“I told the police he looked like the fellow. And he did.”
“But how could you see his face?” Penny protested. “The motorboat traveled so fast! Even when the man crawled out of the water and ran, one could only tell that he was tall and thin.”
“He looked like young Ottman to me,” the watchman insisted stubbornly. “Well, guess I’ll shove on. You talk to your father and let me know about that job. I can use ’er.”
Without giving the girls a chance to ask another question, Mr. Oaks moved off down the street.
“Now if things aren’t in a nice mess,” Penny remarked as she and Louise retraced their way to the bus stop. “No wonder the police held Burt Ottman! I don’t see how Mr. Oaks could have thought he resembled the saboteur.”
“I’m sure I didn’t get a good look at the fellow,” Louise returned. “Mr. Oaks must have wonderful eyes, to say the least.”
After a ten minute wait, a bus came along, and the girls rode to their separate homes. Penny ate luncheon, helped Mrs. Weems with the dishes and then slipped away to her father’s newspaper office.
An early afternoon edition of the Star had just rolled from the press. Entering the editorial room, Penny noted that it appeared to have been swept by a whirlwind. Discarded copy lay on the floor, and there were more wads of paper around the scrap baskets than in them.
Jerry Livingston’s battered typewriter served as a comfortable foot rest for his unpolished shoes. Seeing Penny, he removed them to the floor, and grinned at her.
“Hello, Miss Pop-Eye!” he said affectionately. “How’s our little sailor?”