but if we run into trouble tonight, we can figure we went out of our way to ask for it."

By this time, the two swampers had vanished into the darkness far up the road.

"They're heading toward Trapper Joe's place," Penny observed. "The Hawkins' farm is just beyond, on the waterway."

"We may as well give them a good start and then follow in the car," Salt decided.

They walked back to the parked automobile where Penny put on her shoes and stockings again. After giving the two strangers a good five minutes start, Salt drove slowly after them, keeping headlights turned off.

Trapper Joe's dismal shack loomed up dark and deserted.

"We'll have to park here," Penny instructed, "The road beyond is terrible and it plays out."

Alighting, the couple looked about for a glimpse of the two swampers. The nearby marsh seemed cold, unfriendly and menacing. Heavy dew lay on the earth and a thick mist was rising from among the trees.

From behind a shadowy bush, two gleaming eyes gazed steadily and unblinkingly at the pair. Penny drew back, nervously gripping Salt's hand.

"It's only a cat," he chuckled.

"A wild one, maybe," Penny shivered. "All sorts of animals live in the swamp, Trapper Joe told me."

"Want to stay in the car and spare those pretty shoes of yours?"

"No, let's go on." The gleaming eyes now had vanished and Penny felt courageous again. Nevertheless, she kept close beside Salt as they tramped along the dark road.

A pale moon was rising over the treetops, providing faint illumination. Penny and Salt no longer could see the pair they had followed, and were afraid they had lost them completely.

Then they spied the swampers crawling over a fence some distance away.

"There they are!" Penny whispered. Just as I thought! They're taking a short cut to the Hawkins' place."

Unaware that they were being followed, the two swampers crossed a plowed field, frequently shifting their heavy burden.

Coming at length to the Hawkins' farm, they vanished into the woodshed.

"Guess you were right, Penny," Salt acknowledged, pausing by the fence. "Evidently they're the Hawkins' boys."

The door of the house had opened and a light now glowed in the window. A bulky figure stood silhouetted on the threshold.

"Who's there?" the man called sharply. "That you, Coon?"

From inside the shed came a muffled reply: "Yep, it's me and Hod."

"How'd you make out, son?"

"She's all took care of an' on 'er way to Hartwell City. Ike says he'll fetch you the cash in a day or two."

"Git to bed soon's you kin," the older man said, apparently pleased by the information. "Your Ma's tired and wants to git to sleep 'for mawning."

He moved back into the house, closing the door.

"Guess we've learned all we can," Salt remarked. "We may as well get a little shut-eye ourselves."

Penny, however, was unwilling to leave so soon.

"I wish we could find out what is in that big container, Salt! After those Hawkins' boys leave, maybe we could sneak a peek."

"And get caught!"

"We can be careful. Salt, we've stumbled into a lot of information tonight that may prove very valuable. We'll never have another chance like it. Come on, Salt, it's worth a try."

Despite his better judgment, Salt allowed himself to be persuaded. For ten minutes the pair waited near the fence. Finally they saw Hod and Coon Hawkins emerge from the shed and enter the house.

Another ten minutes they waited. By that time the light had been extinguished inside the house.

"Everyone's abed now," Penny said in satisfaction. "Now for the woodshed!"

Crossing the field, the pair approached the tumbledown building from the side away from the house. The woodshed door was closed.

Penny groped for the knob and instead, her hand encountered a chain and padlock.

"Locked!" she muttered impatiently. "Just our luck!"

The rattle of the chain had disturbed a hound penned inside the shed. Before Salt and Penny could retreat, the animal's paws scratched against the door and he uttered a deep and prolonged bay.

"Jeepers!" exclaimed Salt. "We've got to get away from here--and fast!"

Already it was too late. A window on the second floor of the house flew up and Mrs. Hawkins in cotton nightdress and lace cap, peered down into the yard.

"Who's there?" she called sharply. "Answer up if you ain't hankerin' fer a bullet through yer innards!"

CHAPTER
11
_AN ABANDONED CAR_

For Salt and Penny, the moment was a perilous one. In plain view of the upstairs window, they could not hope to escape detection.

But shrewdly, they reasoned that Mrs. Hawkins could not be certain they had been trying to break into the woodshed.

"Oh, is that you, Mrs. Hawkins?" Penny called as cheerily as if greeting an old friend. "I hope we didn't awaken you."

The farm woman leaned far out the window. "Who be ye folkses?" she demanded suspiciously. "What you doin' here?"

"Don't you remember me?" Penny asked. "I stopped here this afternoon with my girl friend. We had a drink at your pump."

"Humph! That ain't no gal with you now! Who is he?"

"Oh, just a friend who works at--" Penny was on the verge of saying the _Riverview Star_, but caught herself in time and finished--"a friend who works where I do."

"And what you spyin' around here for?"

"We're looking for another friend of ours."

"'Pears to me you got a heap o' friends," the woman said harshly. "This afternoon you was cryin' you lost a dog."

"It was Louise who lost the dog," said Penny, well realizing that her story would never convince the woman.

"Whatever you lost, man or beast, git off this property and don't come back!" Mrs. Hawkins ordered. "We hain't seen no dog, and we hain't seen none o' yer friends. Now git!"

Another face had appeared at the window--that of the bearded stranger Penny had seen earlier in the day on Lookout Point. No longer could she doubt that he was Ezekiel Hawkins, the man who a few minutes earlier had ordered his two sons to bed.

"We're leaving now," said Salt, before Penny had an opportunity to speak again of Louise's missing dog. "Sorry to have bothered you."

Taking Penny firmly by an elbow, he pulled her along. Not until they had reached the fence safely did they look back.

In the upper window of the Hawkins' house a light continued to burn dimly.

"We're still being watched," Salt commented. He helped Penny over the fence, disentangling her dress which snagged on a wire. "Whew! That was a close call! That old biddy would have enjoyed putting a bullet through us!"

"She dared to say Louise's dog hadn't been seen! All the while her husband stood right there! He's the one who refused to let us go after Bones this afternoon!"

"Sure?"

"Almost positive."

"Well, all I can say is the Hawkins' are mean customers," Salt sighed. "Stealing a dog probably is right in their line."

"They're up to other tricks too!"

"Oh, undoubtedly. Wish we could have learned what was in those cans they were trucking to the city."

In the press car, speeding toward Riverview, the pair discussed all phases of their night's adventure. Failure to learn anything about Jerry's whereabouts worried them.

Presently, worn out, Penny slumped against Salt's shoulder and fell asleep. She was awakened when the car stopped with a jerk.

"Where are we?" she mumbled drowsily. "Home?"

"Not yet, baby," he answered, shutting off the engine.

Penny straightened in the seat, brushing away a lock of hair which had tumbled over her left eye. Peering through the window she saw that they still were out in the country.

"What are we stopping here for, Salt?" she asked in astonishment. "Don't tell me we've run out of gas!"

"Nothing like that," he said easily. "Just go back to sleep. I'll be right back."

"You'll be right back! Where are you going, Salt Sommers?"

"Only down the road a ways. We passed a car, and I want to have a better look at it."

By now Penny was fully awake.

"I'm going with you," she announced.

Salt held the door open for her. "This probably is a waste of time," he admitted.

"Was it a car you saw in the ditch?" Penny questioned, walking fast to keep up with him. "An accident?"

"Don't think so. The car seemed to be parked back in the bushes on a road bisecting this one."

"What's so unusual in that?"

"Nothing perhaps. Only the car looked familiar."

"Not Jerry's coupe?"

"No. There it is now--see!" Salt pointed through the trees to an old upright vehicle of antiquated style. His flashlight picked up the numbers on the rear license plate.

"K-4687!" Penny read aloud. "Mrs. Jones' stolen auto!"

"It sure is," the photographer agreed in satisfaction. "Abandoned!"

"By whom? The Hawkins' boys?"

"Maybe. Let's have a closer look."

While Penny stood by, Salt made a thorough inspection of the old car. The battery was dead. Ignition keys, still in the lock, had been left turned on.

As the photographer flashed his light about, Penny noticed a package of cigarettes lying on the seat. She picked them up and sniffed.

"Necos," she declared. "Salt, one of the persons who rode in this car must have slugged Jerry at the theater!"

"Maybe, but we can't be sure. Necos aren't a common brand of cigarettes. On the other hand, I've known several fellows who smoke them."

A thorough inspection of the car revealed no other clues.

"We may as well get back to town," Salt said finally. "Mrs. Jones will be glad to learn her car has been recovered. We can let her know tomorrow after police have had a chance to inspect it."

Neither he nor Penny had much to say as they motored toward Riverview. Both were deeply discouraged by their failure to find any trace of Jerry.

"It's barely possible hospital officials were able to catch up with him," Penny said after a while, her eyes on the dark ribbon of highway ahead. "We might stop somewhere and telephone."

"Good idea," agreed Salt. "We're practically in the city now."

Already they could see the twinkling lights, laid out in rectangular street patterns. Directly ahead, at the corporation boundary, Penny saw the flashing electric sign of a hamburger hut operated by Mark Fiello, a genial old Italian.

"We might stop there," she suggested. "Mark will let us use his phone."

"Also, he has good hamburgers and coffee," Salt added. "I could go for some food!"

Mark, a stout, grizzled man in slightly soiled apron, was frying bacon and hamburgers at the grill as he shouted orders to a helper in the kitchen.

"You, Frankey!" he bellowed. "Git your nose outta dat ice cream and squeeze another quart of orange juice! What you think I pay you for--to eat me out of business?"

As Penny and Salt slid onto stools in front of the counter, he turned toward them to ask briskly: "What'll it be, folks?"

"Now Mark, don't give us the professional brush off," Salt joked. "Make mine a hamburger with everything on."

"And mine with everything off--especially onions," added Penny.

"Two hamburgers coming right up," chuckled Mark, flattening twin hunks of ground meat on the grill. "I giva you good beeg ones. One-a with, and one-a without. Haven't seen you folks in a long while. How you been?"

"Pretty well, Mark, until tonight," replied Penny. "May we use your phone?"

"It's your nickel, ain't it?" chuckled Mark. "Go right ahead."

"Looks as if we'll have to wait until your helper gets through using it," observed Salt.

"That worthless no-good!" Mark snorted. "I pay him thirty dolla a week to eat his head off and all the time calla dat girl of his! You, Frankey! Git off dat phone and git to work on them oranges!"

Frank, a youth of sallow complexion and unsteady gaze, dropped the telephone receiver as if it were a red hot coal.

He mumbled a "call you later," into the transmitter, hung up, and ducked into the kitchen.

"Such bad luck I have this summer," sighed Mark, expertly turning the hamburgers and salting them. "Six helpers I hire and fire. All no good. They talka big, eat big--but work? Naw!"

"It's a tough life," Salt agreed, fishing for a coin in his pocket. "Change for a dime, Mark?"

"Sure. Who you calla tonight? Big scoop for de paper, eh?"

"I wish it were," said Salt. "We've had a tough night."

"Jerry's missing," Penny added earnestly. "He was taken to the hospital this afternoon, but he walked out. We're trying to find him because he's in no condition to be wandering about."

Mark's jaw had dropped and for a moment he forgot the hamburgers sizzling on the grill.

"You looka for Jerry? Jerry Livingston?"

"Sure, you know him," Salt replied, starting for the telephone. "He used to be one of your favorite customers."

"Well, what do y'know!" mumbled Mark, obviously surprised. "What do y'know! Listen, I tell you something!"

"About Jerry?" Penny asked eagerly.

"You looka for your friend too late!"

"Too late? What do you mean, Mark? Jerry hasn't been hurt?"

"No! No! Your friend is all right like always. Twenty minutes ago, he eata three hamburgs on dis same stool where you sit now!"

"Jerry was here!" Penny cried joyfully. "Mark, are you sure?"

"Sure, I am sure! Jerry eata three beeg hamburgs, drinka two beeg cups of java, then go away."

"Did he seem dazed or confused?"

"Your friend the same as always. Make-a the joke."

On the grill, the hamburgers were beginning to burn at the edges. Mark flipped them between buns, adding generous quantities of mustard, pickle, catsup, and sliced onions to Salt's sandwich.

Penny now was so excited she scarcely could take time to eat.

"Which way did Jerry go when he left here?" she questioned eagerly.

"He crossa de street. After dat, I did not see."

"Jerry lives in the St. Agnes Apartments not far from here," Salt recalled. "Maybe he's there now!"

Quickly finishing their sandwiches, the pair gave Mark a dollar, refusing to accept change. As they started away, he followed them to the door.

"You know-a somebody who wanta good job, good pay?" he whispered. "Frankey is eating me outta all my profits. You know-a somebody?"

"Afraid we don't," Salt replied. "We'll keep it in mind though, and if we hear of anyone wanting work, we'll send him around."

From the hamburger hut, Penny and Salt drove directly to the St. Agnes Apartment Hotel. The clerk on duty could not tell them if Jerry were in his room or not.

"Go on up if you want to," he suggested. "Room 207."

Climbing the stairs, they pounded on the door. There was no answer. Salt tried again. Not a sound came from inside the room.

"It's no use," the photographer said in disappointment. "Mark may have been mistaken. Anyway, Jerry's not here."

CHAPTER
12
_A JOB FOR PENNY_

Penny gazed at Salt in grim despair. "I was so sure Jerry would be here," she murmured. "What can we do now?"

"We've run down every clue," he replied gloomily. "If he isn't at the hospital, I'm afraid it's a case for the police."

"But Mark was so sure he had seen Jerry tonight. Try once more, Salt."

"Okay, but it's useless. He's not here."

Again Salt hammered on the door with his fist. He was turning away when a sleepy voice called: "Who's there?"

"Jerry is in there!" Penny cried. "Thank goodness, he's safe!"

"Open up, you lug!" ordered Salt.

A bed creaked, footsteps padded across the carpet and the door swung back. Jerry, in silk dressing gown, blinked sleepily out at them.

"What do you want?" he mumbled. "Can't you let a fellow catch forty winks without sending out the riot squad?"

"How are you feeling, Jerry, my boy?" Salt inquired solicitously.

"Never felt better in my life, except I'm sleepy."

"Then what made you walk out of the hospital?"

"I don't like hospitals."

"We ought to punch you in the nose for making us so much trouble," Salt said affectionately. "Here we spent half the night searching the swamp for you!"

Jerry's face crinkled into a broad grin. "The swamp! That's good!"

"Didn't you ask a taximan at the hospital how much it would cost to go there?" Penny reminded him.

"Sure, but I decided not to go."

"You got a nerve!" Salt muttered. "Climb into your clothes and we'll take you back to your cell."

"Oh, no, you don't!" Jerry backed away from the door. "I'm no more sick than you are, and I'm not going back to the hospital!"

"You're an advanced case for a mental institution!" the photographer snapped. "Maybe you don't know Danny Deevers is out to get you and he means business!"

"I'm not worried about Danny."

"Maybe you don't think he cracked you on the head tonight at the theater?"

"I've been thinking it over," Jerry replied slowly. "Probably it was Danny, but I doubt he'll dare show his face again. Police are too hot on his trail."

"Says you!" snorted Salt. "By the way, why were you so interested in going to the swamp tonight? Any clues?"

"Only the information you and Penny gave me."

"We learned a little more this evening," Penny informed him eagerly. "And we have a photograph we want you to identify."

The story of their findings at Caleb Corners and beyond, was briefly told. Salt then showed Jerry the picture of the ancient car which had been involved in the traffic accident.

"This older man is Danny Deevers," Jerry positively identified him after studying the photograph a minute. "I don't recognize the driver of the car."

"We're almost sure he's one of the Hawkins' boys," Penny declared. "You know, the swamper we told you about."

Jerry nodded. "In that case, putting the finger on Deevers should be easy for the police. The Hawkins family could be arrested on suspicion. Like as not, Deevers is hiding in the swamp just as Penny suspected!"

"If he is, it won't be easy to capture him," commented Salt. "They say a man could hide there a year without being found. And if the Hawkins' boy is arrested, he'll naturally lie low."

Jerry thoughtfully studied the photograph again. "That's so," he admitted. "Anyway, our evidence is pretty weak. We couldn't pin anything on either of the Hawkins' boys on the strength of this photograph."

"It would only involve Mrs. Jones," contributed Penny. "Why turn it over to the police?"

"Well, it would relieve us of a lot of responsibility. Tell you what! I know the Chief pretty well. Suppose I give the picture to him and ask him to go easy on Mrs. Jones? I think he would play along with us."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," approved Salt. "The police can watch the Hawkins place and maybe learn Danny's hideout without tipping their hand."

The matter of the photograph settled, he and Penny turned to leave.

"We'll send the hospital ambulance after you, Jerry," Salt said by way of farewell. "Better get into some duds."

"I'm not going back there!"

"It's no use trying to make him," said Penny who knew from experience that the reporter could be stubborn. "But do be careful, won't you, Jerry?"

"Sure," he promised. "And thanks to both of you for all your trouble!"

The hour now was well past midnight. Saying goodbye to Jerry, Penny had Salt take her directly home.