"As you please, Mr. Munn," said Jerry with exaggerated politeness. "Oh, by the way, what's the significance of that octopus thing on your back?"

"Leave me alone, will you?" the sailor muttered. "Ain't a man got any right to privacy?"

"Better not bother him while he's feeling so low," said the tugboat captain significantly. "I'll get him into some dry clothes."

"Nothing I can do?"

"No, thanks, he'll be all right."

"Well, so long," Jerry said carelessly. With another curious glance directed at the sailor, he left the pilot-house, leaping from the deck to sh.o.r.e. Penny stood waiting.

"Jerry, what was the matter with that fellow?" she demanded in a whisper.

"What did he have on his back? And why did he lie about being pushed off the bridge?"

"You heard us talking?"

"I couldn't help it. You were fairly shouting at each other for awhile."

"Mr. John Munn wasn't very grateful to the captain for being saved. He took offense when we tried to look at his back."

"I thought I heard you say something about an octopus. Was it a tattoo, Jerry?"

"Yes, and as strange a one as I've ever seen. The picture of an octopus.

Between its forearms was the word: 'All.'"

"What could that mean?"

"I tried to learn, but Mr. John Munn wasn't in a talkative mood."

"It seems rather mysterious, doesn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know." Jerry took Penny's arm to aid her in making the steep climb. "Sailors have some funny ideas regarding self-decoration. This Munn was a peculiar fellow."

"It was odd that he would lie about being pushed off the bridge. Jerry, will you write it for the paper?"

"The story isn't worth more than a few lines, Penny. We can't say that Munn was pushed off the bridge."

"Why not? It's true."

"Munn would deny it, and then the _Star_ would appear ridiculous."

"If I owned a paper, I certainly would use the story," declared Penny.

"Why, it has wonderful possibilities."

"I fear your father never would agree. You talk him into printing the yarn and I'll be glad to write it."

"Oh, I suppose we must forget about it," Penny grumbled. "All the same, I'd like nothing better than to work on the story myself."

Reaching the pavement, they cleaned mud from their shoes before walking on to the waiting taxi. Louise immediately plied them with questions, displaying particular interest in the octopus tattoo.

"Do you suppose the man knew who pushed him off the bridge?" she inquired thoughtfully.

"I'll venture he did," replied Penny. "Probably that was the reason he wouldn't tell."

The taxi crossed the bridge and made slow progress away from the river.

As the road gradually wound toward higher ground, the fog became lighter and the driver was able to make faster time. A clock chimed the hour of eleven.

"How about stopping somewhere for a bite to eat?" Jerry suddenly proposed.

"Won't Dad be waiting at the _Star_ office?" Penny asked.

"He suggested that I keep you girls entertained until around eleven-thirty if I could."

"That being the case, we'll accept your invitation with alacrity,"

laughed Penny. "How about the Golden Pheasant?"

"Oh, no, you don't! Phillip's Bean Pot is nearer my speed."

A block farther down the street Jerry paid the driver and escorted the girls into a clean but low-priced restaurant.

"No item on the menu over ten cents," he chuckled. "Do your worst. I can take it."

Penny and Louise ordered sandwiches, while the reporter fortified himself with a plate of scrambled eggs, two doughnuts, and a cup of coffee.

Returning to the front counter for a forgotten napkin, he nodded carelessly at an elderly man who sat alone, sipping a gla.s.s of orange juice.

The man acknowledged the greeting in an embarra.s.sed way, quickly lowering his head. Within a few minutes he left the cafe.

"Jerry, who was he?" Penny inquired curiously. "I am sure I've seen him before, yet I can't remember where."

"That was old man Judson. Matthew Judson."

"Not the former publisher of the _Morning Press_!"

"Yes, the old man's been going to pieces fast since he closed his newspaper plant. Looks seedy, doesn't he?"

"His clothes were a bit shiny. I thought he seemed rather embarra.s.sed because you spoke to him."

"Old Judson feels his come-down I guess. In the flush days he wouldn't be caught dead in a beanery."

"Is he really poor, Jerry?"

"Probably down to his last hundred thousand," the reporter grinned.

"What you say is conflicting," declared Penny impatiently. "First you imply that Mr. Judson is poor, and then that he's rich. I wish you would make up your mind."

"Frankly, I don't know. Judson owns a fine home on Drexell Boulevard which he's allowed to run down. I've been told he sold the _Morning Press_ building several months ago. Some say he has plenty of cash salted away, others that he's broke."

"How did he lose so much of his money, Jerry?"