Danger At The Drawbridge Part 27

"Oh, you and your theories! You can't make me believe that gardener didn't mean to harm us. He was a very sinister character."

"Sinister is a strong word, Lou. But I'll agree he's not any ordinary gardener. Either he's been hired by the Kippenberg family for a very special purpose or else he's gained their confidence and means to bend them to his own ends."

"His own ends! Why, Penny, what do you mean? Have you learned something you haven't told me?"

"Only this. I'm satisfied Old Peter is no gardener. He's wearing a disguise."

"Well, what won't you think of next! You've been reading too many detective stories, Penny Parker."

"Have I? Then there's no need to tell you--"

"Yes, there is," Louise cut in. "Your ideas are pretty imaginative, but I like to hear them anyway."

"Considerate of you, old thing," Penny drawled in her best imitation of an English accent. "You don't deserve to be told after that crack, but I'll do it anyhow. When I pulled the gardener's hat down over his eyes, I felt something slip!"

"Maybe it was his skin peeling off."

"He wore a wig," Penny said soberly. "That's why he looked so startled when I jerked the hat."

"Did you actually see a wig?"

"No, but he must have had one on his head. I felt it give, I tell you."

"I wouldn't put anything past that fellow. But if he isn't a gardener, then who or what is he?"

"I don't know, but I intend to do some intensive investigation."

"Just how, may I ask?"

Penny gazed speculatively toward the drawbridge, noting that the old watchman had been deserted by the group of reporters. He sat alone, legs crossed, his camp stool propped against the side of the gearhouse.

"Let's talk with him, Lou. He might be able to tell us something about the different employees of the estate."

They walked over to where the old man sat, greeting him with their most pleasant smiles.

"Good morning," said Penny.

The old man finished lighting his pipe before he deigned to notice them.

"Good morning," repeated Penny.

"Mornin'," said the watchman. He looked the two girls over appraisingly and added: "Ain't you children a long ways off from your Ma's?"

The remark both startled and offended Penny, but instantly she divined that the old fellow's memory was short and his eyesight poor. He had failed to recognize her in everyday clothes.

"Oh, we're just out for a hike," she answered. "You see, we get tired of all the ordinary places, so we thought we would walk by here."

"We're interested in your bridge," added Louise. "We just love bridges."

"This one ain't so good any more," the old man said disparagingly.

"Doesn't it get lonely here?" ventured Louise. "Sitting here all day long?"

"It did at first, Miss. But I got used to it. Anyway, it beats leanin' on a shovel for the gov'ment. I got a little garden over yonder a ways. You ought to see my tomatoes. Them Ponderosas is as big as a plate."

"Do you ever operate the bridge?" Louise inquired, for Penny had not told her that the structure was still in use.

"Oh, sure, Miss. That's what I'm here for. But it ain't safe for nothin'

heavier than a pa.s.senger car."

"I'd love to see the bridge lowered." Louise stared curiously up at the tall cantilevers which pointed skyward. "When will you do it next time, Mr.--?"

"Davis, if you please, Miss. Th.o.r.n.y Davis they calls me. My real name's Thornd.y.k.e."

The old man pulled a large, silver watch from his pocket and consulted it.

"In about ten minutes now, Mrs. Kippenberg will be comin' back from town.

Then we'll make the old hinge bend down agin'."

"Let's wait," said Louise.

Penny nodded and then as Th.o.r.n.y did not seem to object, she peeped into the gear house, the door of which stood half open. A maze of machinery met her eye--an electric motor and several long hand-levers.

Presently Th.o.r.n.y Davis listened intently. Penny thought he looked like an old fox who had picked up the distant baying of the pack.

"That's _her_ car a-comin' now," he said. "I can tell by the sound of the engine. Well, I reckon I might as well let 'er down."

Th.o.r.n.y arose and knocked the ashes from his corn-cob pipe. He opened the door of the gear house and stepped inside.

"May I see how you do it?" asked Penny. "I always was interested in machinery."

"The women will be runnin' locomotives next," Th.o.r.n.y complained whimsically. "All right, come on in."

The old watchman pulled a lever on the starting rheostat of the motor which responded with a sudden jar and then a low purr. It increased its speed as he pushed the lever all the way over.

"Now the power's on. The next thing is to drop 'er."

Th.o.r.n.y grasped one of the long hand-levers and gently eased it forward.

There was a grind of gears engaging and the bridge slowly crept down out of the sky.

Penny did not miss a single move. She noted just which levers the watchman pulled and in what order. When the platform of the bridge was on an even keel she saw him cut off the motor and throw all the gear back into its original position.

"Think you could do 'er by yourself now?" Th.o.r.n.y asked.

"Yes, I believe I could," Penny answered gravely.

The old watchman smiled as he stepped to the deck of the bridge.