"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 embarra.s.sed, 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 sc.r.a.ps 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 a.s.signment," 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 pa.s.s 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 s.h.a.ggy 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."