The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels (69 page)

“What makes you think the story would be worth printing?”

“Tattooing is a fascinating subject.”

“It is to you. I doubt if our readers share your enthusiasm.”

“They will when they read my story,” countered Penny.

Early the next morning she presented herself at Mr. Saal’s place of business, a den-like crack in the wall, barely wide enough to accommodate a door.

Pausing, she stared at a sign which proclaimed that for a nominal sum Mr. Saal would tattoo or photograph all comers. In a glass frame were displayed many samples of tattooing—bleeding hearts, clasped hands, sailing ships, birds in flight and other artistic conceptions.

Penny entered the shop. The front end of the long, narrow room was unoccupied, but the sound of hammering led her to the rear. A man of some sixty-odd years was engaged in making a new shelf. As he saw her the hammer dropped from his hand.

“Good morning,” said Penny in her friendliest tone. “Are you Mr. Saal?”

“That’s me,” he replied, regarding her curiously.

“Excuse me for bothering you,” apologized Penny,“but I should like to interview you for my newspaper.”

Mr. Saal’s intelligent but somewhat child-like eyes fixed her in a steady stare.

“A reporter,” he said finally in a long suffering tone. “They wouldn’t respect a man’s privacy—or anything else for that matter, I reckon.”

“There is one thing I am sure all reporters respect, Mr. Saal,” responded Penny. “Art. From the samples of your work which I saw out front I am sure you are a great tattoo artist.”

Mr. Saal melted like a lump of butter on a hot stove. Penny had struck his weakest spot.

“You flatter me,” he said, a faint pattern of a smile etching his face. “I admit I’m good, although maybe not quite the best in the business. What do you want to know?”

“A story about the tattooing business in general and you in particular, Mr. Saal. How do you do it? How did you start? Who was the most famous person you ever tattooed? What is your favorite design? Do you think a tattoo looks better on the arm or the chest? What—?”

“Hold it, young lady, hold it. You seem to be a living question mark.”

Mr. Saal motioned for Penny to follow him to the front of the shop. As he offered her a chair she took a quick glance at a row of dirty, smeary bottles of chemicals on a shelf above her head.

“Now let’s take your first question,” said Mr. Saal, seating himself opposite the girl. “I can’t tell you how to tattoo—that’s a secret of the profession.”

“How much do you charge for one?”

“Depends upon how much a fellow is willing to pay. Take this town—it’s a cheap place. Nobody has any money. The King of England paid fifty dollars for his tattoo and what do I get? I’m lucky if it’s a dollar. And mostly hoodlums to work on. You can’t give a man much of a tattoo for a dollar.”

“Do you ever remove tattoos, Mr. Saal?”

“It’s against the law,” the man replied briefly.

“I didn’t know that,” said Penny in surprise. “Why?”

“Crooks can be identified by their tattoos. Oh, it’s easy for a fellow to get one on, but not so easy to get it off.”

“But it can be done?” Penny persisted. “Have you ever removed one?”

“I’m the only man in the state who can take off a tattoo so it doesn’t show,” boasted Mr. Saal. “The surgeons have tried, but you always can see where it was.”

“Tell me about some of the tattoos you’ve removed,” urged Penny.

“I’ve told you more than I should now,” said Mr. Saal. “You’ll print it in the paper and then I’ll get into trouble with the police.”

“This will be strictly confidential,” promised Penny.

“It’s this way,” Mr. Saal justified himself. “I never do any work for crooks—not me. But if a law-abiding, respectable citizen comes here and says he’s sick of his tattoo, then sometimes I take it off for him if he’s willing to pay the price. Fact is, I’m workin’ on a mighty interesting case right now. It’s a design that’s rare—an octopus.”

Penny did not trust herself to speak for a moment. Carefully she controlled her voice as she said casually:

“How interesting, Mr. Saal, An octopus tattoo! Was the man a sailor?”

“He was an old salt all right, though he denied it.”

“What is his name?”

“I couldn’t tell you that,” answered Mr. Saal. “I have to protect my customers.”

“Tell me more about the tattoo,” urged Penny.

“It’s just a figure about so large—” Mr. Saal demonstrated with his hands, “on the man’s back. Funny place for a tattoo, ain’t it?”

“I should say so,” agreed Penny. “Is it merely a figure of an octopus? No words or anything like that?”

“There are two words. I took ’em off last week.”

“Two?” inquired Penny. “What are they, Mr. Saal?”

“They don’t make sense. The words are
For One
.”

“I once saw an octopus tattoo such as you describe,” declared Penny. “But I distinctly recall that the design used only a single word. It was
One
.”

“Is that so?” inquired Mr. Saal. “Maybe the tattoo isn’t as uncommon as I thought. But I never saw one like it before.”

“I wonder what can be the significance of the words?”

“I was asking my customer about it. He pretended he didn’t know, but I figure maybe he and some buddies had a sentence tattooed on ’em.”

“You mean that if one were able to read several tattoos together, the words would make sense?”

“That’s right,” nodded Mr. Saal. “I don’t know about this octopus tattoo, but I figure it may have been that way.”

“Did your customer have any other tattoos on his body?” Penny questioned. “An anchor, for instance?”

“Didn’t notice ’em if he did.”

“I suppose it takes a long while to remove a tattoo. Does your customer come often?”

“Every Tuesday and Thursday night. He complains because I don’t do the work faster, but I tell him if he wants a good job it has to be done carefully.”

Before Penny could ask another question, two young sailors swaggered into the shop. Ellis Saal, scenting business, immediately arose.

“Be careful what you write up,” he warned as he left her. “There’s been a lot of articles on tattooin’, but not a one that’s right. It just ain’t possible for a reporter to write a true story unless it’s about a murder or a fire!”

“I’ll be careful,” promised Penny.

Leaving the shop, she walked slowly to her parked car. The information obtained from the tattoo artist both excited and mystified her.

“I don’t believe Mr. Saal could have been mistaken about the words which were incorporated in the design,” she thought. “And I’m equally certain I wasn’t mistaken about Anchor Joe’s tattoo. It had only the single word, ‘One.’”

Mr. Saal’s declaration that his customer was not the possessor of a tattooed anchor caused Penny to wonder if the person could be Joe Landa. However, the man was wanted by government agents and it seemed reasonable to believe that he might seek to remove tell-tale markings.

“I know what I’ll do,” she decided. “Thursday night I’ll watch Mr. Saal’s shop. In that way I may be able to learn the identity of his mysterious customer!”

CHAPTER 18

PAULETTA’S EXPLANATION

Penny compressed the facts given her by Ellis Saal into a brief, lively feature story for the
Weekly Times
. She was careful not to divulge that the man had removed a tattoo from a customer, but to Louise she confided the entire story.

“All unwittingly, Mr. Saal gave me just the clue I need,” she declared enthusiastically. “It will be a gigantic step forward if I learn the identity of his mysterious customer.”

“What’s to be gained by it?” asked Louise as she slugged a story and speared it on a hook. “What will be proven?”

“Well, if I’m ever going to solve the mystery I must gather every fact I can,” Penny said defensively. “I aim to learn the meaning of those strange tattoos and, above all, the reason why John Munn was pushed from the bridge.”

“You have your work cut out for you,” responded Louise dryly.

“But Mr. Saal’s information helps. You remember I told you that John Munn’s tattoo bore the word
All
. Anchor Joe’s was exactly the same except for the word,
One
. And now Ellis Saal has a customer with two words on his back:
For One
. Why, I believe I have it!”

Penny sprang from her chair, eyes dancing with excitement.

“You have what?” asked Louise calmly.

“It came to me like a flash—the meaning of those tattooed words! If we haven’t been dumb!”

“Kindly stop jumping around, and explain.”

“Mr. Saal told me he thought several sailors might have had a sentence incorporated in their tattoo. That is, only a word or two was used in each design, but taken as a whole it would make sense.”

“And you think you have the phrase?”

“I do, Louise! Why couldn’t it be:
All for one, one for all
?”

“If the men were close friends, that would be fairly logical. But the words we have to juggle don’t make such a sentence, Penny.”

“Obviously there must be a fourth sailor whose tattoo includes the words, ‘for all,’” argued Penny. “Then it would fit perfectly.”

“Just because four men were pals, you think they would have such nonsense tattooed on their backs?”

“That’s my theory.”

“If you’re right, then the mystery is solved.”

“Far from it,” corrected Penny. “I haven’t learned who pushed John Munn from the bridge or why. You remember how Anchor Joe talked about someone who had ‘ratted’? The four of them must have been in on a scheme, and one man betrayed his comrades.”

“Better bridle that imagination before it takes you for too wild a ride,” chuckled Louise.

“Then you think there’s nothing to my theory?”Penny demanded in an injured tone.

“I think that if you speculate upon it much longer we’ll never get any work done,” Louise replied, turning once more to her typewriter. “These headlines must be composed if ever we expect to get another paper on the street.”

Disappointed that her chum did not take the matter more seriously, Penny went to consult Old Horney in the composing room. The pressman had proven to be worth many times the small salary which the girls paid him. Not only had he made the rotary presses ready for service, but he had cleaned and oiled every useable piece of machinery in the building. Eagerly he awaited the day when Penny would print the
Weekly
in her own plant.

“Everything’s all set,” he told her with a worshipful grin. “Whenever you give the word, we can go to press.”

“That’s fine,” Penny praised. “Louise and I have been having a few difficulties, financial and otherwise. But I hope it won’t be long now.”

She talked with Old Horney about various technical problems, then returned to her desk. Slipping a sheet of paper into her typewriter, she composed a letter to a well known steamship, the
Dorasky
.

Slipping it into her pocket, she opened the door of Louise’s office.

“Do you mind staying here alone for awhile?”

“No, of course not. Where are you going?”

“To mail an important letter. Then I want to drive out to Fenestra’s farm and see Mrs. Weems.”

“I’ll look after everything until you get back,”Louise promised. She glanced curiously at the letter but did not ask to whom it was directed.

Penny dropped the stamped envelope into a convenient corner mailbox, and then drove toward the outskirts of the city. Nearing Drexel Boulevard it suddenly occurred to her that she never had found time to revisit Matthew Judson’s home.

“Pauletta owes me an explanation for the way she acted the other day,” she thought. “I have a notion to stop and see if she’s alone.”

Penny impulsively spun the wheel, and followed the boulevard to the Judson home. The iron gate stood open. She drove through, up the curve of cement to the house.

In response to her knock, an untidy colored maid admitted her to a dark, dusty living room. As she awaited Pauletta, her wandering gaze noted a number of significant details. The walls had not been decorated in many years, upholstered furniture had assumed a moth-eaten appearance, and the entire room seemed spiritless.

Pauletta came slowly down the circular stairway. She hesitated as she recognized Penny, but could not retreat.

“How do you do,” she said somewhat stiffly. “Nice of you to call.”

“I think you know why I came,” said Penny. “We were unable to talk when I was here before.”

“I’ve told you all there was to it,” Pauletta declared, seating herself opposite the girl. “Frankly, I can’t see that the affair is any of your concern. I wore the disguise because I didn’t wish to be recognized on board the
Goodtime
.”