“She isn’t at home this afternoon.”
“But something should be done, and at once,”Penny protested. “The first rain will destroy all these footprints and perhaps other important evidence. Do you really love Grant Atherwald?”
“With all my heart,” answered the young woman soberly.
“Then I should think you would have some interest in what became of him. I can’t understand your attitude at all.”
“I—I have others to think of besides myself.”
“Your mother, you mean?”
“Yes.” Sylvia avoided Penny’s penetrating gaze.
“Surely your mother wouldn’t wish an act of violence to go unpunished. So much time has been lost already.”
“We aren’t certain anything has happened to Grant,” Sylvia responded, her eyes downcast. “If we should bring the police into the case, and then it turns out that he has merely gone away to some other city, I’d be held up to ridicule once more.”
“It seems to me you are taking a most foolish attitude.”
“There is another reason why we must be very careful,” Sylvia said unwillingly.
“And what is that?”
For just an instant Penny dared hope that the young woman meant to answer the question. But Sylvia seemed to reconsider for she said quickly:
“I can’t tell you. Please don’t ask me any more questions.”
“Are you afraid you may be blamed for Mr. Atherwald’s disappearance?” Penny persisted.
“No, no, I assure you I am not thinking of myself. Please, let’s return to the house.”
Penny deliberately blocked the path.
“Unless you wish me to notify the police there is a little matter which I must ask you to explain.”
Reaching down she picked up a small stone and hurled it into the lily pond. As the ripples died away they both observed a convulsive movement of the water, a churning which had no relation to the missile thrown.
“I think,” said Penny evenly, “that you understand my meaning.”
CHAPTER 11
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
Miss Kippenberg watched the concentric circles race each other to the far edge of the lily pool.
“Then you know the reason why this part of the estate is kept closed off?” she murmured, very low.
“I learned about the alligator yesterday,” said Penny. “Why is such an ugly brute kept here?”
“It was none of my doing, I assure you. I hate the horrid thing. Surely you don’t mean to suggest—”
“I am not suggesting anything yet,” said Penny quietly. “But you must realize that it is rather unusual to keep an alligator on one’s estate.”
“My father brought it here from Florida,” Miss Kippenberg revealed reluctantly. “For some reason the creature seemed to fascinate him. He insisted upon keeping it in the pond.”
“Your father is not living here now I am told.”
“That is true.” Miss Kippenberg quickly switched the subject back to the alligator. “Mother and I would like to get rid of the beast but we’ve never been able to do it.”
“Any zoo should be willing to take it off your hands.”
“Mother often spoke of getting in touch with one but for some reason she never did. I suppose she hesitated to give the alligator away upon Father’s account.”
Penny remained silent, wondering how deeply she dared probe into the private life of the Kippenberg family. After all there were certain inquiries which a person of sensibility could not make. She couldn’t very well ask: “Have your parents separated? Why did your father leave home? Is it true he is wanted by the authorities for evading income tax?” although these questions were upon the tip of her tongue.
She did say carelessly, “Your father is away, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Miss Kippenberg answered briefly. After a moment she went on: “Father was rather peculiar in many ways. He had a decided flare for the unusual. Take this estate for instance. He had it built at great expense to resemble a castle he once saw in Germany.”
“I’ve never visited such an elegant place.”
“It is entirely too flamboyant for my taste. But Father loved every tower and turret. If only things had turned out different—”
Her voice trailed away and she stared at the ground, lost in deep thought. Arousing herself, she went on once more.
“If you had known Father you would understand it was not strange for him to have an alligator on the estate. At one time he kept imported peacocks. The place was fairly overrun with them.”
Penny offered no comment. She moved closer to the edge of the lily pool, gazing down into the now tranquil waters.
“I know what you are trying to imply,” Miss Kippenberg said jerkily. “It couldn’t be possible. I refuse even to consider such a ridiculous theory.”
“It does seem rather far-fetched,” Penny admitted. “Of course, tragedies do occur and those foot-prints—”
“Please, not another word or you’ll drive me into hysterics!” Sylvia cried. “You are trying to play upon my feelings so that I will tell you things! You are only trying to get a story! I’ll not talk with you any longer.”
She turned and ran up the path toward the house.
“Overplayed my hand that time,” thought Penny ruefully. “As Dad says, I really have too much imagination to make a good reporter. Also too lively a tongue.”
Miss Kippenberg had vanished into the house by the time the girl retraced her way to the garden. The black limousine no longer stood at the front door so she knew she was expected to get back to Andover by her own efforts.
“If Jerry is still waiting at the drawbridge, I’ll ride home with him,” she told herself. “Otherwise, I’m out of luck completely.”
The path which Penny followed brought her toward the rear of the house. As she drew near, the kitchen door suddenly opened and a stout woman in a blue uniform came outside. In her arms she carried two large paper sacks which appeared to be filled with garbage for the bottoms were moist.
Just as the woman reached Penny one of the bags gave away, allowing a collection of corn husks, watermelon rinds and egg shells to fall on the sidewalk.
“Now I’ve done it!” she exclaimed crossly. “Splattered my stockings too.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” said Penny, pausing.
“This is the only place I ever worked where the cook was expected to carry out the garbage!” the woman complained. “It makes me good and mad every time I do it.”
“I should think a house of this size would have an incinerator so that the garbage could be burned,”Penny remarked.
“Say, this place doesn’t have any conveniences for the servants,” the cook went on. “You’re expected to work, work, work from morning to night.”
She broke off quickly, regarding Penny with a suspicious gaze. “You’re not one of Miss Sylvia’s guests?” she demanded.
“Oh, no, I only came here on an errand. I wouldn’t repeat anything to the family.”
“That’s all right then,” the woman said in relief. “I liked my job here well enough until lately. All month it’s been one dinner party after another. Then we spent days getting ready for the wedding feast and not one scrap of food was touched!”
“But I suppose Mrs. Kippenberg pays you well.”
“Listen, she didn’t give me one extra cent for all the work I did. Mrs. Kippenberg always has been real close, and she’s a heap worse since her husband went away. Another week like this last one and I quit!”
“Well, I can’t say I blame you,” Penny said, leading the woman on. “I suppose Miss Sylvia is as overbearing as her mother?”
“Oh, Miss Sylvia is all right, as sweet a girl as you’ll find anywhere. I felt mighty sorry for her when that no-account man threw her over.”
Penny knew by this time that she must be talking with Mrs. Latch, for the footman had mentioned the cook’s name. As the woman walked on with her bundles of garbage she fell into step wi
th her.
“It was strange about Mr. Atherwald’s disappearance,” she remarked. “I hear he came to the house and then went away just before the wedding.”
“I can tell you about that,” replied Mrs. Latch with an important air. “Yesterday morning a boy came to the back door with a letter for Mr. Atherwald. It’s my opinion he sent it to himself.”
“Didn’t the boy tell you where he had obtained the letter?”
“He said it was given to him by one of Mr. Atherwald’s friends. A man in a boat.”
“Oh, I see,” said Penny, making a mental note of the information. Realizing that the cook had told everything she knew about the matter, she quickly switched the subject. “By the way, who is the head gardener here?”
“Do you mean Peter Henderson?”
“A fairly old man,” described Penny. “Gray hair, stooped shoulders, and I might add, an unpleasant manner.”
“I guess that’s Peter. He’s not much of a gardener in my opinion. And he feels too high and mighty to associate with the other servants. He doesn’t even stay here nights.”
“Is he a new man?”
“Mrs. Kippenberg hired him only three days before the wedding. I don’t think he’s done a lick of honest work since he came here.”
“And Mrs. Kippenberg doesn’t mind?”
“She’s been too busy and bothered to pay any attention to him,” the cook declared. “But she always has time to boss me. I tell you, if dishes aren’t prepared perfectly she raves!”
“No wonder Mr. Kippenberg was forced to leave home,” Penny interposed slyly. “You can’t blame him for running away from a violent temper.”
“Oh, the Kippenbergs never had any trouble,” Mrs. Latch corrected. “Mr. Kippenberg would just laugh and not say a word when she jumped on him. They were never heard to quarrel.”
“Then it seems odd that he went away.”
“Yes, it does,” agreed the cook, frowning. “I never did understand it. And then the way Mrs. Kippenberg changed all the servants!”
“You mean after Mr. Kippenberg went away?”
“She fired everyone except me. I guess she knew she couldn’t get another cook half as good if she let me go. Right away I struck for more money and she gave it to me without a whimper. But since then she works me like a dog.”
Mrs. Latch clattered the lid of the garbage can into place and turned toward the house. But as Penny once more fell into step with her, she paused and regarded the girl with sudden suspicion.
“Say, why am I telling you all this anyway? Who are you? You’re not one of those sneaking reporters?”
“Do I look like a reporter?” countered Penny.
“Well, no, you don’t,” admitted Mrs. Latch. “But you’re as inquisitive as one. You must be the girl who brought Miss Sylvia’s new dress from the LaRue Shoppe.”
Penny hesitated too long over her reply, and the woman gazed at her sharply.
“You are a reporter!” she exclaimed with conviction. “And you’ve been deliberately pumping me! Of all the tricks! I’ll tell Miss Kippenberg!”
“Wait, I can explain.”
Mrs. Latch paid no heed. With an angry toss of her head she hastened into the house.
“Overstepped myself again,” Penny thought in dismay. “I’ll be getting away from here while the getting is good.”
Turning, she ran down the walk toward the river, only to stop short as she reached the boat dock. The drawbridge was in open position and the old watchman did not appear to be at his usual post. She had no way of reaching the mainland.
CHAPTER 12
FISHERMAN’S LUCK
Penny looked anxiously about for a means of crossing the river. There were no small boats available and the only person who stood on the opposite shore was Jerry Livingston. The other reporters and photographers, evidently tiring of their long vigil, had gone away.
She cupped her hands and shouted to Jerry: “How am I going to get over there? Can you lower the bridge?”
“The mechanism is locked,” called back the reporter. “And the watchman won’t be back for an hour.”
Penny walked a short distance up the shore searching for a boat. The only available craft was the large launch which she could not hope to operate. She might return to the house and appeal to Miss Kippenberg but such a course was not to her liking.
As she considered whether or not to ruin her clothing by swimming across, Jerry called her attention to a small boat some distance up the river. The boy who was fishing from it obligingly rowed ashore after Penny had signaled him.
“I’ll give you fifty cents to ferry me across,” she offered.
“I’ll be glad to do it,” he agreed.
Penny stepped into the boat and then asked:“Aren’t you the same lad I saw here yesterday?”
The boy nodded as he reached for the oars. “I remember you,” he answered.
“You seem to fish here nearly every day.”
“Just about. I caught some nice ones today.”Proudly he held up two large fish for her to see.
“Beauties,” praised Penny. “I take it the motor boats haven’t been bothering you as much as they were.”
“It’s been pretty quiet on the river today,” the boy agreed. “Want to see something else I fished up?”
“Why, yes. What did you hook, a mud turtle?”
The boy opened a large wooden box which contained an assortment of rope, fishing tackle and miscellaneous articles. He lifted out a man’s high silk hat, bedraggled and shapeless.
“You fished that out of the water?” Penny demanded, leaning forward to take the article from him. “Where did you find it?”
“Up there a ways.” The boy motioned vaguely toward a point on the Kippenberg estate.
Penny turned the hat over in her hand, examining it closely. She found no identifying marks, yet she believed that it had belonged to Grant Atherwald for he had worn similar headdress. The point indicated by the boy was not far distant from the Kippenberg lily pool.
“How would you like to sell this hat?” she asked.
“Why, it’s not worth anything.”
“I’d like to have it,” said Penny. “I’ll give you another fifty cents.”
“It’s a deal.”
Penny offered the boy a dollar bill, and a moment later he beached the boat. Jerry was waiting to help her ashore. His alert gaze fastened upon the hat which she hugged close, but he withheld comment. To the boy he said:
“Son, how would you like to earn five dollars?”
The boy’s eyes brightened. “Say, this is my lucky day!” he exclaimed. “What doin’?”
“It’s easy,” Jerry told him. “All you need to do is to be here for a couple of days with your boat. You’re not to allow anyone to use it except me.”
“And me,” added Penny. “I’ll need taxi service myself if I come back here.”
“That’s all right,” agreed the boy.
“Here’s a dollar on deposit,” Jerry said. “Now remember, be here tomorrow from eight o’clock on, and don’t hire out to any other person.”
“I won’t,” the boy promised.
Jerry took Penny’s elbow and escorted her to the press car.
“So you found Atherwald’s hat?” he asked without preliminaries.
“It resembles the one he wore. The boy fished it out of the river.”
“Then that looks as if the fellow really was the victim of a plot!”
“I’ve thought so all along,” Penny declared soberly.
“What else did you learn? You seemed to be very chummy with Miss Kippenberg.”
“I’ll not be from now on,” Penny returned ruefully.
As Jerry backed the car around in the dusty road, she told of her meeting with Sylvia Kippenberg and the ensuing conversation.
“So Miss Kippenberg doesn’t like questions?” Jerry asked. “And she refuses to notify the police? Well, after we publish our story in the Star it won’t be necessary. The police will
come to do their own investigating.”
“I can’t really believe she is trying to deceive the authorities,” Penny said thoughtfully. “She seems to have a sincere regard for Grant Atherwald.”
“It may be pretense.”
“She wasn’t pretending the day of the wedding. Atherwald’s disappearance was a great shock to her.”
“Well, even so, she may know a lot more than she’s putting out.”
“I think that myself. She closed up like a clam when I talked about her father.”
The car came to the main road and a short time later entered the town of Corbin. As they stopped for a red light, Penny touched Jerry’s arm.
“Look over there,” she directed. “See those two men standing in front of the drugstore?”
“What about them?”
“They’re G men who attended the Kippenberg wedding. Salt pointed them out to me.”
“You don’t say! Maybe we can learn a fact or two from them.”
Jerry parked the car at the curb and sprang out. Penny saw him walk over to the men, introduce himself and show his press credentials. She was too far away to hear the conversation.
In a few minutes Jerry returned to the car looking none too elated.
“You didn’t learn anything, did you?” Penny inquired as they drove on again.
“Not very much. Government men never will talk. But they did admit they were here trying to locate James Kippenberg.”
“Then they think he is in the locality.”
“They had an idea he would show up at his daughter’s wedding. But it didn’t turn out that way.”
“Did you say anything to them about Grant Atherwald’s disappearance?”
“Yes, but they wouldn’t discuss it. They said they had nothing to do with the case.”
Penny lapsed into reflective silence as the car went on toward Andover. Mentally she sorted over the evidence which she had gathered that day, trying to fit it into a definite pattern.
“Jerry,” she said at last.
“Yes?”
“You’ll probably laugh at this, but I have a theory about Grant Atherwald’s disappearance.”
“Go ahead, spill it.”
“Yesterday when Salt and I were waiting at the drawbridge we saw a motorboat cruise down the river. It was driven by a burly looking fellow who paid no heed when we tried to hail him.”
The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels Page 7
