“Ben, I think we should have a doctor—” Penny began again, but Ben silenced her with a quick look.
Drawing her to the door he whispered: “Let him have his way. He’s not badly off, and he has reason for not wanting anyone to know what happened. If we call the rescue squad or a doctor, he’ll have to answer to a lot of questions.”
“There are some things I’d like to know myself.”
“We’ll get the answers if we’re patient. Now stay outside for a minute or two until I can get his clothes changed, and into dry ones myself.”
Penny stepped outside the shack. A chill wind blew from the direction of the river, but with its freshness was blended the disagreeable odor of factory smoke, fish houses and dumpings of refuse.
“Poor Ben!” she thought. “He never should be living in such a place as this! No matter what he’s done, he deserves another chance.”
Exactly what she believed about the reporter, Penny could not have said. His courageous act had aroused her deep admiration. On the other hand, she was aware that his story regarding Jason Cordell might have been highly colored to cover his own shortcomings.
Within a few minutes Ben opened the door to let her in again. The stranger had been put to bed in a pair of the reporter’s pajamas which were much too small for him. In the dim light from the oil lamp, she saw that he had a large, square-shaped face, with a tiny scar above his right eye. It was not a pleasant face. Gazing at him, Penny felt a tiny chill pass over her.
Ben also had changed his clothes. He busied himself starting a fire in the rusty old stove, and once he had a feeble blaze, hung up all the garments to dry.
The room was so barren that Penny tried not to give an appearance of noticing. There was only a table, one chair, the sagging bed, and a shelf with a few cracked dishes.