Part 34 (2/2)

A long hike along a dusty highway, an equally tedious wait at a crossroad, and finally Penny arrived in Corbin. She went directly to the Colonial Hotel, placing a telephone call to her father's office.

”What are you doing in Corbin, Penny?” her father demanded as he recognized her voice.

Penny answered him eagerly. ”I've made an important discovery which may blow your case higher than a kite. No, I can't tell you anything over the telephone. The reason I am calling is that I may need help. Is Jerry still in the hospital?”

”He never was there,” responded her father. ”I couldn't make him go. He and Salt are out on the river looking for the men who cracked him over the head. I expect they'll call in any time now.”

”If you do get in touch with Jerry, ask him to meet me at the Colonial Hotel,” urged Penny. ”I have a hunch the big story is about to break. In any event I'll need a ride home.”

There was a great deal more to the conversation, with Mr. Parker delivering a long lecture upon the proper deportment for a daughter.

Penny closed her ears, murmuring at regular intervals, ”Yes, Dad,” and finally went back to her post in the lobby.

CHAPTER 21 _THE WHITE CRUISER_

For at least an hour she waited. She watched the clock until the hands pointed to six o'clock. Tantalizing odors came to her from the dining room, but she resolutely downed her hunger. She did not wish to give up her vigil even for a few minutes.

Finally Penny's patience was rewarded. She saw a man moving across the lobby toward the desk. He wore well-cut tailored clothes and a low-brimmed felt hat, yet the girl recognized him at a glance. He was the Kippenberg gardener.

The man paused at the desk and asked for a key.

”Good evening, Mr. Hammil,” said the clerk, handing it over.

Penny had noted that the key was taken from a mailbox which bore the number, 381.

”So my friend, the gardener, has an alias,” she mused. ”Several of them, perhaps.”

Another half hour elapsed while the girl waited patiently in her chair.

Each time the elevator descended she watched the people alight. At exactly six forty-five Mr. Hammil stepped out of the lift, and without glancing toward the girl, dropped his key on the desk and went into the dining room.

The clerk, busy with several newcomers at the hotel, did not notice.

Thinking that she saw her chance, Penny slipped from her chair, sidled toward the desk and picked up the key. Her heart pounded as she walked toward the elevator, but no one called to her. Her action had pa.s.sed un.o.bserved.

”Third floor,” said Penny, and the elevator shot upward.

She located room 381 at the far end of the hall, and with a quick glance in both directions, unlocked the door and entered.

An open suitcase lay upon the luggage rack by the dresser. In systematic fas.h.i.+on Penny went through it, finding an a.s.sortment of interesting articles--a revolver, and two wigs, one of gray hair, the other black.

There were no letters or papers, nothing to positively identify the owner of the luggage. But in the very bottom of the case Penny came upon a photograph. It was a picture of Sylvia Kippenberg.

Penny slipped the picture into the front of her dress, hastily replaced everything as she had found it, relocked the door, and returned to the lobby. As she went toward the desk intending to rid herself of the key, she stopped short.

Jerry Livingston stood there talking earnestly with the clerk.

”But I was told to come here,” she heard him protest.

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