"The job is hers!" she thought exultantly. "If she doesn't fail me, I may yet break an important story in my paper! I feel in my bones that Peter Fenestra's cave soon will yield its secret!"

CHAPTER 17 _THE ART OF TATTOO_

At school, during the afternoon a.s.sembly period, Penny received a note from Louise which read:

"The _Weekly Times_ is in urgent need of feature stories for our next issue. Any ideas?"

Penny scrawled a huge zero on the paper, decorated it with angel wings, and sent it down the aisle. An answer came immediately.

"You'll have to do something about it. All of our reporters are taking a vacation until after monthly exams. Can't you write some sort of story?"

Penny considered the problem as she studied her history lesson. Just as the dismissal bell rang an inspiration seized her.

"Lou, I do have an idea!" she declared, linking arms with her chum. "How about an interview with Ellis Saal?"

"Who is he?" inquired Louise, somewhat dubiously.

"A tattoo artist who has a little shop on Dorr Street. He takes pa.s.sport pictures, too. I noticed the place weeks ago."

"What makes you think the story would be worth printing?"

"Tattooing is a fascinating subject."

"It is to you. I doubt if our readers share your enthusiasm."

"They will when they read my story," countered Penny.

Early the next morning she presented herself at Mr. Saal's place of business, a den-like crack in the wall, barely wide enough to accommodate a door.

Pausing, she stared at a sign which proclaimed that for a nominal sum Mr.

Saal would tattoo or photograph all comers. In a gla.s.s frame were displayed many samples of tattooing--bleeding hearts, clasped hands, sailing ships, birds in flight and other artistic conceptions.

Penny entered the shop. The front end of the long, narrow room was unoccupied, but the sound of hammering led her to the rear. A man of some sixty-odd years was engaged in making a new shelf. As he saw her the hammer dropped from his hand.

"Good morning," said Penny in her friendliest tone. "Are you Mr. Saal?"

"That's me," he replied, regarding her curiously.

"Excuse me for bothering you," apologized Penny, "but I should like to interview you for my newspaper."

Mr. Saal's intelligent but somewhat child-like eyes fixed her in a steady stare.

"A reporter," he said finally in a long suffering tone. "They wouldn't respect a man's privacy--or anything else for that matter, I reckon."

"There is one thing I am sure all reporters respect, Mr. Saal," responded Penny. "Art. From the samples of your work which I saw out front I am sure you are a great tattoo artist."

Mr. Saal melted like a lump of b.u.t.ter on a hot stove. Penny had struck his weakest spot.

"You flatter me," he said, a faint pattern of a smile etching his face.

"I admit I'm good, although maybe not quite the best in the business.

What do you want to know?"

"A story about the tattooing business in general and you in particular, Mr. Saal. How do you do it? How did you start? Who was the most famous person you ever tattooed? What is your favorite design? Do you think a tattoo looks better on the arm or the chest? What--?"

"Hold it, young lady, hold it. You seem to be a living question mark."

Mr. Saal motioned for Penny to follow him to the front of the shop. As he offered her a chair she took a quick glance at a row of dirty, smeary bottles of chemicals on a shelf above her head.

"Now let's take your first question," said Mr. Saal, seating himself opposite the girl. "I can't tell you how to tattoo--that's a secret of the profession."

"How much do you charge for one?"

"Depends upon how much a fellow is willing to pay. Take this town--it's a cheap place. n.o.body has any money. The King of England paid fifty dollars for his tattoo and what do I get? I'm lucky if it's a dollar. And mostly hoodlums to work on. You can't give a man much of a tattoo for a dollar."

"Do you ever remove tattoos, Mr. Saal?"

"It's against the law," the man replied briefly.

"I didn't know that," said Penny in surprise. "Why?"

"Crooks can be identified by their tattoos. Oh, it's easy for a fellow to get one on, but not so easy to get it off."

"But it can be done?" Penny persisted. "Have you ever removed one?"

"I'm the only man in the state who can take off a tattoo so it doesn't show," boasted Mr. Saal. "The surgeons have tried, but you always can see where it was."

"Tell me about some of the tattoos you've removed," urged Penny.

"I've told you more than I should now," said Mr. Saal. "You'll print it in the paper and then I'll get into trouble with the police."

"This will be strictly confidential," promised Penny.

"It's this way," Mr. Saal justified himself. "I never do any work for crooks--not me. But if a law-abiding, respectable citizen comes here and says he's sick of his tattoo, then sometimes I take it off for him if he's willing to pay the price. Fact is, I'm workin' on a mighty interesting case right now. It's a design that's rare--an octopus."

Penny did not trust herself to speak for a moment. Carefully she controlled her voice as she said casually:

"How interesting, Mr. Saal, An octopus tattoo! Was the man a sailor?"

"He was an old salt all right, though he denied it."

"What is his name?"

"I couldn't tell you that," answered Mr. Saal. "I have to protect my customers."