Part 1

Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Brenda Lewis and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

Danger at the Drawbridge

_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, 1940, BY CUPPLES AND LEON CO.

Danger at the Drawbridge

PRINTED IN U. S. A.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE 1 AN ASSIGNMENT FOR PENNY _1_ 2 REPORTERS NOT WANTED _9_ 3 GIFT TO THE BRIDE _19_ 4 BEHIND THE BUSHES _28_ 5 THE MISSING BRIDEGROOM _35_ 6 A RING OF WHITE GOLD _45_ 7 THE FORBIDDEN POOL _54_ 8 PARENTAL PROTEST _63_ 9 A SOCIETY BAZAAR _72_ 10 A THROWN STONE _79_ 11 QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS _88_ 12 FISHERMAN'S LUCK _96_ 13 TWO MEN AND A BOAT _105_ 14 THE STONE TOWER _113_ 15 A CAMEO PIN _122_ 16 GATHERING CLUES _129_ 17 A SEARCH FOR JERRY _140_ 18 OVER THE DRAWBRIDGE _149_ 19 A DARING RESCUE _158_ 20 AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW _164_ 21 THE WHITE CRUISER _171_ 22 TRAPPED IN THE CABIN _177_ 23 AT THE HIDE-OUT _184_ 24 SECRET OF THE LILY POOL _192_ 25 VICTORY FOR PENNY _203_

CHAPTER 1 _AN ASSIGNMENT FOR PENNY_

Penny Parker, leaning indolently against the edge of the kitchen table, watched Mrs. Weems stem strawberries into a bright green bowl.

"Tempting bait for Dad's jaded appetite," she remarked, helping herself to the largest berry in the dish. "If he can't eat them, I can."

"I do wish you'd leave those berries alone," the housekeeper protested in an exasperated tone. "They haven't been washed yet."

"Oh, I don't mind a few germs," laughed Penny. "I just toss them off like a duck shedding water. Shall I take the breakfast tray up to Dad?"

"Yes, I wish you would, Penny," sighed Mrs. Weems. "I'm right tired on my feet this morning. Hot weather always did wear me down."

She washed the berries and then offered the tray of food to Penny who started with it toward the kitchen vestibule.

"Now where are you going, Penelope Parker?" Mrs. Weems demanded suspiciously.

"Oh, just to the automatic lift." Penny's blue eyes were round with innocence.

"Don't you dare try to ride in that contraption again!" scolded the housekeeper. "It was never built to carry human freight."

"I'm not exactly freight," Penny said with an injured sniff. "It's strong enough to carry me. I know because I tried it last week."

"You walk up the stairs like a lady or I'll take the tray myself," Mrs. Weems threatened. "I declare, I don't know when you'll grow up."

"Oh, all right," grumbled Penny good-naturedly. "But I do maintain it's a shameful waste of energy."

Balancing the tray precariously on the palm of her hand she tripped lightly up the stairway and tapped on the door of her father's bedroom.

"Come in," he called in a muffled voice.

Anthony Parker, editor and owner of the _Riverview Star_ sat propped up with pillows, reading a day-old edition of the newspaper.

"'Morning, Dad," said Penny cheerfully. "How is our invalid today?"

"I'm no more an invalid than you are," returned Mr. Parker testily. "If that old quack, Doctor Horn, doesn't let me out of bed today--"

"You'll simply explode, won't you, Dad?" Penny finished mischievously. "Here, drink your coffee and you'll feel less like a stick of dynamite."

Mr. Parker tossed the newspaper aside and made a place on his knees for the breakfast tray.

"Did I hear an argument between you and Mrs. Weems?" he asked curiously.

"No argument, Dad. I just wanted to ride up in style on the lift. Mrs. Weems thought it wasn't a civilized way to travel."

"I should think not." The corners of Mr. Parker's mouth twitched slightly as he poured coffee from the silver pot. "That lift was built to carry breakfast trays, but not in combination with athletic young ladies."

"What a bore, this business of growing up," sighed Penny. "You can't be natural at all."

"You seem to manage rather well with all the restrictions," her father remarked dryly.

Penny twisted her neck to gaze at her reflection in the dresser mirror beyond the footboard of the big mahogany bed.

"I won't mind growing up if only I'm able to develop plenty of glamour," she said speculatively. "Am I getting any better looking, Dad?"

"Not that I've noticed," replied Mr. Parker gruffly, but his gaze lingered affectionately upon his daughter's golden hair. She really was growing prettier each day and looked more like her mother who had died when Penny was a little girl. He had spoiled her, of course, for she was an only child, but he was proud because he had taught her to think straight. She was deeply loyal and affectionate and those who loved her overlooked her casual ways and flippant speech.

"What happened to the paper boy this morning?" Mr. Parker asked between bites of buttered toast.

"It isn't time for him yet, Dad," said Penny demurely. "You always expect him at least an hour early."

"First edition's been off the press a good half hour," grumbled the newspaper owner. "When I get back to the _Star_ office, I'll see that deliveries are speeded up. Just wait until I talk with Roberts!"

"Haven't you been doing a pretty strenuous job of running the paper right from your bed?" inquired Penny as she refilled her father's cup. "Sometimes when you talk with that poor circulation manager I think the telephone wires will burn off."

"So I'm a tyrant, am I?"

"Oh, everyone knows your bark is worse than your bite, Dad. But you've certainly not been at your best the last few days."

Mr. Parker's eyes roved about the luxuriously furnished bedroom. Tinted walls, chintz draperies, the rich, deep rug, were completely lost upon him. "This place is a prison," he grumbled.

For nearly a week the household had been thrown completely out of its usual routine by the editor's illness. Overwork combined with an attack of influenza had sent him to bed, there to remain until he should be released by a doctor's order. With a telephone at his elbow, Mr. Parker had kept in close touch with the staff of the _Riverview Star_ but he fretted at confinement.

"I can't half look after things," he complained. "And now Miss Hilderman, the society editor, is sick. I don't know how we'll get a good story on the Kippenberg wedding."

Penny looked up quickly. "Miss Hilderman is ill?"

"Yes, DeWitt, the city editor, telephoned me a few minutes ago. She wasn't able to show up for work this morning."

"I really don't see why he should bother you about that, Dad. Can't Miss Hilderman's assistant take over the duties?"

"The routine work, yes, but I don't care to trust her with the Kippenberg story."

"Is it something extra special, Dad?"

"Surely, you've heard of Mrs. Clayton Kippenberg?"

"The name is familiar but I can't seem to recall--"

"Clayton Kippenberg made a mint of money in the chain drug business. No one ever knew exactly the extent of his fortune. He built an elaborate estate about a hundred and twenty-five miles from here, familiarly called _The Castle_ because of its resemblance to an ancient feudal castle. The estate is cut off from the mainland on three sides and may be reached either by boat or by means of a picturesque drawbridge."

"Sounds interesting," commented Penny.

"I never saw the place myself. In fact, Kippenberg never allowed outsiders to visit the estate. Less than a year ago a rumor floated around that he had separated from his wife. There also was considerable talk that he had disappeared because of difficulties with the government over income tax evasion and wished to escape arrest. At any rate, he faded out of the picture while his wife remained in possession of _The Castle_."

"And now she is marrying again?"

"No, it is Mrs. Kippenberg's daughter, Sylvia, who is to be married. The bridegroom, Grant Atherwald, comes from a very old and distinguished family."

"I don't see why the story should be so difficult to cover."

"Mrs. Kippenberg has ruled that no reporters or photographers will be allowed on the estate," explained Mr. Parker.

"That does complicate the situation."

"Yes, it may not be easy to persuade Mrs. Kippenberg to change her mind. I rather doubt that our assistant society editor has the ingenuity to handle the story."

"Then why don't you send one of the regular reporters? Jerry Livingston, for instance?"

"Jerry couldn't tell a tulle wedding veil from one of crinoline. Nor could any other man on the staff."

"I could get that story for you," Penny said suddenly. "Why don't you try me?"

Mr. Parker gazed at his daughter speculatively.

"Do you really think you could?"

"Of course." Penny spoke with assurance. "Didn't I bring in two perfectly good scoops for your old sheet?"

"You certainly did. Your Vanishing Houseboat yarn was one of the best stories we've published in a year of Sundays. And the town is still talking about Tale of the Witch Doll."

"After what I went through to get those stories, a mere wedding would be child's play."

"Don't be too confident," warned Mr. Parker. "If Mrs. Kippenberg doesn't alter her decision about reporters, the story may be impossible to get."

"May I try?" Penny asked eagerly.

Mr. Parker frowned. "Well, I don't know. I hate to send you so far, and then I have a feeling--"

"Yes, Dad?"

"I can't put my thoughts into words. It's just that my newspaper instinct tells me this story may develop into something big. Kippenberg's disappearance never was fully explained and his wife refused to discuss the affair with reporters."

"Kippenberg might be at the wedding," said Penny, thinking aloud. "If he were a normal father he would wish to see his daughter married."

"You follow my line of thought, Penny. When you're at the estate--if you get in--keep your eyes and ears open."

"Then you'll let me cover the story?" Penny cried in delight.

"Yes, I'll telephone the office now and arrange for a photographer to go with you."

"Tell them to send Salt Sommers," Penny suggested quickly. "He doesn't act as know-it-all as some of the other lads."

"I had Sommers in mind," her father nodded as he reached for the telephone.

"And I have a lot more than Salt Sommers in _my_ mind," laughed Penny.

"Meaning?"

"Another big story, Dad! A scoop for the _Star_ and this for you."

Penny implanted a kiss on her father's cheek and skipped joyously from the room.

CHAPTER 2 _REPORTERS NOT WANTED_

In the editorial room of the _Riverview Star_ heads turned and eyebrows lifted as Penny, decked in her best silk dress and white picture hat, clicked her high-heeled slippers across the bare floor. Jerry Livingston, reporter, stopped pecking at his typewriter and stared in undisguised admiration.

"Well, if it isn't our Bright Penny," he bantered. "Didn't recognize you for a minute in all those glad rags."

"These are my work clothes," replied Penny. "I'm covering the Kippenberg wedding."

Jerry pushed his hat farther back on his head and grinned.

"Tough assignment. From what I hear of the Kippenberg family, you'll be lucky if they don't throw the wedding cake at you."

Penny laughed and went on, winding her way through a barricade of desks to the office of the society editor. Miss Arnold, the assistant, was talking over the telephone, but in a moment she finished and turned to face the girl.

"Good morning, Miss Parker," she said stiffly. An edge to her voice told Penny more clearly than words that the young woman was nettled because she had not been trusted with the story.

"Good morning," replied Penny politely. "Dad said you would be able to give me helpful suggestions about covering the Kippenberg wedding."

"There's not much I can tell you, really. The ceremony is to take place at two o'clock in the garden, so you'll have ample time to reach the estate. If you get in--" Miss Arnold placed an unpleasant emphasis upon the words--"take notes on Miss Kippenberg's gown, the flowers, the decorations, the names of her attendants. Try to keep your facts straight. Nothing infuriates a bride more than to read in the paper that she carried a bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley and roses while actually it was a bouquet of some other flower."

"I'll try not to infuriate Miss Kippenberg," promised Penny.

Miss Arnold glanced quickly at her but the girl's face was perfectly serene.

"That's all I can tell you, Miss Parker," she said shortly. "Bring in at least a column. For some reason the city editor rates the wedding an important story."

"I'll do my best," responded Penny, and arose.

Salt Sommers was waiting for her when she came out of the office. He was a tall, spare young man, with a deep scar down his left cheek. He talked nearly as fast as he walked.

"If you're all set, let's go," he said.

Penny found herself three paces behind but she caught up with the photographer as he waited for the elevator.

"I'm taking Minny along," Salt volunteered, holding his finger steadily on the signal bell. "May come in handy."

"Minny?" asked Penny, puzzled.

"Miniature camera. You can't always use the Model X."

"Oh," murmured Penny. Deeply embarrassed, she remained silent as the elevator shot them down to the ground floor.

Salt loaded his photographic equipment into a battered press car which was parked near the loading dock at the rear of the building. He slid in behind the wheel and then as an afterthought swung open the car door for Penny.

Salt seemed to know the way to the Kippenberg estate. They shot through Riverview traffic, shaving red lights and tooting derisively at slow drivers. In open country he pressed the accelerator down to the floor and the car roared down the road, only slackening speed as it raced through a town.

"How do you travel when you're in a hurry?" Penny gasped, clinging to her flopping hat.

Salt grinned and lifted his foot from the gasoline pedal.

"Sorry," he said. "I get in the habit of driving fast. We have plenty of time."

As they rode, Penny gathered scraps of information. The Kippenberg estate was located six miles from the town of Corbin and was cut off from the mainland on three sides by the joining of two wide rivers, one with a direct outlet to the ocean. Salt did not know when the house had been built but it was considered one of the show places of the locality.

"Do you think we'll have much trouble getting our story?" Penny asked anxiously.

"All depends," Salt answered briefly. He slammed on the brake so suddenly that Penny was flung forward in the seat.

Another car coming from the opposite direction had pulled up at the side of the road. Penny did not recognize the three men who were crowded into the front seat, but the printed placard, _Ledger_ which was pasted on the windshield told her they represented a rival newspaper in Riverview.

"What luck, Les?" Salt called, craning his neck out the car window.

"You may as well turn around and go back," came the disgusted reply. "The old lady won't let a reporter or a photographer on the estate. She has a guard stationed on the drawbridge to see that you don't get past."

The car drove on toward Riverview. Salt sat staring down the road, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on the steering wheel.

"Looks like we're up against a tough assignment," he said. "If Les can't get in--"

"I'm not going back without at least an attempt," announced Penny firmly.

"That's the spirit!" Salt cried with sudden approval. "We'll get on the estate somehow if we have to swim over."

He jerked the press card from the windshield, and reaching into the back seat of the car, covered the Model X camera with an old gunny sack. The miniature camera he placed in his coat pocket.

"No use advertising our profession too early in the game," he remarked.

Twelve-thirty found Penny and Salt in the sleepy little town of Corbin. Fortifying themselves with a lunch of hot dog sandwiches and pop, they followed a winding, dusty highway toward the Kippenberg estate.

Presently, through the trees, marking the end of the road, an iron drawbridge loomed up. It stood in open position so that boats might pass on the river below. A wooden barrier had been erected across the front of the structure which bore a large painted sign. Penny read the words aloud.

"'DANGEROUS DRAWBRIDGE--KEEP OFF.'"

Salt drew up at the side of the road. "Looks as if this is as far as we're going," he said in disgust. "There's no other road to the estate. I'll bet that 'dangerous drawbridge' business is just a dodge to keep undesirables away from the place until after the wedding."

Penny nodded gloomily. Then she brightened as she noticed an old man who obviously was an estate guard standing at the entrance to the bridge. He stared toward the old car as if trying to ascertain whether or not the occupants were expected guests.

"I'm going over to talk with him," Penny said.

"Pretend that you're a guest," suggested Salt. "You look the part in that fancy outfit of yours."

Penny walked leisurely toward the drawbridge. Appraisingly, she studied the old man who leaned comfortably against the gearhouse. A dilapidated hat pulled low over his shaggy brows seemed in keeping with the rest of his wardrobe--a blue work shirt and a pair of grease-smudged overalls. A charred corn-cob pipe, thrust at an angle between his lips, provided sure protection against the mosquitoes swarming up from the river below.

"Good afternoon," began Penny pleasantly. "My friend and I are looking for the Kippenberg estate. We were told at Corbin to take this road but we seem to have made a mistake."

"You ain't made no mistake, Miss," the old man replied.

"Then is the estate across the river?"

"That's right, Miss."

"But how are guests to reach the place? I see the sign says the bridge is out of commission. Are we supposed to swim over?"

"Not if you don't want to," the old man answered evenly. "Mrs. Kippenberg has a launch that takes the folks back and forth. It's on the other side now but will be back in no time at all."

"I'll wait in the car out of the hot sun," Penny said. She started away, then paused to inquire casually: "Is this drawbridge really out of order?"

The old man was deliberate in his reply. He blew a ring of smoke into the air, watched it hover like a floating skein of wool and finally disintegrate as if plucked to pieces by an unseen hand.

"Well, yes, and no," he said. "It ain't exactly sick but she sure is ailin'. I wouldn't trust no heavy contraption on this bridge."

"Condemned by the state, I suppose?"

"No, Miss, and I'll tell you why. This here bridge doesn't belong to the state. It's a private bridge on a private road."

"Odd that Mrs. Kippenberg never had it repaired," Penny remarked. "It must be annoying."

"It is to all them that don't like launches. As for Mrs. Kippenberg, she don't mind. Fact is, she ain't much afraid of the bridge. She drives her car across whenever she takes the notion."

"Then the bridge does operate!" Penny exclaimed.

"Sure it does. That's my job, to raise and lower it whenever the owner says the word. But the bridge ain't fit for delivery trucks and such-like. One of them big babies would crack through like goin' over sponge ice."

"Well, I rather envy your employer," said Penny lightly. "It isn't every lady who has her own private drawbridge."

"She is kind of exclusive-like that way, Miss. Mrs. Kippenberg she keeps the drawbridge up so she'll have more privacy. And I ain't blamin' her. These here newspaper reporters always is a-pesterin' the life out of her."

Penny nodded sympathetically and walked back to make her report to Salt.

"No luck?" he demanded.

"Guess twice," she laughed. "The old bridgeman just took it for granted I was one of the wedding guests. It will be all right for us to go over in the guest launch as soon as it arrives."

Salt gazed ruefully at his clothes.

"I don't look much like a guest. Think I'll pass inspection?"

"Maybe you could get by as one of the poor relations," grinned Penny. "Pull your hat down and straighten your tie."

Salt shook his head. "A business suit with a grease spot on the vest isn't the correct dress for a formal wedding. You might get by but I won't."

"Then should I try it alone?"

"I'll have to get those pictures somehow," stated Salt grimly.

"Maybe we could hire a boat of our own," Penny suggested. "Of course it wouldn't look as well as if we arrived on the guest launch."

"Let's see what we can line up," Salt said, swinging open the car door.

They walked to the river's edge and looked in both directions. There were no small boats to be seen. The only available craft was a large motor boat which came slowly downstream toward the open drawbridge. Penny caught a glimpse of the pilot, a burly man with a red, puffy face.

Salt slid down the bank toward the water's edge, and hailed the boat.

"Hey, you, Cap'n!" he called. "Two bucks to take me across the river."

The man inclined his head, looked steadily at Salt for an instant, then deliberately turned his back.

"Five!" shouted Salt.

The pilot gave no sign that he had heard. Instead, he speeded up the boat which passed beneath the drawbridge and went on down the river.

CHAPTER 3 _GIFT TO THE BRIDE_

"Perhaps he didn't hear you," said Penny, peering after the retreating boat.

"He heard me all right," growled Salt as he scrambled back up the high bank.

Noticing a small boy in dirty overalls who sat at the water's edge fishing, he called to him: "Say, sonny, who was that fellow, do you know?"

"Nope," answered the boy, barely turning his head, "but his boat has been going up and down the river all morning. That's why I can't catch anything."