Saboteurs
on the River

By
MILDRED A. WIRT

Author of
MILDRED A. WIRT MYSTERY STORIES
TRAILER STORIES FOR GIRLS

Illustrated

CUPPLES AND LEON COMPANY
Publishers
NEW YORK

PENNY PARKER
MYSTERY STORIES

Large 12 mo. Cloth Illustrated

TALE OF THE WITCH DOLL
THE VANISHING HOUSEBOAT
DANGER AT THE DRAWBRIDGE
BEHIND THE GREEN DOOR
CLUE OF THE SILKEN LADDER
THE SECRET PACT
THE CLOCK STRIKES THIRTEEN
THE WISHING WELL
SABOTEURS ON THE RIVER
GHOST BEYOND THE GATE
HOOFBEATS ON THE TURNPIKE
VOICE FROM THE CAVE
GUILT OF THE BRASS THIEVES
SIGNAL IN THE DARK
WHISPERING WALLS
SWAMP ISLAND
THE CRY AT MIDNIGHT

COPYRIGHT, 1943, BY CUPPLES AND LEON CO.

Saboteurs on the River

PRINTED IN U. S. A.

“I’M GOING TO PUT MY CAMEO PIN INSIDE THIS ONE,” PENNY SAID.
“Saboteurs on the River” ([See Page 189])

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE [1 TROUBLE AFLOAT] 1 [2 FRONT PAGE NEWS] 11 [3 STRAIGHT FROM THE SHOULDER] 21 [4 AN UNWARRANTED ATTACK] 28 [5 HELD ON SUSPICION] 36 [6 OLD NOAH] 44 [7 ARK OF THE MUD FLATS] 54 [8 THE GREEN PARROT] 62 [9 A JOB FOR MR. OAKS] 70 [10 SALVAGE AND SABOTEURS] 78 [11 PURSUIT BY TAXI] 86 [12 JERRY’S DISAPPEARANCE] 94 [13 A VACANT BUILDING] 101 [14 TEST BLACKOUT] 110 [15 A DRIFTING BARGE] 120 [16 DANGER ON THE RIVER] 127 [17 A STOLEN BOAT] 134 [18 PENNY’S PLAN] 145 [19 STANDING GUARD] 153 [20 A SHACK IN THE WOODS] 163 [21 THROUGH THE SKYLIGHT] 170 [22 A SEARCHING PARTY] 177 [23 HELP FROM NOAH] 184 [24 A MESSAGE IN THE BOTTLE] 193 [25 A BOW IN THE CLOUD] 201

CHAPTER
1
TROUBLE AFLOAT

A girl in blue slacks, woolen sweater and tennis shoes strode jauntily along the creaking boards of the dark river dock. A large white cotton bag slung carelessly over one shoulder added to the grace of the lithe young figure.

“Hi, Penny!” called a young man who tinkered with the engine of a motorboat. “Out to bury the body?”

Penny Parker chuckled and shifted the bag to the opposite shoulder. “Just thought it would be a good night for a sail, Bill. Have you seen Louise Sidell sneaking around anywhere?”

Before the young sailor could answer, a voice shouted from the darkness, “Here I am!”

Turning her head, Penny glimpsed her chum, a chubby silhouette in the moonlight. Louise, warmly dressed, already was comfortably established in one of the small sailing boats tied up at the wharf.

“Time you’re arriving,” she said accusingly as Penny tossed the sail bag into her hands. “You promised to meet me here at eight o’clock. It’s at least eight-thirty now.”

“Sorry, old dear.” Penny leaped nimbly aboard and with practiced fingers began to put up the mainsail. “After I ’phoned you, I got hung up at home. Dishes and all that sort of thing. Then Dad delayed me ten minutes while he lectured on the undesirability of daughter taking a moonlight sail.”

“I gather you gained the better of the argument,” Louise grinned. “Mother made me agree to wear a life-preserver. Imagine! And there’s barely enough wind stirring to whiff us across the river.”

For many years Penny and Louise had been chums. Students at Riverview High School, they enjoyed the same sports, particularly swimming and sailing. The little mahogany dinghy, appropriately named “Pop’s Worry,” was owned by Penny’s father, Anthony Parker, editor of Riverview’s most enterprising newspaper, the Star.

Together with Mrs. Maud Weems, a housekeeper who had cared for Penny since her mother’s death, he never felt entirely easy when the girls were on the river at night. Nevertheless, Penny was an excellent sailor and rather gloried in the record that her boat had overturned only once during the past season.

“All set?” she asked Louise, casting off the ropes one by one.

As Penny shoved the boat away from the dock, the flapping sail stiffened to the breeze. Louise ducked her head to avoid the swinging boom.

Bill Evans, watching from shore, called a friendly warning: “If you’re planning to sail down river, better not get too close to Thompson’s bridge! The new regulations say seventy-five feet.”

“We’ll give it a wide berth,” responded Penny. She sailed the boat out through the slip into the main channel of the Big Bear river. When well beyond the dock she commented sadly: “Poor old Bill. Always giving advice. Guess he can’t help it.”

“His boat’s just a leaky tub,” replied Louise. “I hear it sunk twice while tied up to the dock. One has to feel sorry for him and treat him with kindness.”

Penny steered “Pop’s Worry” in a diagonal course down stream. On either side of the shore, from houses, factories, and a nearby amusement park, lights twinkled and were reflected on the unruffled surface of the water. The breeze was soft and warm; the stars seemed very close. Overhead a disc of orange moon rode lazily, now and then dodging behind a fleecy cloud.

“It’s a perfect night to sail,” Louise said, snuggling amid the cushions. “Wish we’d brought the phonograph along.”

“Uh-huh,” Penny agreed, her gaze on an approaching motorboat.

The oncoming craft showed no lights. Uncertain that the pilot would see Pop’s Worry, she focused the beam of her flashlight high on the mainsail. The motorboat altered its course instantly and completely. Instead of turning only enough to avoid the sailing craft, it circled in a sharp arc and sped toward the opposite shore. There it was lost to view amid a dark fringe of trees.

“It’s against the regulations to cruise without lights,” Penny commented. “Wonder who piloted that boat?”

“Whoever he was, you seemed to frighten him away.”

“He did turn tail when he saw my light,” Penny agreed, scanning the distant shore. “I imagine the boat came from Ottman’s. At least it looked like one of theirs.”

Ottman’s—a nautical supply shop and boat rental dock—was well known, not only to the girls, but to all sailors who plied nearby waters. Owned and operated by a brother and sister, Sara and Burt Ottman, the establishment provided canoes, sea skiffs and rowboats to all who were able to pay the hourly rate. Because many of the would-be boatmen were more venturesome than experienced, seasoned sailors were inclined to eye such pilots with distrust.

“Careful, Penny!” Louise called as she saw the mainsail begin to flap in the wind. “You’re luffing!”

Reminded of her duties as steersman, Penny headed the little boat on its course once more. As the sail again became taut, she noticed a small object floating in the water directly ahead. At first she could not be certain what it was, and then she decided that it must be a corked bottle.

Deliberately Penny steered close to the object. Remarking that a bottle would create a hazard for the propellers of a motorboat, she reached to snatch it from the water. The current, however, swung it just beyond her reach.

“Bother!” she exclaimed in annoyance. “I want that bottle!”

“Oh, what do you care?” Louise demanded with a shrug. “Someone else will fish it out.”

“It could do a great deal of damage. Besides, as it floated past, I thought I saw a piece of paper inside.”

“If you aren’t the same old Penny!” teased Louise. “Always looking for a mystery. I suppose you think yonder bottle bears a note telling where pirates buried their treasure?”

“Probably just a paper requesting: ‘Please write to your lonely pen pal.’ All the same, I must find out.” Keeping her eye on the floating bottle, Penny skillfully brought the boat about.

“Take the tiller a minute, please,” she requested her chum.

Not without misgivings, Louise reached for the long steering stick. Although she occasionally handled “Pop’s Worry,” she never felt confident of her ability as a sailor. An unexpected puff of wind or a sudden tilt of the boat could send her into a state of panic.

“Grab that old bottle and don’t take twenty years,” she urged nervously.

Penny leaned far out over the boat in an attempt to reach the bottle. Her weight tilted the light craft low into the water. Louise hastily shifted to the opposite side as a counter-balance, and in so doing, released the mainsheet. The boom promptly swung out.

Penny made a wild lunge for the running sheet, but could not prevent disaster. The end of the boom dipped into the water. As the sail became wet and heavy it slowly pulled the boat after it.

“We’re going over!” Louise shrieked, scrambling for the high side.

“We are over,” corrected Penny sadly.

Both girls had been tossed into the water. Louise, protected by a life preserver, immediately grasped the overturned boat and even saved her hair from getting wet. Penny, however, swam after the bobbing bottle. A moment later she came back, triumphantly hugging it against her chest.

“It’s a blue pop bottle, Louise,” she announced, grasping her chum’s extended hand. “And there is a piece of paper inside!”

“You and that stupid old bottle!” Louise retorted. “I guess it was my fault we upset, but you never should have turned the tiller over to me.”

“Oh, who minds a little upset?”

“I do,” Louise said crossly. “The water’s cold, and we’re at least a quarter of a mile from shore. No boats close by, either.”

“Oh, we can get out of this by ourselves,” Penny returned, undismayed. “Hold my bottle while I try to haul in the sail.”

“I’d like to uncork your precious bottle and drop it to the bottom of the river!”

Nevertheless, while her chum worked with the halyard, Louise held tightly to the little object which had caused all the trouble. Neither in shape nor size was the bottle unusual, but the paper it contained did arouse her curiosity. Though she never would have admitted it, she too wondered if it might bear an interesting message.

After pulling in the heavy, water-soaked sail, the girls climbed to the high side of the boat, trying by their combined weight to right it. Time and again they failed. At last, breathless, cold, discouraged, they admitted that the task was beyond their strength.

“Let’s shout for help,” Louise proposed, anxiously watching the distant shore lights.

“All right,” agreed Penny, “but I doubt anyone will hear us. My, we’re drifting down river fast!”

Decidedly worried, the girls shouted many times. There were no boats near, not even the motor craft they had observed a few minutes earlier. The swift current seemed to be swinging them directly toward Thompson’s bridge.

“A watchman always is on guard there night and day,” Penny commented, scanning the arching structure of steel. “If the old fellow isn’t asleep he should see us as we drift by.”

Louise was too cold and miserable to answer. However, she rather unwillingly held the blue bottle while Penny swam and tried to guide the overturned boat toward shore.

When the girls were fairly close to the bridge, they began to shout once more. Although they could see automobiles moving to and fro across the great archway, no one became aware of their plight.

Then as they despaired, there came an answering shout from above. A powerful beam of light played over the water, cutting a bright path.

“Help! Help!” screamed Louise, waving an arm.

“Halt or I’ll fire!” rang out the terse command from the bridge.

“Halt?” cried Penny, too exasperated to consider the significance of the order. “That’s what we’d like to do, but we can’t!”

The searchlight came to rest on the overturned sailboat. The girls were so blinded that for a moment they could see nothing. Then the searchlight shifted slightly to the left, and they were able to distinguish a short, stoop-shouldered man who peered over the railing of the bridge. Apparently satisfied that their plight was genuine, he called reassuringly:

“Okay, take it easy. I’ll heave you a line.”

The watchman disappeared into the little bridge house. Soon he reappeared, and with excellent aim, tossed a weighted rope so that it fell squarely across the overturned boat. Penny seized an end and made it fast.

“I’ll try to pull you in,” the watchman shouted. “Just hang on.”

Leaving his post on the bridge, the old fellow climbed down a steep incline to the muddy shore. By means of the long rope, he slowly and laboriously pulled the water-logged boat with the clinging girls toward a quiet cove.

Once within wading depth, the chums aided the watchman by leading the craft in. Together the three of them beached “Pop’s Worry” on a narrow strip of sand.

“Thanks,” Penny gasped, flipping a wet curl from off her freckled nose. “On second thought, many, many thanks.”

“You’ve no business to get so close to the bridge,” the watchman retorted. “It’s agin’ the regulations. I could have you arrested.”

“But it wasn’t our fault this old sailboat upset,” Penny returned reasonably. “We were reaching for a floating bottle—oh, my Aunt! Where is that bottle, Louise? Don’t tell me we’ve lost it!”

Her chum was given no opportunity to reply, for at that moment a motorboat roared down the river at high speed. Its throttle was wide open, and it appeared to be racing straight toward the bridge.

“Halt!” shouted the watchman, jerking a weapon from a leather holster. “Halt!”

The pilot did not obey the command. Instead, to the amazement of the watchers, he leaped from the cockpit and swam for the opposite shore. Twice the watchman fired at him, but the bullets were well above the swimmer’s head.

The unpiloted boat, its helm securely lashed, drove straight on its course.

“It’s going to strike the bridge!” shouted Louise.

As the boat raced head on into one of the massive concrete piers, there came a deafening explosion. The entire steel structure of the bridge seemed to recoil from the impact. Girders shivered and shook, cables rattled. On the eastern approach, brakes screamed as automobiles were brought to a sudden halt.

“Saboteurs!” the watchman cried hoarsely. “They’ve done it—dynamited the bridge!”

CHAPTER
2
FRONT PAGE NEWS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bridge damaged,” Penny replied tersely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, it’s a possibility.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He got away?”

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

“At what point?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. Parker telephoned DeWitt and then joined the others at the press car. As Salt Sommers climbed aboard with his camera, an automobile bearing a News windshield sticker, skidded to a stop nearby.

“Too bad, boys,” Salt taunted the rival photographers. “Better late than never!”

Already news vendors were crying the Star’s first extra. Once well away from the bridge, Mr. Parker stopped the car to buy a paper.

“Nice going,” he declared in satisfaction as he scanned the big black headlines. “We beat every other Riverview paper by a good margin. A colorful story, too.”

“Thanks to whom?” demanded Penny, giving him a pinch.

“I suppose I should say, to you,” he admitted with a grin. “However, I see you’ve already received ample credit. DeWitt gave you a by-line.”

“Did he really?” Penny took the paper from her father’s hand and gazed affectionately at her own name in print. “Nice of him. Especially when I didn’t even suggest the idea.”

To a newspaper reporter, a story tagged with his own name means high honor. Many times Penny, ever alert for news, had enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing her stories appear with a by-line. Early in her career as a self-made newspaper girl, her contributions had been regarded as something of an annoyance to her father and the staff of the Star. But of late she had turned in many of the paper’s best scoops and incidentally, had solved a few mysteries.

“This is the way I like a story written,” Mr. Parker declared, reading aloud from the account which bore his daughter’s name. “No flowery phrases. Just a straight version of how your sailboat upset and what you saw as it floated down toward the bridge.”

“It’s a pretty drab account if you ask me,” sniffed Penny. “I could have written it up much better myself. Why, the re-write man didn’t even tell how Louise and I happened to upset!”

“A detail of no importance,” Mr. Parker returned. “I mean, in connection with the story,” he corrected hastily as Penny flashed him an injured look. “What did cause you to capsize?”

“A blue bottle, Dad. It had a piece of paper inside. I was reaching for it and—oh, my aunt!”

“Now what?” demanded her father.

“Turn the car around and drive back to the bridge!”

“Drive back? Why?”

“I’ve lost that blue bottle,” Penny fairly wailed. “Louise had it, but I know she didn’t take it home with her. It must be lying somewhere on the beach near our stranded sailboat. Oh, please Dad, turn back!”

CHAPTER
3
STRAIGHT FROM THE SHOULDER

Mr. Parker did not slacken the speed of the car. Relaxing somewhat, he edged farther away from Penny, whose sodden garments were oozing water.

“A bottle!” he exclaimed. “Penny, for a minute you had me worried. I thought you meant something important.”

“But Dad, the bottle is important,” she argued earnestly. “You see, it contains a folded piece of paper, and I’m sure it must be a message.”

“Of all the idiotic things! At a time like this when you should be worried about your health, you plague me about a silly bottle. We’re going straight home.”

“Oh, all right,” Penny accepted the decision with a shrug. “Nevertheless, I’m curious about that bottle, and I mean to find it tomorrow!”

Mr. Parker dropped Jerry and Salt off at the newspaper plant and then drove on to his home. The house, a modern two-story dwelling, was situated on a terrace overlooking the river. Lights glowed from the living room windows and Mrs. Weems, the stout housekeeper, could be seen hovering over the radio.

“I was just listening to the news about the dynamiting,” she remarked as Mr. Parker and his daughter came in from the kitchen. Turning her head, she stared at the girl’s bedraggled hair and wet clothing. “Why, Penny Parker!”

“I guess I am a little bit moist,” Penny admitted with a grin. Sitting down on the davenport, she began to strip off her shoes and stockings.

“Not here!” Mrs. Weems protested. “Take a hot shower while I fix you a warm drink. Oh, I knew you shouldn’t have gone sailing at night.”

“But Mrs. Weems—”

“Scoot right up to the bathroom and get out of those wet clothes!” the housekeeper interrupted. “You’ll be lucky if you don’t come down with your death o’ cold.”

Carrying a shoe in either hand, Penny wearily climbed the stairs. By the time she had finished under the shower, Mrs. Weems appeared with a glass of hot lemonade.

“Drink this,” she commanded sternly. “Then get into bed and I’ll fix you up with the hot water bag.”

“But I’m not sick,” Penny grumbled.

“You will be tomorrow,” the housekeeper predicted. “Your father told me how he allowed you to stay at the bridge while police searched for the saboteur. I declare, I don’t know what he was thinking of!”

“Dad and I are a couple of tough old news hawks,” Penny chuckled. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to compromise with you.”

“Compromise?” Mrs. Weems asked suspiciously.

“I’ll drink the lemonade if you’ll let me skip the hot water bottle.”

“Indeed not,” Mrs. Weems returned firmly. “Now jump into bed, and no more arguments.”

Although Penny considered the housekeeper entirely too thorough in her methods, she enjoyed the pleasant warmth of the bed. She drank the lemonade, submitted to the hot water bottle, and then snuggling down, slept soundly. When she awakened, sunlight streamed in through the Venetian blinds. Cocking an eye at the dresser clock, she saw to her dismay that it was ten o’clock.

“My Aunt!” she exclaimed, leaping out of bed. “All this good time wasted!”

With the speed of a trained fireman, Penny wriggled into her clothes. She gave her auburn hair a quick brush but took time to slap a little polish on her saddle shoes before bounding down the stairs to the kitchen.

“Is that you or a gazelle escaped from the zoo?” inquired Mrs. Weems who was washing dishes at the sink.

“Why didn’t you bounce me out of bed two hours ago?” asked Penny. “I have an important business engagement for this morning.”

“You’re not going to the river again, I hope!”

“Oh, but I must, Mrs. Weems.” Penny opened the refrigerator and helped herself to a bowl of strawberries and a Martha Washington pie.

“You’re not breakfasting on that,” said the housekeeper, taking the dishes away from her. “Oatmeal is what you need. Now why must you go to the river?”

“Someone has to salvage the sailboat. Besides, I lost a valuable object last night—”

The telephone jingled, and Penny darted off to answer it. As she had anticipated, the call was from Louise Sidell, who in a very husky voice asked her how she was feeling.

“Fit as a fiddle and ready to go bottle hunting!” Penny replied promptly. “And you?”

“I hurt in all the wrong places,” Louise complained. “What a night!”

“Why, I enjoyed every minute of it,” Penny said with sincerity. “If you’re such a wreck I suppose you won’t care to go with me to the river this morning. By the way, what did you do with that blue bottle?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. I’m sure I had it in my hand when we reached shore, but that’s the last I remember.”

“Well, never mind, if it’s anywhere on the beach I’ll find it,” Penny said. “Sure you don’t want to tag along?”

“Maybe I will.”

“Then meet me in twenty minutes at Ottman’s dock. Signing off now to gobble a bowl of oatmeal.”

Without giving Louise a chance to change her mind, Penny hung up the receiver and returned to the kitchen. After fortifying herself with oatmeal, a glass of orange juice, bacon, two rolls and sundry odds and ends, she started off to meet Louise. Her chum, looking none too cheerful, awaited her near Ottman’s dock.

“Why did you ask me to meet you at this particular place, Penny?” she inquired. “It was a block out of my way.”

“I thought we might rent one of Ottman’s boats and row down to the bridge. It will be easier than walking along the mud flats.”

“You think of everything,” Louise said admiringly. “But where’s the proprietor of this place?”

Boats of all description were fastened along the dock, but neither Burt Ottman nor his sister were visible. Not far from a long shed which served as ticket office and canoe-storage house, an empty double-deck motor launch had been tied to a pier. An aged black and white dog drowsed on its sunny deck.

“Guess the place is deserted,” Penny commented. After wandering about, she sat down on an overturned row boat which had been pulled out near the water’s edge.

The boat moved beneath her, and an irate voice rumbled: “Would you mind getting off?”

Decidedly startled, Penny sprang to her feet.

As the boat was pushed over on its side, a girl in grimy slacks, rolled from beneath it. Barely twenty years of age, her skin was rough and brown from constant exposure to wind and sun. A smear of varnish decorated one cheek and she held a can of caulking material in her hand.

“I’m sorry,” said Penny, smiling. “Do you live under that boat?”

Sara Ottman’s dark eyes flashed. Getting to her feet, she regarded the girl with undisguised hostility.

“Very clever, aren’t you!” she said scathingly. “In fact, quite the little joker!”

“Why, I didn’t mean anything,” Penny apologized. “I had no idea you were working under that thing.”

“So clever, and such a marvelous detective,” Sara went on, paying no heed. “Why, it was Penny Parker who not so long ago astonished Riverview by solving the Mystery of the Witch Doll! And who but Penny aided the police in trailing The Vanishing Houseboat? It was our own Penny who learned why the tower Clock Struck Thirteen. And now we are favored with her most valuable opinion in connection with the bridge dynamiting case!”

Penny and Louise were dumbfounded by the sudden, unwarranted attack. By no stretch of the imagination could they think that Sara Ottman meant her words as a joke. But what had her so aroused? While it was true that Penny had solved many local mysteries, she never had been boastful of her accomplishments. In fact, she was one of the most popular girls in Riverview.

“Are you sure you haven’t a fever, Miss Ottman?” Penny demanded, her own eyes blazing. “I certainly fail to understand such an outburst.”

“Of course you do,” the other mocked. “You’re not used to talk coming straight from the shoulder. Why are you here anyhow?”

“To rent a boat.”

“Well, you can’t have one,” Sara Ottman said shortly. “And if you never come around here again, it will be soon enough.”

Glaring once more at Penny, she turned and strode into the boathouse.

CHAPTER
4
AN UNWARRANTED ATTACK

“Now will you tell me what I did to deserve a crack like that?” Penny muttered as the door of the boathouse slammed behind Sara Ottman.

“Not a single thing,” Louise answered loyally. “She just rolled out from beneath that boat with a dagger between her teeth!”

“I guess I am a little prig, Lou.”

“You’re no such thing!” Louise grasped her arm and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Come along and forget it. I never did like Sara Ottman anyhow.”

Penny allowed herself to be led away from the dock, but the older girl’s unkind remarks kept pricking her mind. Although occasionally in the past she had stopped for a few minutes at the Ottman place, she never before had spoken a dozen words to Sara. Nearly all of her business dealings had been with Burt Ottman, a pleasant young man who had painted her father’s sailboat that spring.

“I simply can’t understand it,” Penny mumbled, trudging along the shore with Louise. “The last time I saw Sara she spoke to me politely enough. I must have offended her, but how?”

“Oh, why waste any thought on her?” Louise scoffed.

“Because it bothers me. She mentioned the bridge dynamiting affair. Maybe it was my by-line story in the Star that offended her.”

“What did it say?” Louise inquired curiously. “I didn’t see the morning paper.”

“Neither did I. I gave my story to a rewrite man over the telephone. I meant to read the entire account, but was in a hurry to get over here, so I skipped it.”

“Well, I shouldn’t worry about the matter if I were you.”

“I’m sure the boat used in the dynamiting came from Ottman’s,” Penny declared, thinking aloud. “Perhaps Sara is just out of sorts because she and her brother lost their property.”

Making their way along the mud flats, the girls came at last to the tiny stretch of sand where the sailboat had been beached the previous night. It lay exactly as they had left it, cockpit half filled with water, the tall mast nosed into the loose sand.

“What a mess,” sighed Penny. “Well, the first thing to do is to get the wet sail off. We should have taken care of it last night.”

Before beginning the task, the girls wandered toward the nearby bridge to inspect the damage caused by dynamiting. An armed soldier refused to allow them to approach closer than twenty yards. All traffic had been halted, and a group of engineers could be seen examining the shattered pier.

“Is Mr. Oaks around here?” Penny asked the soldier.

“Oaks? Oh, you mean the bridge watchman. He’s been charged with neglect of duty, and relieved of his job.”

Penny and Louise were sorry to hear the news, feeling that in a way they were responsible for the old fellow having left his post. Unable to learn whether or not the watchman was being detained by police, they returned to the beach to salvage their sailboat.

Without a pump, it was a difficult task to remove the water from the cockpit of “Pop’s Worry.” By rocking the boat back and forth and scooping with an old tin can, the girls finally got most of it out.

“We’ll have to dry the sail somehow or it will mildew,” Penny decided. “The best thing, I think, is to put it on again and sail home.”

Together they righted the boat. As the tall mast flipped out of the sand, Penny caught glimpse of a shiny, blue object.

“Our bottle!” she cried triumphantly, making a dive for it.

“Your bottle,” corrected Louise. “I’m not a bit interested in that silly old thing.”

Nevertheless, as Penny sat down on the deck of “Pop’s Worry” and removed the cork, she edged nearer. By means of a hairpin, the folded sheet of paper contained within was pulled from the narrow neck. Highly elated, Penny spread out the message to read.

“Well, what does it say?” Louise inquired impatiently.

“Oh, so you are interested,” teased Penny.

“Now don’t try to be funny! Read the message.”

Penny stared at the paper in her hand. “It’s rather queer,” she acknowledged. “Listen:

“‘The day of the Great Deluge approaches. If you would be saved from destruction, seek without delay, the shelter of my ark.’”

“If that isn’t nonsense!” Louise exclaimed, peering over her chum’s shoulder. “And the note is signed, ‘Noah.’”

“Someone’s idea of a joke, I suppose,” Penny replied. She tossed the paper away, then reconsidering, retrieved the message and with the bottle, placed it in the cockpit of the boat. “Well, it’s rained a lot this Spring, but I don’t think we’ll have to worry about the Great Deluge.”

“Noah was a Biblical character,” Louise commented thoughtfully. “I remember that when God told him it would rain forty days and forty nights, he built an ark to resist the flood waters. And he took his family in with him and all the animals, two by two.”

“Noah was a bit before our time,” laughed Penny. “Suppose we shove off for home.”

By dint of much physical exertion, the girls pushed “Pop’s Worry” out into the shallow water. Penny, who had removed shoes and stockings, gave a final thrust and leaped lightly aboard. Raising the wet sail, she allowed it to flap loosely in the wind.

“We’ll have everything snug and dry by the time we reach home,” she declared confidently. “Tired, Lou?”

“A little,” admitted her chum, stretching out full length on the deck. “I like to sail but I don’t like to bail! And just think, if you hadn’t been so crazy to get that blue bottle, we’d have spared ourselves a lot of hard work.”

“Well, a fellow never knows. The bottle might have provided the first clue in an absorbing mystery! Who do you suppose wrote such an odd message?”

“How should I know?” yawned Louise. “Probably some prankster.”

Taking a zigzag course, “Pop’s Worry” tacked slowly upstream. Whipped by a brisk wind, the wet sail gradually dried and regained its former shape.

As the boat presently approached Ottman’s dock, both girls turned to gaze in that direction. Sara could be seen moving about on one of the floating platforms, retying several boats which banged at their moorings.

“Better tack,” Louise advised in a low tone. “We don’t want to get too close.”

Penny acted as if she had not heard. She made no move to bring the boat about.

“We’ll end up right at Ottman’s unless you’re careful,” Louise warned. “Or is that what you want to do?”

“I’m thinking about it.” Penny watched Sara with thoughtful eyes.

“Well, if you’ll deliberately go there again, I must say you enjoy being insulted!”

“I’d like to find out why Sara is angry at me. If it’s only a misunderstanding I want to clear it up.”

Louise shook her head sadly but offered no further protest as the boat held to its course. Not until the craft grated gently against one of the floats at Ottman’s did Sara seem to note the girls’ approach. Glancing up from her work, she stared at them, and then deliberately looked away.

“The air’s still chilly,” Penny remarked in an undertone. “Well, we’ll see.”

Making “Pop’s Worry” fast to a spar, she walked across the float to confront Sara.

“Miss Ottman,” she began quietly, “if I’ve done anything to offend you, I wish to apologize.”

Sara turned slowly to face Penny. “You owe me no apology,” she said in a cold voice.

“Then why do you dislike me? I always thought I was welcome around here until today. My father has given you considerable business.”

“I’m sorry I spoke to you the way I did,” Sara replied stiffly and with no warmth. “It was rude of me.”

“But why am I such poison?” Penny persisted. “What have I done?”

“You honestly don’t know?”

“Why, of course not. I shouldn’t be asking if I did.”

Sara stared at Penny as if wondering whether or not to accept her remarks as sincere.

“Do you only write for the papers?” she asked, a slight edge to her voice. “You never read them?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Penny was truly bewildered. “Has this misunderstanding something to do with the bridge dynamiting?”

Sara nodded her head grimly. “It has,” she agreed. “Didn’t you see the morning paper?”

“Why, no.”

“Then wait a minute.” Sara turned and vanished into the boat shed. A moment later she reappeared, carrying a copy of the Star.

“Read that,” she directed, thrusting the black headlines in front of Penny’s eyes. “Now do you understand why I feel that you’re no friend of mine?”

CHAPTER
5
HELD ON SUSPICION

Penny gazed at the Riverview Star’s front page headline which proclaimed:

“BURT OTTMAN ARRESTED AS SUSPECT IN BRIDGE DYNAMITING.”

The opening paragraph of the news story, was even more dismaying. It began:

“Acting upon information provided by Miss Penelope Parker, police today arrested Burt Ottman, owner of the Ottman Boat Dock, charging him with participation in the Friday night dynamiting of Thompson’s bridge.”

Penny hastily scanned the remainder of the story and then protested: “But I never even mentioned your brother’s name to police, Miss Ottman! Why, I certainly didn’t think that he had any connection with the dynamiting.”