For at least an hour she waited. She watched the clock until the hands pointed to six o’clock. Tantalizing odors came to her from the dining room, but she resolutely downed her hunger. She did not wish to give up her vigil even for a few minutes.

Finally Penny’s patience was rewarded. She saw a man moving across the lobby toward the desk. He wore well-cut tailored clothes and a low-brimmed felt hat, yet the girl recognized him at a glance. He was the Kippenberg gardener.

The man paused at the desk and asked for a key.

“Good evening, Mr. Hammil,” said the clerk, handing it over.

Penny had noted that the key was taken from a mailbox which bore the number, 381.

“So my friend, the gardener, has an alias,” she mused. “Several of them, perhaps.”
[172]

Another half hour elapsed while the girl waited patiently in her chair. Each time the elevator descended she watched the people alight. At exactly six forty-five Mr. Hammil stepped out of the lift, and without glancing toward the girl, dropped his key on the desk and went into the dining room.

The clerk, busy with several newcomers at the hotel, did not notice. Thinking that she saw her chance, Penny slipped from her chair, sidled toward the desk and picked up the key. Her heart pounded as she walked toward the elevator, but no one called to her. Her action had passed unobserved.

“Third floor,” said Penny, and the elevator shot upward.

She located room 381 at the far end of the hall, and with a quick glance in both directions, unlocked the door and entered.

An open suitcase lay upon the luggage rack by the dresser. In systematic fashion Penny went through it, finding an assortment of interesting articles—a revolver, and two wigs, one of gray hair, the other black. There were no letters or papers, nothing to positively identify the owner of the luggage. But in the very bottom of the case Penny came upon a photograph. It was a picture of Sylvia Kippenberg.

Penny slipped the picture into the front of her dress, hastily replaced everything as she had found it, relocked the door, and returned to the lobby. As she went toward the desk intending to rid herself of the key, she stopped short.
[173]

Jerry Livingston stood there talking earnestly with the clerk.

“But I was told to come here,” she heard him protest.

“There was a girl in the lobby a few minutes ago,” the clerk replied. “She went off somewhere.”

“No, here I am, Jerry!” Penny cried.

The reporter turned around and his face lighted up.

“Come outside, Jerry,” Penny said before he could speak. “I have a great deal to tell you.”

“And I have some news of my own,” returned the reporter.

They left the hotel together. Once beyond hearing, Penny made a complete report of her afternoon adventure, and showed Jerry the picture of Sylvia Kippenberg which she had taken from room 381.

“Now for my story,” said Jerry. “I’ve located a place not far from here where those two seamen buy supplies. The owner of the store told me they tie their boat up there nearly every night.”

“Where is Salt now, Jerry?”

“He’s keeping watch at the place. I came into town to telephone the Star office. Your father said I was to stop here and take you in tow.”

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