Swamp Island Part 18

"It sure is," the photographer agreed in satisfaction. "Abandoned!"

"By whom? The Hawkins' boys?"

"Maybe. Let's have a closer look."

While Penny stood by, Salt made a thorough inspection of the old car. The battery was dead. Ignition keys, still in the lock, had been left turned on.

As the photographer flashed his light about, Penny noticed a package of cigarettes lying on the seat. She picked them up and sniffed.

"Necos," she declared. "Salt, one of the persons who rode in this car must have slugged Jerry at the theater!"

"Maybe, but we can't be sure. Necos aren't a common brand of cigarettes.

On the other hand, I've known several fellows who smoke them."

A thorough inspection of the car revealed no other clues.

"We may as well get back to town," Salt said finally. "Mrs. Jones will be glad to learn her car has been recovered. We can let her know tomorrow after police have had a chance to inspect it."

Neither he nor Penny had much to say as they motored toward Riverview.

Both were deeply discouraged by their failure to find any trace of Jerry.

"It's barely possible hospital officials were able to catch up with him,"

Penny said after a while, her eyes on the dark ribbon of highway ahead.

"We might stop somewhere and telephone."

"Good idea," agreed Salt. "We're practically in the city now."

Already they could see the twinkling lights, laid out in rectangular street patterns. Directly ahead, at the corporation boundary, Penny saw the flashing electric sign of a hamburger hut operated by Mark Fiello, a genial old Italian.

"We might stop there," she suggested. "Mark will let us use his phone."

"Also, he has good hamburgers and coffee," Salt added. "I could go for some food!"

Mark, a stout, grizzled man in slightly soiled ap.r.o.n, was frying bacon and hamburgers at the grill as he shouted orders to a helper in the kitchen.

"You, Frankey!" he bellowed. "Git your nose outta dat ice cream and squeeze another quart of orange juice! What you think I pay you for--to eat me out of business?"

As Penny and Salt slid onto stools in front of the counter, he turned toward them to ask briskly: "What'll it be, folks?"

"Now Mark, don't give us the professional brush off," Salt joked. "Make mine a hamburger with everything on."

"And mine with everything off--especially onions," added Penny.

"Two hamburgers coming right up," chuckled Mark, flattening twin hunks of ground meat on the grill. "I giva you good beeg ones. One-a with, and one-a without. Haven't seen you folks in a long while. How you been?"

"Pretty well, Mark, until tonight," replied Penny. "May we use your phone?"

"It's your nickel, ain't it?" chuckled Mark. "Go right ahead."

"Looks as if we'll have to wait until your helper gets through using it,"

observed Salt.

"That worthless no-good!" Mark snorted. "I pay him thirty dolla a week to eat his head off and all the time calla dat girl of his! You, Frankey!

Git off dat phone and git to work on them oranges!"

Frank, a youth of sallow complexion and unsteady gaze, dropped the telephone receiver as if it were a red hot coal.

He mumbled a "call you later," into the transmitter, hung up, and ducked into the kitchen.

"Such bad luck I have this summer," sighed Mark, expertly turning the hamburgers and salting them. "Six helpers I hire and fire. All no good.

They talka big, eat big--but work? Naw!"

"It's a tough life," Salt agreed, fishing for a coin in his pocket.

"Change for a dime, Mark?"

"Sure. Who you calla tonight? Big scoop for de paper, eh?"

"I wish it were," said Salt. "We've had a tough night."

"Jerry's missing," Penny added earnestly. "He was taken to the hospital this afternoon, but he walked out. We're trying to find him because he's in no condition to be wandering about."

Mark's jaw had dropped and for a moment he forgot the hamburgers sizzling on the grill.

"You looka for Jerry? Jerry Livingston?"

"Sure, you know him," Salt replied, starting for the telephone. "He used to be one of your favorite customers."

"Well, what do y'know!" mumbled Mark, obviously surprised. "What do y'know! Listen, I tell you something!"

"About Jerry?" Penny asked eagerly.

"You looka for your friend too late!"

"Too late? What do you mean, Mark? Jerry hasn't been hurt?"

"No! No! Your friend is all right like always. Twenty minutes ago, he eata three hamburgs on dis same stool where you sit now!"

"Jerry was here!" Penny cried joyfully. "Mark, are you sure?"

"Sure, I am sure! Jerry eata three beeg hamburgs, drinka two beeg cups of java, then go away."

"Did he seem dazed or confused?"

"Your friend the same as always. Make-a the joke."

On the grill, the hamburgers were beginning to burn at the edges. Mark flipped them between buns, adding generous quant.i.ties of mustard, pickle, catsup, and sliced onions to Salt's sandwich.

Penny now was so excited she scarcely could take time to eat.