Presently, through the trees, marking the end of the road, an iron drawbridge loomed up. It stood in open position so that boats might pass on the river below. A wooden barrier had been erected across the front of the structure which bore a large painted sign. Penny read the words aloud.
“‘DANGEROUS DRAWBRIDGE—KEEP OFF.’”
Salt drew up at the side of the road. “Looks as if this is as far as we’re going,” he said in disgust. “There’s no other road to the estate. I’ll bet that ‘dangerous drawbridge’ business is just a dodge to keep undesirables away from the place until after the wedding.”
Penny nodded gloomily. Then she brightened as she noticed an old man who obviously was an estate guard standing at the entrance to the bridge. He stared toward the old car as if trying to ascertain whether or not the occupants were expected guests.
“I’m going over to talk with him,” Penny said.
“Pretend that you’re a guest,” suggested Salt. “You look the part in that fancy outfit of yours.”
Penny walked leisurely toward the drawbridge. Appraisingly, she studied the old man who leaned comfortably against the gearhouse. A dilapidated hat pulled low over his shaggy brows seemed in keeping with the rest of his wardrobe—a blue work shirt and a pair of grease-smudged overalls. A charred corn-cob pipe, thrust at an angle between his lips, provided sure protection against the mosquitoes swarming up from the river below.
“Good afternoon,” began Penny pleasantly. “My friend and I are looking for the Kippenberg estate. We were told at Corbin to take this road but we seem to have made a mistake.”
“You ain’t made no mistake, Miss,” the old man replied.
“Then is the estate across the river?”