"Snapped it through a hole in the crown of my hat. It's an old trick. I always wear this special hat when I'm sent out on a hard a.s.signment."

"I thought a cannon had gone off when the shutter clicked," Penny laughed. "We were lucky you weren't caught."

Emerging from behind the trees, they obtained their first view of the Kippenberg house. St.u.r.dily built of brick and stone, it stood upon a slight hill, its many turrets and towers commanding a view of the two rivers.

"Nice layout," Salt commented, pausing to snap a second picture. "Wish someone would give me a castle for a playhouse."

They crossed the moat and found themselves directly behind Grant Atherwald again. Before the bridegroom could enter the house a servant stepped forward and handed him a sealed envelope.

"I was told to give this to you as soon as you arrived, sir," he said.

Grant Atherwald nodded, and taking the letter, quickly opened it. A troubled expression came over his face as he scanned the message. Without a word he thrust the paper into his pocket. Turning, he walked swiftly toward the garden.

"Salt, did you notice how queerly Atherwald looked--" Penny began, but the photographer interrupted her.

"Listen," he said, "we haven't a Chinaman's chance of getting in the front door. That boy in the fancy knickers is giving everyone the once over. Let's try a side entrance."

Without attracting attention they walked quickly around the house and located a door where no servant had been posted. Entering, they pa.s.sed through a marble-floored vestibule into a breakfast room crowded with serving tables. Salt nonchalantly helped himself to an olive from one of the large gla.s.s dishes and led Penny on toward the main hall where many of the guests had gathered to admire the wedding gifts.

"Now don't swipe any of the silver," Salt said jokingly. "I think that fellow over by the stairway is a private detective."

"He seems to be looking at us with a suspicious gleam in his eyes," Penny replied. "I hope we don't get tossed out of here."

"We'll be all right if Mrs. Kippenberg doesn't see us before the ceremony."

"Do you suppose Mr. Kippenberg could be here, Salt?"

"Not likely. It's my guess that fellow will never be seen again."

"Dad doesn't share your opinion."

"I know," Salt admitted. "We'll keep watch for him, but it would just be a lucky break if it turns out he's here."

Mingling with the guests, they walked slowly about a long table where the wedding gifts were displayed. Penny gazed curiously at dishes of solid silver, crystal bowls, candlesticks, jade ornaments, tea sets and service plates encrusted with gold.

"Nothing trashy here," muttered Salt.

"I've never seen such an elegant display," Penny whispered in awe. "Do you suppose that picture is one of the gifts?"

She indicated an oil painting which stood on an easel not far from the table. So many guests had gathered about the picture that she could not see it distinctly. But at her elbow, a woman in rustling silk, said to a companion:

"My dear, a genuine Van Gogh! It must have cost a small fortune!"

When the couple had moved aside, Penny and Salt drew closer to the easel.

One glance a.s.sured them that the painting had been executed by a master.

However, it was the subject of the picture which gave Penny a distinct start.

"Will you look at that!" she whispered to Salt.

"What about it?" he asked carelessly.

"Don't you notice anything significant?"

"Can't say I do. It's just a nice picture of a drawbridge."

"That's just the point, Salt!" Penny's eyes danced with excitement. "A drawbridge!"

The photographer glanced again at the painting, this time with deeper interest.

"Say, it looks a lot like the bridge which was built over the river," he observed. "You think this picture is a copy of it?"

Penny shook her head impatiently. "Salt, your knowledge of art is dreadful. This Van Gogh was painted ages ago and is priceless. Don't you see, the drawbridge has to be a copy of the picture?"

"Your theory sounds reasonable," Salt admitted. "I wonder who gave the painting to the bride? There's no name attached."

"Can't you guess why?"

"I never was good at kid games."

"Why, it's clear as crystal," Penny declared, keeping her voice low.

"This estate with the drawbridge was built by Clayton Kippenberg. He must have been familiar with the Van Gogh painting, and had the real bridge modeled after the picture. For that matter, the painting may have been in his possession--"

"Then you think the picture was presented to Sylvia Kippenberg by her father?" Salt broke in quickly.

"Yes, I do. Only a person very close to the bride would have given such a gift."

"H-m," said Salt, squinting at the picture thoughtfully. "If you're right it means that Clayton Kippenberg's whereabouts must be known to his family. His disappearance may not be such a deep mystery to Mamma Kippenberg and daughter Sylvia."

"Oh, Salt, wouldn't it make a grand story if only we could learn what became of him?"

"Sure. Front page stuff."

"We simply must get the story somehow! If Mrs. Kippenberg would just answer our questions about this drawbridge painting--"

"I'm afraid Mamma Kippenberg isn't going to break down and tell all,"

Salt said dryly. "But buckle on your steel armor, little girl, because here she comes now!"

CHAPTER 4 _BEHIND THE BUSHES_

A large, middle-aged woman in rose-colored silk, crossed the room directly toward Salt and Penny. Her pale blue eyes glinted with anger and there were hard lines about her mouth. She walked haughtily, but with grim purpose.

"Unless we do some fast talking, out we go!" muttered Salt. "It's Mrs.

Kippenberg, all right."

They stood their ground, knowing they had been recognized as intruders.