Ghost
Beyond the Gate

By
MILDRED A. WIRT

Author of
MILDRED A. WIRT MYSTERY STORIES
TRAILER STORIES FOR GIRLS

Illustrated

CUPPLES AND LEON COMPANY
Publishers
NEW YORK

PENNY PARKER
MYSTERY STORIES

Large 12 mo. Cloth Illustrated

TALE OF THE WITCH DOLL
THE VANISHING HOUSEBOAT
DANGER AT THE DRAWBRIDGE
BEHIND THE GREEN DOOR
CLUE OF THE SILKEN LADDER
THE SECRET PACT
THE CLOCK STRIKES THIRTEEN
THE WISHING WELL
SABOTEURS ON THE RIVER
GHOST BEYOND THE GATE
HOOFBEATS ON THE TURNPIKE
VOICE FROM THE CAVE
GUILT OF THE BRASS THIEVES
SIGNAL IN THE DARK
WHISPERING WALLS
SWAMP ISLAND
THE CRY AT MIDNIGHT

COPYRIGHT, 1943, BY CUPPLES AND LEON CO.

Ghost Beyond the Gate

PRINTED IN U. S. A.

Her feet went out from under her and she was dragged over the ice.
“Ghost Beyond the Gate” ([See Page 195])

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE [1 LOST ON A HILLTOP] 1 [2 AT THE LISTENING POST] 11 [3 AN UNPLEASANT DRIVER] 20 [4 STOLEN TIRES] 26 [5 AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW] 35 [6 FRONT PAGE NEWS] 43 [7 QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS] 52 [8 A FEW CHANGES] 58 [9 AN OPEN SAFE] 68 [10 TALE OF A GHOST] 75 [11 BY A CEMETERY WALL] 85 [12 FLIGHT] 91 [13 A BLACK MARKET] 100 [14 A FAMILIAR FIGURE] 107 [15 GHOST IN THE GARDEN] 117 [16 A DOOR IN A BOX] 125 [17 ADVENTURE BY MOONLIGHT] 134 [18 THROUGH THE CELLAR WINDOW] 142 [19 A BAFFLING SEARCH] 151 [20 ACCUSATIONS] 157 [21 MRS. BOTTS’ REVELATION] 166 [22 A PARK BENCH] 173 [23 FORGOTTEN EVENTS] 180 [24 TRICKERY] 190 [25 FINAL EDITION] 203

CHAPTER
1
LOST ON A HILLTOP

The little iceboat, with two laughing, shouting girls clinging to it, sped over the frozen surface of Big Bear River.

“Penny, we’re going too fast!” screamed Louise Sidell, ducking to protect her face from the biting wind.

“Only about forty an hour!” shrieked her companion gleefully.

At the tiller of the Icicle, Penelope Parker, in fur-lined parka, sheepskin coat and goggles, looked for all the world like a jolly Eskimo. Always delighting in a new sport, she had built the iceboat herself—spars from a wood lot, the sail from an old tent.

“Slow down, Penny!” pleaded her chum.

“Can’t,” shouted Penny cheerfully. “Oh, we’re going into a hike!”

As one runner raised off the ice, the boat tilted far over on its side. Louise shrieked with terror, and held tight to prevent being thrown out. Penny, hard pressed, sought to avert disaster by a snappy starting of the main sheet.

For a space the boat rushed on, runners roaring. Then as a sudden puff of wind struck the sail, the steering runner leaped off the ice. Instantly the Icicle went into a spin from which Penny could not straighten it.

“We’re going over!” screamed Louise, scrambling to free her feet.

The next moment the boat capsized. Both girls went sliding on their backs across the ice. Penny landed in a snowdrift at the river bank, her parka awry, goggles hanging on one ear.

“Are you hurt, Lou?” she called, jumping to her feet.

Louise sprawled on the ice some distance away. Slowly she pulled herself to a sitting position and rubbed the back of her head.

“Maybe this is your idea of fun!” she complained. “As for me, give me bronco busting! It would be a mild sport in comparison.”

Penny chuckled, dusting snow from her clothing. “Why, this is fun, Lou. We have to expect these little upsets while we’re learning.”

The sail of the overturned iceboat was billowing like a parachute. Slipping and sliding, Penny ran to pull it in.

“Take the old thing down!” urged Louise, hobbling after her. “I’ve had enough ice-boating for this afternoon!”

“Oh, just one more turn down the river and back,” coaxed Penny.

“No! We’re close to the club house now. If we sail off again, there’s no telling where we’ll land. Anyway, it’s late and it’s starting to snow.”

Penny reluctantly acknowledged that Louise spoke pearls of wisdom. Large, damp snowflakes were drifting down, dotting her red mittens. The wind steadily was stiffening, and cold penetrated her sheepskin coat.

“It will be dark within an hour,” added Louise. Uneasily she scanned the leaden sky. “We’ve been out here all afternoon.”

“Guess it is time to go home,” admitted Penny. “Oh, well, it won’t take us long to get the Icicle loaded onto the car trailer. Lucky we upset so close to the club house.”

Setting to work with a will, the girls took down the flapping sail. After much tugging and pushing, they righted the boat and pulled it toward the Riverview Yacht Club. Closed for the winter, the building looked cold and forlorn. Penny, however, had left her car in the snowy parking lot, which was convenient to the river.

“Wish we could get warm somewhere,” Louise said, shivering. “It must be ten below zero.”

Pulling the Icicle behind them, the girls climbed the slippery river bank. Snow now swirled in clouds, half-curtaining the club house.

“I’ll get the car and drive it down here,” Penny offered, starting toward the parking lot. “No use dragging the boat any farther.”

Abandoning the Icicle, Louise went with her chum. A dozen steps took the girls to a wind-swept corner of the deserted building. Rounding it, they both stopped short, staring.

On the snow-banked parking lot where the car had been left, there now stood only one vehicle, an unpainted, two-wheel trailer.

“Great fishes!” exclaimed Penny. “Where’s the coupe?”

“Maybe you forgot to set the brake and it rolled into a ditch!”

“In that case, the trailer would have gone with it.” Her face grim, Penny ran on toward the parking lot.

Reaching the trailer, the girls saw by tire tracks in the snow that the car had been detached and driven away.

“I knew it! I knew it!” Penny wailed, pounding her mittens together. “The coupe’s been stolen!”

“What’s that across the road?” Louise demanded. “It looks like an automobile to me. In the ditch, too!”

Taking new hope, Penny went to investigate the little ravine. Through a screen of bare tree branches and bushes, she glimpsed a blur of metal.

“It’s the car!” she cried jubilantly. “But how did it get across the road?”

Penny’s elation quickly died. Drawing nearer, she was dismayed to see that the coupe appeared to be lying on its stomach in the ditch. Four wheels and a spare had been removed.

“Stripped of every tire!” she exclaimed. “The thief ran the car out here on the road so we couldn’t see him at work from the river!”

“What are we going to do?” Louise asked weakly. “We’re miles from Riverview. No houses close by. We’re half frozen and night is coming on.”

Penny, her face very long, had no answer. She measured the gasoline tank with a stick. All of the fuel had been siphoned. She lifted the hood, expecting to find vital parts of the engine missing. However, everything appeared to be in place.

Seeking protection from the penetrating wind, the girls climbed into the car to discuss their situation.

“Can’t we just wait here until someone comes along and gives us a lift to town?” suggested Louise.

“Yes, but we’re on a side road and few cars travel this way during winter.”

“Then why not go somewhere and telephone?”

“The nearest stores are at Kamm’s corner, about two miles away.”

Louise gazed thoughtfully at the soft snow which was banking deeper on the windshield of the car.

“Two miles in this, facing the wind, will be a hard hike. Think we ought to try it, Penny?”

“I’m sure I don’t want to. And we needn’t either! Do you remember Salt Sommers?”

“The photographer who works on your father’s newspaper?”

“Yes, he spends his spare time as an airplane spotter. His station is over in the hills not more than a half mile from here! Why not tramp over there and ask him to telephone our folks?”

“Are you sure you know the way?”

“I was there once last summer,” Penny said confidently. “One follows a side road through the woods. I’m sure I can find it.”

“All right,” Louise consented, sliding from behind the steering wheel. “If we’re going, let’s move right along.”

Stiff with cold, the girls trudged past the club house and on down the road. Snow was falling faster and faster. Several times they paused to wipe their frosted goggles.

“This promises to be a man-sized blizzard,” Louise observed uneasily. “It’s getting dark early, too.”

Penny nodded, her thoughts on what she would say to her father when she reached home. The car had been fully insured, but even so it would not be easy to replace five stolen tires. Ruefully she reflected that Mrs. Weems, the kindly housekeeper who had looked after her since her mother’s death, had not favored the river trip.

“Oh, don’t take it so hard,” Louise tried to cheer her. “Maybe the thief will be caught.”

“Not a chance of it,” Penny responded gloomily.

A hundred yards farther on the girls came to another side road which wound upward through the wooded hills. Already there was an ominous dusk settling over the valley. Penny paused to take bearings.

“I think this is the way,” she said doubtfully.

“You think!”

“Well, I’m pretty sure,” Penny amended. “Salt’s station is up there on top of one of those hills. If this snow would stop we should be able to see the tower from here.”

Slightly reassured, Louise followed her chum across a wooden bridge and up a narrow, winding road. On either side of the frozen ditches, tall frosted evergreens provided friendly protection from the stabbing, icy wind. Nevertheless, walking was not easy for the roadbed bore a shell of treacherous ice.

Confident that they soon would come to the airplane listening post, the girls trudged on. Penny, anxious to make the most of the remaining daylight, set a stiff pace.

“Shouldn’t we be coming to the station?” Louise presently asked. “Surely we’ve gone more than a half mile.”

“The post is a little ways off from the road,” Penny confessed, peering anxiously at the unbroken line of evergreens. “We should be able to see it.”

“In this blinding snow? Why, we may have passed the station without knowing it.”

“Well, I don’t think so.”

“You’re not one bit sure, Penny Parker!” Louise accused. “We were crazy to start off without being certain of the post’s location.”

“We always can go back to the car.”

“I’m nearly frozen now,” Louise complained, slapping her mittens together. “There’s no feeling in one of my hands.”

Penny paused to wipe the moisture from her goggles. From far down the road came the sound of a laboring motor. She listened hopefully.

“A car, Lou!” she cried. “Everything will be all right now! We’ll hail it and ask the driver for a lift.”

Greatly encouraged, the girls waited for the approaching vehicle. They could hear it climbing a steep knoll, then descending. From the sound of the engine they decided that it must be a truck and that it might round the curve at a fast speed.

Worried lest the driver fail to see them, the girls stepped out into the middle of the road. As the truck swerved around the bend, they shouted and waved their arms.

The startled driver slammed on brakes, causing the big black truck to slide like a sled. Penny and Louise leaped aside, barely avoiding being struck.

As they watched anxiously, the driver recovered control of the machine. He straightened out and brought the truck to a standstill farther up the road.

Penny seized her chum’s hand. “Come on, Lou! He’s going to give us a ride!”

Before they could reach the truck, the driver lowered the cab window. Thrusting his head through the opening he bellowed angrily:

“What you tryin’ to do? Wreck my truck?”

Giving the girls no opportunity to reply, he closed the cab window.

Penny saw that the man was intending to drive on. “Wait!” she called frantically. “Please give us a ride! We’re lost and half frozen!”

The man heard for he flashed an ugly smile. Shifting gears, he drove away.

“Of all the shabby tricks, that’s the worst!” Penny said furiously. “It wasn’t our fault his old truck skidded.”

“But it is our fault we’re lost on this road,” Louise added. “How are we ever to find the listening post?”

Penny leaned against the leeward side of a giant pine. Already it was so dark that she could see only a few feet down the road. There were no houses, no lights, nothing to guide her.

“Penny, are we really lost?” Louise demanded, suddenly afraid.

“We really, truly are,” her chum answered in a quavering voice. “The post must be somewhere near here, but we’ll never find it. All we can do is try to get back to the car.”

CHAPTER
2
AT THE LISTENING POST

Penny’s courage did not long forsake her. She had suggested to Louise that they return to the stripped car, but she knew that would not solve their problem. Staring up the dark road, she remarked that they must be close to the summit of the hill.

“Then why not keep on?” urged Louise. “We set out to find the listening post, so let’s do it!”

They trudged on up the winding road. At intervals, in an attempt to restore circulation to numbed feet, they ran a few steps. Snow fell steadily, whipping and stinging their faces.

Gasping, half-winded, they kept doggedly on. Finally they struggled into a clearing at the top of the hill. Penny wiped her eyes and gazed down through a gap in the white-coated evergreens. A quarter of the way down the slope on the other side appeared a glowing dot of light.

“I’m afraid it’s only a cabin,” she said dubiously. “It can’t be the airplane listening post.”

“Let’s go there anyway,” advised Louise. “We can warm ourselves and ask how to get back to civilization.”

They pushed on, still following the road. Downhill walking was much easier and at intervals they were encouraged by a glimpse of the light.

Then, rounding a bend of the road, the girls came to an artistic, newly constructed iron fence, banked heavily with snow. The fence led to a high gate, and behind the gate loomed a dark, sprawling house with double chimneys.

“The place is deserted!” Louise observed in disappointment. “What became of the light we’ve been following?”

“It must be farther on. This house looks as if it had been closed for the winter.”

Penny went to the gate and rattled a heavy chain which held it in place. Peering through the palings, she could see an unshoveled driveway which curved gracefully to a pillared porch. The spacious grounds were dotted with evergreens and shrubs, so layered with snow that they resembled scraggly ghosts.

“Wonder who owns this place?” speculated Louise.

“Don’t know,” Penny answered, turning away. “In fact, I don’t recall ever having seen it before.”

Her words carried special significance to Louise.

“If you’ve never seen this house before, then we’re on a strange road! Penny, we never will find the listening post!”

“I’m beginning to suspect it myself,” Penny admitted grimly. “But we must keep plodding on. That light can’t be far ahead.”

Turning their backs upon the gloomy estate, they again braved the penetrating wind. Soon Louise lost her footing and fell. She remained in a dispirited little heap until Penny pulled her off the ice.

“Let’s keep going, Lou,” she urged. “It won’t be long now.”

Louise allowed Penny to pull her along. They rounded a curve in the road, and there, miraculously, the lighted cabin rose before them.

“At last!” exulted Louise. “The Promised Land!”

Staggering up a shoveled path, they pounded on the cabin door. An old man, who held a kerosene lamp, responded promptly.

“Come in, come in!” he invited heartily. “Why, you look half frozen.”

“Looks aren’t deceitful either,” Penny laughed shakily.

As the girls went into the warm room a little whirlpool of wind and snow danced ahead of them. Quickly the old man closed the door. He made places for Penny and Louise at the stove and tossed in a heavy stick of wood.

“Bad night to be out,” he commented cheerfully.

Penny agreed that it was. “We’re lost,” she volunteered, stripping off her wet mittens. “At least we can’t find the airplane listening post.”

“Why, it’s just a piece farther on,” the old man replied. “The tower’s right hard to see in this storm.”

While they thawed out, the girls explained that they had been forced to abandon their car at the Riverview Yacht Club. The old man, whose name was Henry Hammill, listened with deep sympathy to their tale of woe.

“I’ll hitch up my horses and take you to Riverview in the sled,” he offered. “That is, unless you’d rather stop at the listening tower.”

“It would save you a long trip,” Penny returned politely. “If Salt Sommers is on duty, I’m sure he’ll take us to our homes.”

In the end it was decided that Old Henry should drive the girls as far as the post. Then, if arrangements could not be made with the photographer, he would keep on to Riverview.

Warm at last, Penny and Louise declared that they were ready to start. Old Henry brought the sled to the door and the team soon was racing down the icy road. Above the jingle of bells arose occasional squeals of laughter, for the young passengers enjoyed every minute of the unexpected ride.

Presently Old Henry pulled up at the side of the road.

“There’s the tower,” he said, pointing to a two-story wooden observatory rising above the evergreens. “I’ll wait until you find out if your friend’s here.”

The girls thanked the old man for his kindly help and scrambled from the sled. They were sure their troubles were over, for they could see Salt Sommers seated at a table in the lighted tower.

A flight of steps led to a narrow catwalk which ran around three sides of the glass-enclosed house. Before Penny and Louise could hammer on the door Salt opened it.

“Well, see what the storm blew in!” the young man exclaimed. “I didn’t expect you girls to pop in on a night like this.”

“Salt, how soon will you be driving to Riverview?” Penny asked breathlessly.

“About twenty minutes. As soon as my relief shows up.”

“May we ride with you?”

“Why, sure.”

Penny called down from the catwalk to tell Old Henry he need not wait. With a friendly wave of his hand, the cabin owner drove away. The girls then followed Salt into the drafty tower room.

Curiously they gazed at their surroundings. In the center of the room stood a small coal stove. Above it a tacked sign admonished: “Keep this fire going!” There was a table, two chairs and a telephone. Also a round clock which indicated seven-forty.

Before Penny and Louise could explain why they had come, Salt held up a warning finger.

“Listen!” he exclaimed. “Wasn’t that a plane?”

He ran out on the catwalk, letting in an icy blast of wind. In a moment he came back, grinning sheepishly.

“A passenger airplane is due through here about this time. Sometimes I listen for it so hard I imagine the sound of the engine.”

“The job must get tiresome at times,” Penny ventured, making herself comfortable by the glowing stove.

“Oh, it does, but I’m glad to serve my trick. What brings you girls here on such a wild night?”

The story was quickly told. Nevertheless, by the time Penny had telephoned to Mrs. Weems, it was after eight o’clock. Footsteps pounded on the stairway. An elderly man, his hat and overcoat encrusted with snow, swept into the room.

“My relief,” said Salt, presenting Nate Adams to the girls. “I’m free to shove off now.”

“Hope you can start your car,” commented the newcomer. “It’s mighty cold, and the temperature is still dropping.”

Salt’s battered coupe was parked not far from the tower. Snow blanketed the windshield. He wiped it away and after several attempts started the engine.

“Think I’d better stop at the first garage and have more alcohol put in the radiator. No use in taking a chance.”

Salt followed the same road over which the girls had trudged an hour earlier. In passing the estate not far from Old Henry’s cabin, Penny peered with renewed interest at the big house. In the blinding snow storm she could not be sure, but she thought a light gleamed from an upstairs window.

“Salt,” she inquired, “who lives in that place?”

“Can’t tell you,” he replied, without turning his head.

“Does anyone live there now?”

“Haven’t seen anyone since I took over as observer at the tower. Nate Adams tells me the estate has a private air field. No planes have taken off or landed while I’ve been on duty.”

“I thought I saw a light just now in an upstairs window.”

“Probably a reflection from the car headlights,” Salt answered carelessly.

The car passed Old Henry’s cabin and crept on until it came to a crossroad. Several buildings were clustered on either side of the main highway.

“Guess I’ll stop at Mattie’s garage,” Salt said.

As he pulled up on a gravel runway, a masculine looking woman came to the door of the car. She was in her mid-thirties and wore a man’s coat much too large for her. The girls guessed, and correctly, that she was Mattie Williams, owner of the garage and filling station.

“How many will you have?” she asked Salt, briskly clearing the windshield of snow.

The photographer replied that he did not require gasoline, but wanted at least a quart of alcohol.

“Drive into the garage,” the woman instructed, opening a pair of double doors. “I’ll have Sam take care of it.”

As the car rolled into the building, Mattie shouted loudly to a stoop-shouldered man who was busy in the rear office: “Hey, Sam! Look after this customer, will you?”

Sam Burkholder slouched over to the car and began to unscrew the radiator cap. Penny and Louise assumed that the man must be Mattie’s husband, but a remark to that effect was corrected by Salt.

“Sam is Mattie’s partner,” he explained in an undertone. “It’s hard to tell which one of them is boss of the place.”

Losing interest in the pair, Penny and Louise climbed out of the coupe. They had noticed a cafe next door and thought they might go there for a cup of hot coffee.

“Go ahead,” Salt encouraged. “I’ll stay here until this job is finished, and join you.”

As the girls let themselves out the garage door, a truck pulled up in front of the cafe. They would have given it no more than a casual glance had not the driver alighted. He was a short, ruddy-faced man with a missing front tooth which made his facial expression rather grotesque. Without glancing at the girls, he entered the restaurant.

“That man!” exclaimed Louise. “Haven’t we seen him somewhere?”

“We have indeed,” agreed Penny grimly. “He’s the same driver who refused us a ride. Let’s march in there and give him a piece of our minds!”

CHAPTER
3
AN UNPLEASANT DRIVER

From outside the lighted cafe, the girls could see the truck driver slouched at one of the counter stools.

“I’m willing to go inside,” said Louise, “but why start a fuss? After all, I suppose he had a right to refuse us a ride.”

“We might have frozen to death!”

“Well, he probably didn’t realize we were lost.”

“I wish I had your charitable disposition,” Penny said with a sniff. “He heard me shout, and he drove away just to be mean.”

“Anyway, let’s forget it.”

Louise took Penny’s elbow, steering her toward the cafe. The girls had been friends since grade school days. They made an excellent pair, for Louise exerted a subduing effect upon her impulsive chum.

The only daughter of Anthony Parker, publisher of the Star, Penny had a talent for innocently getting into trouble. Inactivity bored her. When nothing more exciting offered, she frequently tried her hand at writing stories for her father’s newspaper. Such truly important yarns as The Vanishing Houseboat, The Wishing Well, Behind the Green Door, and The Clock Strikes Thirteen had rolled from her typewriter. Penny thoroughly enjoyed reportorial work, but best of all she loved to take an active part in the adventures she recounted.

“Now remember,” Louise warned her, “not a word to that truck driver. We’ll just snub him.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll try to behave myself.”

Grinning, Penny allowed herself to be guided toward the restaurant. Near the doorway they came to the parked truck, and noticed that it was loaded with large wooden boxes.

“War equipment,” commented Penny.

“How do you know?”

“Why, the boxes are unmarked except by numerals. Haven’t you noticed, Lou, that’s the way machines and materials are transported to and from factories. It’s done so no one can tell what’s inside.”

Penny opened the door and they went into the warm, smoky cafe. As they seated themselves at a table the driver glanced toward them, but seemingly without recognition.

“How about a date tonight, Baby?” he asked the waitress.

Without replying, the girl slapped a menu card on the counter in front of him.

“High toned, ain’t you?” he chuckled.

“What will it be?” the waitress demanded impatiently.

“How about a nice smile, Baby?”

Turning away, the waitress started to serve another customer.

“Gimme a cup o’ coffee and two sinkers,” the driver hurled after her. “And make it snappy too! I’m in a hurry.”

Once the coffee and doughnuts had been set before him, the man was in no haste to consume them. He read a newspaper and fed a dollar and a half into a pin-ball machine.

Penny and Louise ordered coffee. Knowing that Salt might be waiting for them, they swallowed the brew scalding hot and arose to leave.

At the cashier’s desk Penny paid the bill. Upon impulse she quietly asked the man behind the cash register if he knew the driver.

“Fellow by the name of Hank Biglow,” he answered.

Before Penny could ask another question, a police patrol car screeched to a standstill just outside the restaurant. The cafe owner turned to stare as did the driver.

“What are those cops comin’ here for?” Hank Biglow demanded.

“How should I know?” retorted the cafe owner. “Maybe they want to ask you a few questions about that cargo you carry!”

“What do you mean by that crack?” the driver asked harshly.

As the cashier shrugged and did not reply, Hank allowed the matter to pass. Although he remained at the counter, he kept watching the police car through the window.

The brief interchange between cafe owner and driver had interested Penny. To delay her departure, she bought a candy bar and began to unwrap it.

Only one policeman had alighted from the car. Tramping into the cafe, he pounded his hands together and sought the warmth of a radiator.

“Mind if I have a little of your heat?” he asked the cafe owner.

“Help yourself.”

Penny had been watching Hank Biglow. A moment before the man had sat tense and nervous at the counter. Now he seemed completely relaxed and at ease as he sipped his coffee.

“Hello, Hank,” the policeman greeted him. “Didn’t see you at first. How’s the trucking business?”

“Okay,” the trucker growled. “Workin’ me night and day.”

The casual conversation disappointed Penny. Her first thought had been that Hank Biglow feared a police investigation. Seemingly, she had indulged in wishful thinking.

Having no further reason for remaining in the cafe, the girls stepped out into the storm.

“A pity that policeman wasn’t looking for Hank Biglow,” Penny muttered.

“I thought for a minute he was,” responded Louise, stooping to fasten the buckle of her heavy overshoe. “At least Hank acted peculiar.”

“You heard what the cashier said to him?”

“About the cargo he carried?”

“Yes,” nodded Penny, “what do you suppose he meant?”

“Don’t you think it was intended as a joke?”

“It didn’t seem that way to me, Lou. Hank took offense at the remark. He was as nervous as a cat, too.”

Penny stared curiously at the big truck which was parked not far from the police car.

“I wonder what can be in those big boxes, Lou?”

“A few minutes ago you said they contained tools or defense plant products.”

“That was only my guess. I assumed it from the lack of marking on the boxes.”

Penny paused beside the big truck. Pressing her face close to an opening between the slats, she counted ten large crates, all the same size and shape.

“Lou, maybe this isn’t defense plant merchandise,” she speculated. “Maybe it’s some sort of contraband....”

Penny’s words trailed off. Someone had touched her on the shoulder.

Whirling around, she faced the same policeman who a moment before had entered the cafe.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he inquired.

“Why, just looking,” stammered Penny. “We were wondering what’s inside these boxes.”

“Machinery,” replied the policeman. “Now skidoo! Behave yourselves or I’ll have to speak to your parents.”

CHAPTER
4
STOLEN TIRES

“We’re very sorry,” Louise apologized to the policeman. “We didn’t suppose it would do any harm to look at the outside of the boxes.”

“Run along, run along,” the officer said impatiently.

Penny was tempted to make a rather pointed remark, but Louise pulled her away.

“Never argue with a policeman,” she whispered. “You always lose.”

“We weren’t doing any harm,” Penny scowled. “What does he think we are, a couple of female spies?”

Entering the garage, the girls saw that the car had been serviced. Salt could be seen inside the little glass-enclosed office.

“I’m waiting for Sam Burkholder,” he explained as they joined him. “He took care of the radiator and then disappeared.”

Penny and Louise loitered about the office, reading the evening newspaper. After a little delay, Mattie Williams appeared.

“Can you give me my bill?” Salt requested. “We’re in a hurry to get to Riverview.”

“I thought Sam was looking after you,” Mattie replied, making out the slip.

The bill settled, Salt backed the car from the garage. Penny noticed that Hank Biglow’s truck no longer stood in front of the cafe. The police car also had gone. She would have thought no more of it, had not Louise at that moment exclaimed:

“Penny, that truck is parked at the rear of the garage now! And they’re unloading the boxes!”

Penny twisted around to see for herself. It was true that the big truck had been backed up close to the rear entrance of the garage. Through the blinding snow, she could just see Hank Biglow and Sam Burkholder carrying one of the boxes into the building.

“Well, that’s funny!” she exclaimed. “Those crates can’t contain defense machinery or materials. Otherwise Hank wouldn’t be delivering them here.”

“What crates?” inquired Salt, shifting gears.

Penny told him what had transpired in the cafe, and revealed that she and Louise had been rebuked by the policeman. Salt, occupied with driving, did not consider the incident in any way significant.

“Oh, you know how some cops are,” he commented carelessly.

The car went into a wild skid and Salt thereafter devoted his attention strictly to driving.

Without further mishap, the party arrived safely at Riverview. Louise alighted at her own home, and then Salt took Penny to the Parker residence.

“Won’t you come in for a cup of chocolate?” she invited.

“Thanks, not tonight,” Salt replied. “I’m dead tired. Think I’ll hit the hay early.”

Only one light burned in the living-room as Penny stomped in out of the cold. Mrs. Weems, the plump housekeeper who had served the Parkers for many years, sat beside the hearth, sewing.

“I’m glad you’re home at last!” she exclaimed, getting up quickly. “You’ve no idea how worried I’ve been.”

“But Louise and I telephoned.”

“I couldn’t hear you very well. I barely was able to make out that something had happened to your car.”

“A major catastrophe, Mrs. Weems. Every tire was stolen!”

While the housekeeper bombarded her with questions, Penny stripped off overshoes and heavy outer clothing. Pools of water began to form on the rug.

“Take everything out to the kitchen,” Mrs. Weems said hastily. “Have you had your supper?”

“Not even a nibble. And I’m starving!”

As Mrs. Weems began to prepare a hot meal, Penny perched herself on the kitchen table, alternately talking, and chewing on a sugared bun.

“If you ever were lost in an Arctic blizzard you have a good picture of what Louise and I endured,” she narrated grandly. “Oh, it was awful!”

“Losing five practically new tires is a mere detail in comparison?”

“It’s nothing less than a tragedy! I was thinking—maybe you ought to break the sad news to Dad.”

“Indeed not. You’ll have to tell him yourself. However, he’s attending a meeting and won’t be home until eleven.”

“That’s much too late for me,” Penny said quickly. “I’ll see him in the morning. And I do hope you cooperate by giving him a dandy breakfast.”

“Just see to it that you don’t oversleep,” suggested the housekeeper dryly.

Penny consumed an enormous supper and then slipped off to bed. She did not hear her father come home a few hours later. In the morning when Mrs. Weems called her, it seemed advisable to take a long time in dressing. Her father had gone by the time she strolled downstairs.

“Did you tell Dad?” she asked the housekeeper hopefully.

“You knew I would,” chided Mrs. Weems. “Your father expects to see you at his office at nine o’clock.”

“How’d he take the blow?”

“Naturally one couldn’t expect him to be pleased.”

With a deep sigh, Penny sat down to breakfast. Worry over the coming interview did not interfere with her usual excellent appetite. She had orange juice, two slices of toast, four pancakes, and then, somewhat concerned lest she lose her slim figure, debated whether to ask for another helping.

“The batter’s all gone,” Mrs. Weems settled the matter. “Do stop dawdling and get on to the office. Your father shouldn’t be kept waiting.”

With anything but enthusiasm, Penny took herself to the plant of the Riverview Star. Passing through the busy newsroom where reporters pounded at their typewriters, she entered her father’s private office.

“Hello, Dad,” she greeted him with forced cheerfulness. “Mrs. Weems said you wanted to see me.”

“So you lost five tires last night?” the editor barked. Mr. Parker was a lean, keen-eyed man of early middle age, known throughout the state as a fearless newspaper man. At the moment, Penny decided that “fearful” would prove a more descriptive term.

“Well, Dad, it was this way—” she began meekly.

“Never mind a long-winded explanation,” he interrupted, smiling. “It wasn’t your fault—the car was stripped.”

Penny wondered if she had heard correctly.

“Your tires weren’t the only ones stolen yesterday,” Mr. Parker resumed. “A half dozen other thefts were reported. In fact, I’ve known for several weeks that a professional gang of tire thieves has been operating in Riverview.”

“Oh, Dad, you’re a peach!” Penny cried, making a dive for him. “I’m going to give you a great big kiss!”

“You are not,” Mr. Parker grinned, pushing her away. “Try to remember, this is an office.”

Penny resigned herself to a chair. Questioned by her father, she gave a straightforward account of how the car had been stripped at the Yacht Club grounds.

“The tire gang is getting bolder every day!” Mr. Parker exclaimed wrathfully. “But we’ll soon put a stop to their little game!”

“How, Dad?”

Mr. Parker hesitated and then said: “I can trust you, can’t I, Penny?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’ll tell you this in confidence. For weeks Jerry Livingston, our star reporter, has been working on the case. He’s rounded up a lot of evidence against the outfit.”

“Then we have a chance to get those tires back!”

“I’m not thinking about that,” Mr. Parker said impatiently. “Jerry’s gathered enough evidence to smash the entire gang. It will be as big a story as the Star ever published.”

“When are you breaking it, Dad?”

“Perhaps tomorrow. Depends on the state prosecutor.”

“John Gilmore? What does he have to do with it?”

“This story is loaded with dynamite, Penny. If we spread it over our front page before police have a chance to act, the guilty parties are apt to make a getaway.”

“That’s so,” nodded Penny.

“There’s another reason I want to consult the Prosecutor before I use the story,” Mr. Parker resumed. “Some of the men involved—”

A tap sounded on the door. Without completing what he had started to say, the editor called, “Come in.”

Jerry Livingston entered the office. He was a good-looking young man, alert and clean-cut. Smiling at Penny, he slapped a folded paper on Mr. Parker’s desk.

“Here’s my story on the tire thefts, Chief,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, this winds up the case.”

“You’ve done fine work, Jerry,” Mr. Parker praised. “Thanks to your work, we ought to clean out the gang.”

“I hope so, Chief. Guess you have all the proofs needed to back up the story.”

“All the evidence is locked in my safe. I have an appointment scheduled with the Prosecutor. If he Okays the story, we’ll publish it tomorrow. By the way, Jerry, what are your plans?”

“Well, I have a couple of weeks before I go into the Army Air Corps.”

“Then treat yourself to a vacation, starting right now,” said Mr. Parker. “Can you use it?”

“Can I?” grinned Jerry. “Know what I’ll do? I’ll hop the noon train and head for the Canadian wilds on a hunting trip.”

Mr. Parker wrote out a check which he presented to the young man.

“We’ll be sorry to lose you, Jerry,” he said regretfully. “But remember, a job always will be waiting when you return.”

The reporter shook hands with Mr. Parker and Penny, then left the office.

“We’ll miss Jerry around here,” the editor remarked.

Penny nodded. She and Jerry had shared many an adventure together, and he was one of her truest friends. The office would not seem the same without him.

“My appointment with the Prosecutor is at ten-thirty,” said Mr. Parker briskly. “I’ll gather my papers and be on my way.”

The editor placed Jerry’s signed story in a leather portfolio. Next he went to the safe and fumbled with the dial.

“Want me to open it for you?” Penny asked, after he had tried several times.

Without waiting for a reply, she stooped down, twisted the dial a few times, and opened the heavy door.

“Young lady, how did you learn the combination?” Mr. Parker demanded in chagrin.

“Oh, the numbers are written on the under side of your desk,” Penny grinned. “Not a very good place either! You must trust your office help.”

“Fortunately my reporters aren’t quite as observing as a certain daughter,” Mr. Parker retorted grimly.

The editor removed a fat brown envelope from one of the drawers of the safe. Glancing at the papers it contained, he added them to the contents of the portfolio. He then locked the safe.

“How about letting me see that story?” Penny asked.

Mr. Parker smiled but shook his head. “Only two persons know the facts of the case—Jerry and myself.”

“Let’s make it a trio.”

“It will be after I’ve talked to the Prosecutor. I’ve got to step right along, too, or I’ll be late.”

“But Dad—”

“You’ll read the story in tomorrow’s Star—I hope,” her father laughed. Picking up the portfolio, he started for the door. “Just contain your impatience until I get back. And please keep those slippery little fingers away from my safe!”

CHAPTER
5
AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW

After her father had gone, Penny remained in the private office. Eager to be off, Mr. Parker had neglected to make any arrangements concerning the stripped car at the Riverview Yacht Club.

“Oh, bother!” she thought impatiently. “Now I must wait here until he comes back to learn what I’m to do. The car should be hauled home.”

Penny wrote a letter on the typewriter. As she searched for a stamp, the door swung open. A slightly bald, angular man with hard brown eyes, paused on the threshold. The man was Harley Schirr, an assistant editor, next in authority to Mr. DeWitt. Of the entire Star staff, he was the only person Penny actively disliked.

“Oh, good morning, Miss Parker,” he said with elaborate courtesy. “Your father isn’t here?”

“No, he went away a few minutes ago.”

“And you are taking care of the office in his absence?” Mr. Schirr smiled. Even so, to Penny’s sensitive ears, the words had an insolent ring.

“I’m merely waiting for him to return,” she answered briefly. “I came to find out what to do about the car.”

“Oh, yes, I heard that all of your tires were stolen last night.” Mr. Schirr’s lips twitched. “Too bad.”

“I may get them back again. Dad says—” Penny checked herself, remembering that the information given her by her father was to be kept secret.

“Yes?” encouraged the assistant editor.

“Perhaps police will catch the thieves,” she completed.

“I shouldn’t count on it if I were you, Miss Parker. Black Markets have flourished in this city for months. Nothing’s been done to stop it.”

“Just what do you mean by a Black Market, Mr. Schirr?”

“Illegal trading in various scarce commodities. Tires either stolen or hijacked, are sold by the crooks to so-called honest dealers who serve the public. It’s now a big-time business.”

“What does Dad think about it?”

“Well, now, I really couldn’t tell you. Your father doesn’t discuss his editorial policy with me. If he did, I’d warn him to lay off all those tire-theft stories.”

Penny gazed quickly at the assistant editor, wondering how much he knew of her father’s plan.

“Dad usually prints all the news,” she said. “Why should he soft-pedal the tire stories?”

“For his health’s sake.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Schirr.”

The assistant editor had closed the door behind him. Warming to his subject, he replied: “The men who have muscled into the tire theft racket are ugly lads without scruples. If your father stupidly insists upon trying to smash the outfit, he may not wake up some morning.”

The suggestion that her father might ruthlessly be done away with shocked Penny. And a canny corner of her mind demanded to know how Mr. Schirr could be so well informed. She was quite certain her father had not taken him into his confidence.

“Dad is no coward,” she said proudly.

“Oh, no one ever questioned his bravery, Miss Parker. Your father is courageous to the point of rashness. But if he prints an exposé story about the tire theft gang, it’s apt to prove the most foolish act of his life.”

“How do you know he intends to do such a thing?”

The question, sharply put, surprised Mr. Schirr.

“Oh, I don’t,” he denied hastily. “I merely heard the rumor around the office.”

Penny made no reply. As the silence became noticeable, the assistant editor murmured that he would return to see Mr. Parker later and left the office.

Penny glared at the man’s retreating back. Even more intensely than before, she disliked Harley Schirr.

“The old sneak cat!” she thought. “I’ll bet a cent he’s been listening at the door or prying in Dad’s papers! I’m sure no rumors have been circulating around the office.”

The telephone rang. Automatically Penny took down the receiver.

“Mr. Parker?” inquired a masculine voice.

“He’s not here now. This is his daughter speaking. May I take a message?”

“No message,” said the purring voice. “Mr. Parker may hear from me later.”

“Who is this, please?” asked Penny quickly.

There was no answer, only the click of a receiver being hung on its hook.

The incident, although trifling, annoyed Penny. Getting up from the desk, she walked to the window. Mr. Schirr’s intimation had alarmed her, and now the telephone call added to her uneasiness.

“Probably the man who telephoned is well known to Dad,” she tried to assure herself. “I’m just imagining that his voice sounded sinister.”

Feeling the need of an occupation, Penny wandered out into the editorial room. She chatted with the society editor and for a time watched the world news reports coming in on the noisy teletype machines.

“Need a job?” inquired Editor DeWitt at the slot of the circular copy desk. “How about writing a few headlines for me?”

“No, thanks,” Penny declined. “I’m just waiting for Dad. He should be back any minute now.”

It was eleven-forty by the office clock. Never had time seemed to pass so slowly. As Penny debated whether or not to wait any longer, there was a sudden stir in the room. Glancing toward the outside door, she saw that Jerry Livingston, suitcase in hand, had entered.

Immediately reporters and editors left their desks to shake his hand.

“Jerry, you’re the best reporter this paper ever had,” Mr. DeWitt told him warmly. “We surely hate to see you go.”

“Oh, I’ll be back,” the reporter answered. “You can bet on that!”

Penny crossed the room to say goodbye. Jerry surprisingly tucked her arm through his.

“Come along and see me off on the train,” he invited, pulling her along. “Not doing anything special, are you?”

“Just waiting for Dad.”

“Then come on,” Jerry grinned. “I’ve got a lot to say to you.”

However, once in the taxi, speeding toward the railroad station, the reporter scarcely spoke. He reached out and captured her hand.

“I’m going to miss you, little twirp,” he sighed. “No telling when I’ll get back to the Star. Maybe—”

“Now don’t try to work on my sympathies,” laughed Penny, though a lump came in her throat. “Oh, Jerry—”

“At your command. Just break down and confess how desolate you’ll be without me.”

The railroad station was close by and Penny had only a moment to talk.

“Riverview will be a blank without you,” she admitted. “But it’s that tire-theft story I want to ask you about. Did you ever tell anyone that Dad is planning to expose the gang?”

“Of course not!”

“I knew you wouldn’t give out any information,” Penny said in relief. “But somehow Harley Schirr has learned about it.”

“Schirr! That egg? How could he have found out?”

“I’d like to know myself. He hinted that something dreadful might happen to Dad if the story is printed.”

Jerry patted Penny’s hand. “Don’t give it a thought, kid,” he said. “Schirr does a lot of wild talking. Probably whatever he said to you was pure bluff. He doesn’t know a thing.”

The arrival of the cab at the station put an end to the conversation. Jerry paid the driver and hustled Penny inside. He barely had time to purchase a ticket before the train was called.

“Well, goodbye,” Jerry said, squeezing her hand.

“Have a good time in Canada,” Penny replied. “And bring me a nice bear rug!”

“Sure, I’ll catch him with my bare hands,” Jerry rejoined, making a feeble attempt at a joke.

The train began to move. The reporter swung himself aboard the last Pullman. As he waved from the steps, Penny realized that she had forgotten to ask for his Canadian address.

Soon the train was only a blur down the frosty tracks. Penny climbed a steep ramp to the street. She felt lonesome, and for some reason, discouraged.

“First I lose my car wheels, and now it’s Jerry,” she reflected sadly. “What a week!”

Penny scarcely knew whether to go home or to the Star office. As she debated the matter, her ears were assaulted by the shrill scream of a siren.

“A fire,” thought Penny.

An ambulance rushed past. It raced to the end of the short street and pulled up.

“Probably an accident,” amended Penny.

Curious to learn what had happened, she began to run. At the end of the street a large crowd had gathered. A car with a smashed fender and damaged front grillwork, had piled against a street lamp.

“What happened?” Penny asked a man who stood beside her.

“Two cars in a smash-up,” he answered. “Didn’t see the accident myself.”

“But what became of the other automobile?” asked Penny.

She pushed through the gathering crowd to the curb. Broken glass was scattered over the pavement. Ambulance men were searching the wreckage of the car which had struck the lamp post. The other automobile, apparently, had driven away.

Suddenly, Penny’s gaze riveted on the rear license plate of the smashed car. In horror she read the number—P-619-10.

“Dad’s car!” she whispered. “He’s been hurt!”

CHAPTER
6
FRONT PAGE NEWS

Never in her life had Penny been more frightened. Breaking away from the group of people at the curb, she ran to the parked ambulance. A glance into the interior assured her that Mr. Parker had not been placed inside on a stretcher.

“Where is he?” she asked wildly. “Where’s my father?”

A white-garbed ambulance attendant turned to stare at her.

“That’s my father’s car!” Penny cried, pointing to the battered sedan. “Tell me, was he badly hurt?”

The attendant tried to be kind. “We don’t know, Miss. Someone put in a call for us. Said we were to pick up an injured man. Evidently he was taken to a hospital before we could get here.”

“That’s what happened,” contributed a small boy who stood close by. “A woman drove by in an auto. She offered to take the man to the hospital and he went with her.”

“A tall, lean man in a gray suit?” Penny asked quickly.

“Yes. He had a leather case in his hand.”

“Then it was my father!” Penny cried. “How badly was he hurt?”

“Oh, he could walk all right,” the boy replied. “He seemed kinda dazed though.”

Greatly relieved to learn that her father had escaped serious injury, Penny sought more information. The boy who had witnessed the accident, told her that the car which had caused the smash-up, was a blue sedan.

“Two men were in it,” he revealed. “They started to go around your father’s car and crowded him toward the curb. Next thing I saw, he’d plowed into the lamp post.”

“The other car didn’t stop?”

“I’ll say it didn’t! You should have seen ’em go!”

“Didn’t you notice the license number?” Penny asked hopefully.

The boy shook his head.

Having learned all she could from him, Penny questioned other persons. Only one woman in the crowd was able to provide additional information. Her eye-witness account differed slightly from the boy’s, but she confirmed that a middle-aged woman in a black coupe had taken the accident victim to a hospital.

“Which hospital?” asked Penny.

The woman could not tell her. She did say, however, that the accident victim seemingly had suffered only minor scratches.

A police car drove up. Penny, frantic to find her father, did not wish to be delayed by questions. Without revealing who she was to members of the investigation squad, she hailed a taxi. Mercy Hospital was only a few blocks away. It seemed reasonable that her father would be taken there for treatment.

A few minutes later, standing anxiously at the information desk of that institution, she learned that Mr. Parker had not been admitted as a patient. The nurse in charge, noting the girl’s agitation, kindly offered to telephone other hospitals. After six calls, she reported that she was unable to trace the accident victim.

“Are you sure that your father sought hospital treatment?” she asked Penny.

“Perhaps not. Dad wasn’t badly hurt according to witnesses. He may have gone elsewhere.”

Thanking the nurse for her help, Penny taxied swiftly home. Mrs. Weems, in an old coat and a turban, was pouring salt on the icy sidewalk in front of the house. From the look on her face it was evident she had not heard the news.

“Mrs. Weems, Dad’s been hurt!” Penny cried, leaping from the cab. “In an auto accident!”

“My land!” the housekeeper gasped and allowed the bag of salt to fall from her gloved hand. “How bad is it?”

“I think he was more stunned than anything else. But I’ve not been able to learn where he was taken. He didn’t telephone here?”

“Not unless it was since I’ve been outdoors.”

Picking up the bag of salt, Mrs. Weems followed Penny into the house. Without removing coat or hat, the girl dialed the Star office. Editor DeWitt answered.

“Has Dad arrived there?” Penny asked abruptly.

“No, he hasn’t returned. Anything wrong?”

Tersely Penny revealed what had occurred. The news shocked the editor for he bore Mr. Parker a genuine affection.

“Now don’t you worry,” he tried to cheer her. “Your father can’t be badly hurt or he never would have walked away from that accident. Just sit tight and our reporters will locate him for you.”

During the next hour Penny and Mrs. Weems remained near the telephone. Each moment they waited, their anxiety increased. Mr. DeWitt did not phone. There was no word from the police station. They refused to believe that Mr. Parker had been seriously injured, yet it seemed strange he could not be found.

“It’s not like him to allow anyone to worry,” declared the housekeeper. “I simply can’t understand why he doesn’t call to relieve our minds.”

Just then the telephone bell jingled. Penny snatched the receiver from its hook.

“DeWitt speaking,” said the familiar voice of the editor.

“Any news?” Penny asked quickly. “Did you find Dad?”

“So far we haven’t,” the editor confessed. “I’ve personally called the police station, every hospital and private nursing home in Riverview.”

“Dad may have gone to a doctor’s office for treatment.”

“I thought of that,” replied DeWitt. “We’ve checked all the likely ones.”

“What could have become of him?” Penny asked desperately. “Mrs. Weems and I are dreadfully worried.”

“Oh, he’ll show up any minute,” comforted Mr. DeWitt. “Probably he doesn’t realize anyone is looking for him.”

Penny asked the editor if he had learned the identity of the hit-skip driver.

“No one took down the license number of the car,” Mr. DeWitt returned regretfully. “Our reporters are still working on the story though.”

“The story,” murmured Penny faintly. For the first time it occurred to her that her father’s accident and subsequent disappearance would be regarded as front page news.

“I don’t expect to run an account of the accident until I’ve talked to your father,” DeWitt said hastily. “Now don’t worry about anything. I’ll let you know the minute I have any news.”

Penny hung up the receiver and reported the conversation to Mrs. Weems. A clock on the mantel chimed one-thirty, reminding the housekeeper that lunch had not been prepared.

“No food for me,” pleaded Penny. “I don’t feel like eating.”

“I’ve rather lost my own appetite,” confessed the housekeeper. “However, it’s foolish of us to worry. Your father must be safe. No doubt he had an appointment.”

Penny’s face brightened. “Why, of course!” she exclaimed. “Don’t know why I’ve been so dumb! Dad may still be in conference with Prosecutor Gilmore! I’ll call there.”

Darting to the telephone, she waited patiently until she was connected with the State prosecutor’s office. The lawyer himself talked to her.

“Why, no, Mr. Parker hasn’t been here,” he replied to her eager inquiry. “I expected him at ten-thirty. Then he telephoned that he had been delayed and would see me at eleven-thirty. He failed to keep that appointment also.”

The information sent Penny’s hopes glimmering. She explained about the accident and listened to the Prosecutor’s expression of sympathy. Replacing the receiver, she turned once more to Mrs. Weems.

“I’m more worried than ever now,” she quavered. “Dad didn’t keep his appointment with Prosecutor Gilmore, and it was a vitally important one.”

“We’ll hear from him soon—”

“Perhaps we won’t.” Penny took a quick turn across the room.

“Why, such a thing to say! What do you mean, Penny?”

“Dad has enemies. Harley Schirr told me today that if any attempt was made to expose a certain gang of thieves, it would mean real trouble.”

“But your father has had no connection with such persons.”

“He and Jerry worked on a case together,” Penny explained. “Today at the time of the accident, Dad carried a brief case with all the evidence in it!”

“Even so, I fail to see—”

“According to the report, Dad’s car was practically forced off the road,” Penny added excitedly. “I think that auto crash was deliberately engineered! Don’t you understand, Mrs. Weems? He’s fallen into the clutches of his enemies!”

“Now, Penny,” soothed the housekeeper. “I’m sure we’re making far too much of the accident. We’ll soon hear from your father.”

“You’re saying that to comfort me, Mrs. Weems. Something dreadful has happened! I can feel it.”

Penny ceased pacing the floor and went to the hall closet for her hat and coat.

“Where are you going?” asked the housekeeper, her eyes troubled.

“To the newspaper office. If word comes, I want to be there to get it the very first minute.”

Mrs. Weems started to protest, then changed her mind. She merely said: “Telephone me the moment you have any news.”

A brisk walk to the Star office did much to restore Penny’s sagging courage. As she entered the newsroom, brushing snow from her coat, she saw a group of reporters gathered about Mr. DeWitt’s desk.

“News of Dad!” she thought, her pulse pounding.

Glimpsing Penny, the men at the desk began to scatter. They gazed at her in such a kind, sympathetic manner that she became frightened again.

“What is it, Mr. DeWitt?” she asked the editor. “Has Dad been found?”

He shook his head.

“But you must have had some news,” she insisted, her gaze on a folded paper which he held. “Please don’t hide anything from me.”

“Very well,” DeWitt responded quietly. “We found this letter in your father’s waste-basket.”

Penny took the paper. Silently she read the message which had been typed in capital letters.

“MR. PARKER,” it warned, “THIS IS TO ADVISE YOU TO LAY OFF ON TIRE THEFT STORIES IN YOUR PAPER. UNLESS YOU CHANGE YOUR POLICY YOU MAY WAKE UP IN A DITCH.”

CHAPTER
7
QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS

“I’d rather not have shown that note to you,” Mr. DeWitt said quietly. “We found it only a moment ago.”

“How did it get in Dad’s waste-basket?” Penny asked. “Do you suppose he threw it there himself?”

“That’s my guess. Your father never paid any attention to unsigned letters.”

Penny reread the threatening note, trying not to show how much it disturbed her. “I wonder if this came by mail?” she remarked.

“We don’t know,” DeWitt replied. “There was no envelope in the basket.”

“Dad never mentioned such a note to me,” Penny resumed, frowning. “Probably thought I’d worry about it. This makes the situation look bad, doesn’t it, Mr. DeWitt?”

The editor weighed his words carefully before he spoke. “It doesn’t prove that your father was waylaid by enemies, Penny. Not at all. According to reports, Mr. Parker was involved in an ordinary automobile accident, and left the scene of his own free will.”

“With a woman who drove a black car.”

“Yes, according to eye-witnesses she offered to take him to a hospital for treatment.”

“What became of that woman?” demanded Penny. “Can’t the police find her?”

“Not so far.”

Before Penny could say more, Harley Schirr came to the desk, spreading a dummy sheet for the editor to inspect.

“Here’s the front-page layout,” he explained. “For the banner we’ll give ’em, ‘Anthony Parker Mysteriously Disappears,’ and beneath it, a double column story. I dug a good picture out of the morgue—the one with Parker dedicating the Riverview Orphans’ Home.”

DeWitt frowned as he studied the layout. “Parker wouldn’t like this, Schirr. It’s too sensational. Bust that banner and cut the story down to the bare facts.”

“But this is a big story—”

“I’m expecting Mr. Parker to walk in here any minute,” retorted DeWitt. “A ‘disappearance’ spread would make the Star look silly.”

“Mr. Parker’s not going to show up!” Schirr refuted, his eyes blazing. “I say we should play the story for all it’s worth.”

“I’m sure Dad would hate sensationalism,” Penny said, siding with Mr. DeWitt.

The assistant editor turned to glare at her. Although he made no reply, she read anger and dislike in his flashing eyes.

“Cut the story down,” DeWitt ordered curtly. “And try to find a more suitable picture of Mr. Parker.”

Schirr swept the dummy sheet from the desk, crumpling it in his hand. As he started for the morgue where pictures were filed, he muttered to himself.

“Don’t know what’s got into that fellow lately,” DeWitt sighed.

The editor sat down rather heavily and Penny noticed that he looked tired and pale. For fifteen years he had been closely associated with Mr. Parker, regarding his chief with deep affection.

“Do you feel well, Mr. DeWitt?” she inquired.

“Not so hot,” he admitted, reaching for a pencil. “Lately I’ve been having a little pain in my side—it’s nothing though. Just getting old, that’s all.”

“Why not take the day off, Mr. DeWitt? You’ve been working too hard.”

“Now wouldn’t this be a fine time to go home?” the editor barked. “Hard work agrees with me.”

Reminded that she was keeping Mr. DeWitt from his duties, Penny soon left the Star office. Debating a moment, she walked to the nearby police station. There she was courteously received by Chief Jalman, a personal friend of her father’s.

“We’ll find Mr. Parker,” he assured her confidently. “His description has been broadcast over the radio. We’ve instructed all our men to be on the watch for him.”

Penny broached the possibility that her father had been waylaid by enemies.

“Facts fail to support such a theory,” replied Chief Jalman. “It’s my opinion your father will show up any hour, wondering what the fuss is all about.”

Penny left the police station rather cheered. Almost without thinking, she chose a route which led toward the scene of the accident. Reaching the familiar street, she noted that her father’s battered car had been towed away. All broken glass had been swept from the pavement.

“When I was here before I should have questioned more people,” she thought. “It never occurred to me then that Dad would fail to show up.”

Noticing a candy store which fronted the street close to the bent lamp post, Penny went inside. A friendly looking woman with gray hair came to serve her.

“I’m not a customer,” Penny explained. She added that her father had been injured in the car accident, and that she was seeking information.

“I’ve already been questioned by police detectives,” replied the owner of the candy shop. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you very much.”

“Did you witness the accident?”

“Oh, yes, I saw it, but it happened so fast I wasn’t sure whose fault it was.”

“You didn’t take down the license number of the blue hit-skip car?”

“Was it blue?” the woman inquired. “Now I told the police, maroon.”

“My information came from a small boy, so he may have been mistaken. Did you notice the woman who offered my father a ride?”

“Oh, yes, she was about my age—around forty.”

“Well dressed?”

“Rather plainly, I would say. But she drove a fine, late-model car.”

“Would you consider her a woman of means?”

“Judging from the car—yes.”

Penny asked many more questions, trying to gain an accurate picture of the woman who had aided her father. She was somewhat reassured when the candy shop owner insisted that Mr. Parker had entered the car of his own free will.

“Did he seem dazed by the accident?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Well, yes, he did. I saw your father get into the car sort of holding his head. Then he asked the woman to stop at the curb.”

“Why was that?”

“He’d forgotten something—a leather carrying case. At any rate, he returned to his own auto for it. Then he drove away with the woman.”

As puzzled as ever, Penny went out on the street once more. The weather had turned colder, but she scarcely felt the icy blast which whipped her face.

It was silly to worry, she told herself sternly. Why, all the facts supported Police Chief Jalman’s belief that her father soon would return home. Mrs. Weems was confident he would be found safe—so was Mr. DeWitt. After all, only five hours had elapsed since the accident. A disappearance couldn’t be considered serious in such a short period.

But try as she might, Penny could not free her mind of grave misgivings. She could not forget the mysterious telephone call, the threatening letter, and Harley Schirr’s cocksure opinion that her father would not be found.

She stood disconsolate, gazing into the whirling snow storm. At the end of the street the railroad station loomed as a dark blur, reminding her of Jerry. If only he hadn’t gone away! Jerry was the one person who might help her, and she knew of no way to reach him.

CHAPTER
8
A FEW CHANGES

Next morning, Penny, red-eyed because she had slept little, walked slowly toward the Star office. Throughout the long night there had been no word from Mr. Parker.

At every street corner newsboys shouted the latest headlines—that the publisher had been missing nearly twenty-four hours. Even the Star carried a black, ugly banner across its front page.

Penny bought a copy, reading with displeasure the story of Mr. Parker’s disappearance.

“I can’t understand why Mr. DeWitt let this go through,” she thought. “If Dad were here, he’d certainly hate it.”

Entering the lobby of the Star building, Penny pressed the elevator button. A long time elapsed before the cage descended. To her surprise she saw that it was operated, not by Mose Johnson, the colored man, but by the janitor.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Penny,” the man apologized. “I’m not much good at operating this contraption.”

“Where is Mose this morning, Charley?”

“Fired.”

Penny could not hide her amazement. The old colored man had been employed ten years at the Star plant. Although not strictly efficient, Mose’s habits were good, and Mr. Parker had taken an affectionate interest in him.

“It’s a shame, if you ask me,” the janitor added.

“What happened, Charley? Who discharged him?”

“That guy Schirr.”

“Harley Schirr? But he has no authority.”

“An editor can fire and hire. I think he was just tryin’ out his stuff on poor old Mose.”

“During my father’s absence, Mr. DeWitt is in full charge here,” Penny said emphatically.

“DeWitt was in charge. But they hauled him off to the hospital last night with a bad pain in his tummy. Seems he had an appendicitis attack. The doctor rushed him off and didn’t even wait until morning to operate.”

The news stunned Penny. She murmured that she hoped Mr. DeWitt was doing well.

“Reckon he is,” agreed the janitor. “We all chipped in and sent him some flowers—roses. Mose gave fifty cents, too.”

Penny’s mind came back to the problem of the colored man.

“So Mr. Schirr discharged him,” she commented. “I wonder why?”

The janitor pressed a button and the cage moved slowly upward.

“Mose was due on at midnight,” he explained. “He didn’t get here until after two o’clock.”

“Didn’t he have a reason for being so late?”

The cage stopped with a jerk. “Sure, Mose had a pip this time! Something about being detained by a ghost! Schirr didn’t go for it at all. Swelled up like a poisoned pup and fired Mose on the spot.”

“I’m sorry,” Penny replied. “Dad liked Mose a lot.”

“Any news from your father?”

Penny shook her head. As far as possible she was determined to keep her troubles to herself. Turning to leave the cage, she inquired:

“Where is Mose now? At home?”

“He’s down in the boiler room, sittin’ by the furnace. Says he’s afraid to go home for fear his old lady will give him the works.”

“Will you please ask Mose to wait there for me?” Penny requested. “I want to talk to him before he leaves the building.”

“I’ll be glad to tell him,” the janitor said. Hesitating, he added: “If you’ve got any influence with Schirr, you might speak a good word for me.”

“Why for you?” smiled Penny. “Surely your job is safe.”

“I don’t know about that,” the janitor responded gloomily. “This morning when Schirr was comin’ up in the elevator he said to me: ‘Charley, there’s going to be a few changes made around here. I’m going to cut out all the old, useless timber.’ He looked at me kinda funny-like too. You know, I passed my sixty-eighth birthday last August.”

“Now don’t start worrying, Charley,” Penny cheered him. “We couldn’t run this building without you.”

Deeply troubled, she tramped down the hall to the newsroom. Reporters were in a fever of activity, pounding out their stories. Copy boys had a nervous, tense expression as they ran to and fro on their errands. Harley Schirr, however, was not in evidence.

“The Big Shot has sealed himself in your father’s office!” informed one of the copy desk men in a muted voice. “Guess you heard about DeWitt?”

Penny nodded.

“The Great Genius has taken over, and how! This place is operating on an efficiency-plus basis now. Why, he’s got me so cockeyed, I compose poetry.”

Penny crossed to her father’s office, tapping on the frosted glass door.

“Who is it?” demanded Schirr, his voice loud and unpleasant.

Penny spoke her name. In a moment the door opened, and the editor bowed and smiled. As if she were a guest of honor, he motioned her to a seat.

“We’re doing everything we can to trace your father,” he said. “So far, we’ve had no luck and the police admit they are baffled. I can’t express to you how sorry I am.”

To Penny’s ears the words were words only, lacking sincerity. Determining to waste no time, she spoke of DeWitt’s sudden illness.

“Oh yes, he’ll be off duty for at least a month,” replied Mr. Schirr. “Naturally in his absence I have assumed charge. We put out a real paper this morning.”

“I saw the front page.”

Penny longed to say that the story about her father had displeased her. However, she knew it would do no good. The account, once printed, could not be recalled. Far better, she reasoned, to let the matter pass.

“I hear Mose Johnson has been discharged,” she remarked.

“Yes, we had to let him go.” Mr. Schirr opened a desk drawer, helping himself to one of Mr. Parker’s cigars. “Mose is indolent, irresponsible—a drag on the payroll.”

“My father always liked him.”

“Yes, he did seem to favor the old coot,” agreed Schirr with a shrug. “Well, thank you for dropping in, Miss Parker. If we have any encouraging news, I’ll see that you are notified at once.”

Well aware that she had been dismissed, Penny left the office. Schirr’s attitude angered her. He had made her feel unwelcome in her own father’s newspaper plant.

As she closed the door behind her, she realized that nearly every eye in the apparently-busy newsroom, had focused upon her. Deliberately, she composed herself. Acting undisturbed, she swept past the rows of desks to a rear stairway leading to the basement.

The janitor had delivered her message to Mose Johnson. She found the old colored man curled up fast asleep on a crate by the warm stove.

Penny touched Mose on the arm. He straightened up as suddenly as if someone had set off a fire-cracker.

“Oh, Miss Penny!” he beamed. “I’se suah su’prised at seein’ you down heah in dis dumpy fu’nace room. But I thanks you just the same fo’ wakin’ me up out o’ dat ghost dream.”

“Were you having a ghost dream?” echoed Penny.

“Yes, Miss. Yo’ see I was dreamin’ about dat same ghost I saw last night on de way to work.”

Penny, fully aware that Mose was directing the conversation where he wished it to go, hid a smile.

“I heard about that, Mose,” she commented. “It must have been quite a lively ghost to make you two hours late.”

“It suah was a lively ghost,” Mose confirmed, bobbing his woolly head. “Why, it walked around jest like a live pu’son.”

“Aren’t you being a bit superstitious, Mose?”

“Deedy not, Miss. You is supe’stitious when you sees a ghost dat ain’t dar. But when you sees one dat is dar you ain’t supe’stitious. You is jest plain scared!”

“Suppose you tell me about it,” Penny invited.

“Well, Miss Penny, it was like dis,” began the old colored man. “At half past eleven I starts off fo’ work same as always. I picks up mah lunch box de ole lady packed fo’ me, an’ scoots off toward de bus stop to get de 11:45. But I nevah get dar. When I was goin’ down dat road runnin’ past de old Harrison place, I seen de ghost.”

“The Harrison place?” interrupted Penny. “Where is that?”

“You know de road that winds up Craig Hill? It’s out towa’d de boat club.”

“You don’t mean that big estate house with the fence surrounding it?”

“Dat’s de place! Well, I seed dis heah ghost a cavortin’ around behind de big iron gate dat goes in to de old Harrison place. De ghost nevah sees me, but I gets a good close-up of him. He was dressed in white and he was carryin’ his own tombstone around in his arms jes’ like it doan weigh nothin’.”

“Oh, Mose!” protested Penny. “And then what happened? Did the ghost disappear?”

“No, Miss,” grinned the colored man, “but I did! I turns tail an’ runs as fast as a man half mah age could go, an’ I nevah stops fo’ nuthin’ till I gits back to mah own place.

“When I tells mah ole lady what was goin’ on she says, ‘Mose, you sees white ghosts ’cause you been a drinkin’ some mo’ o’ dat white-eye. It’s twelve o’clock dis minute and you’se missed de last bus. Now you start walkin’! And if you is fired, don’t nevah da’ken dat do’ no mo’.’”

Old Mose drew a deep sigh. “And dat’s jest what happened, Miss Penny. I ain’t got no job an’ no mo’ home than a rabbit. I’se suah bubblin’ oveh with trouble. It all come from seein’ dat ghost you says I didn’t see.”

“I’m sure you thought you saw one,” replied Penny. “If you’ll promise to attend strictly to your duties hereafter, I’ll ask Mr. Schirr to reinstate you on the payroll.”

Old Mose brightened. “I suah nuff will!” he said jubilantly. “I won’t have no mo’ truck with dat ghost. No sir!”

To face Mr. Schirr once more, was a most unpleasant ordeal for Penny. Nevertheless, she sought his office, apologizing for the intrusion.

“I am busy,” the editor said pointedly. “What is it you want?”

Penny explained that she had talked with Mose Johnson and was convinced that his offense would not be repeated.

“I want you to put him back on his old job,” she requested.

“Impossible!”

“Why do you take that attitude?” inquired Penny, stiffening for an argument. “Dad always liked Mose.”

“One can’t mix sentiment with business. I have a job to do here and I intend to do it efficiently.”

“Dad probably will show up before another day.”

“I don’t like to dash your hopes,” said Mr. Schirr. “We’ve tried to spare your feelings. Perhaps your father will be found, but you know I tried to warn him he was inviting trouble when he mixed with the tire-theft gang.”

“So you believe Dad has fallen into the clutches of those men?”

“I do.”

“What makes you think so? Have you any evidence?”

“Not a scrap.”

“And how did you learn Dad intended to expose the higher-ups?”

“I don’t mind telling you I heard him talking to Jerry Livingston about it.”

“Oh, I see.”

“We’re getting nowhere with this discussion,” Mr. Schirr said impatiently. “I really am busy—”

“Will you reinstate Mose?” Penny asked, reverting to the original subject.

“I’ve already given my answer.”

“After all, this is my father’s paper,” Penny said, trying to control her voice. “It’s not a corporation. Only Dad’s money is invested here.”

“So what?”

“As a personal favor I ask you to reinstate Mose.”

“You’re making an issue of it?”

“Call it that if you like.”

Mr. Schirr’s dark eyes blazed. He slammed a paper weight across the desk and it dropped to the floor with a hard thud.

“Very well,” he said stiffly, “we’ll restore your pet to the payroll.”

“Thank you, Mr. Schirr.”

“But get this, Miss Parker,” the editor completed. “We may as well have an understanding. While your father is absent, I’m in full charge here. In the future I’ll have no interference from you or any other person.”

CHAPTER
9
AN OPEN SAFE

Rather flattened by the interview with Mr. Schirr, Penny was glad to leave the Star plant. Going down in the elevator, she requested Charley to tell Mose Johnson that he had been restored to his old job.

“That’s fine!” the janitor beamed. “Mighty glad to hear it.” Opening the cage door, he inquired: “Will you be going to see Mr. DeWitt?”

“I thought I would.”

“He’s at City Hospital. You might tell him that we all miss him around here.”

“I’ll certainly deliver the message,” promised Penny.

City Hospital was only six blocks away. Penny bought flowers and then presented herself at the institution. After a brief wait in the lobby, she was allowed to see Mr. DeWitt for a few minutes.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully, handing the box of flowers to a nurse.

Mr. DeWitt, pale and weak, stirred and turned his head so that he could see her.

“What’s good about it?” he muttered with a trace of his old spirit. “They won’t even let me sit up!”

“I should think not,” smiled Penny. She sat down in a chair beside the bed.

“Of all times to get laid up!” the editor went on. “Heard from your father?”

Penny shook her head. A long silence followed, and then she said brightly:

“But he’ll be found—probably today.”

Mr. DeWitt lay with his eyes closed. “I’ve been thinking—” he mumbled drowsily.

“Yes?” Penny waited.

“Mind’s still fogged with that blamed ether,” DeWitt muttered. “About your father—” His voice trailed off.

“Do you think he could have been waylaid by enemies?” Penny asked after a moment. “Mr. Schirr believes his disappearance has a connection with the tire-theft gang.”

Mr. DeWitt’s eyes opened again. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Your father was planning to break a big story—didn’t tell me much about it.”

“You don’t know what evidence he carried in the portfolio when he went to see the State Prosecutor?”

DeWitt shook his head. “Jerry’ll know.”

“But how can I reach him?”

“Didn’t he leave an address at the office?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then there’s no way to reach him.” Exhausted from so much talking, DeWitt fell silent. At length however, he aroused himself and asked: “Have you tried your father’s safe?”

“For Jerry’s address?”

“No, the names of the tire-theft gang. If the police had something to work on—”

“Dad took a lot of papers out just before he started for the Prosecutor’s office,” Penny replied thoughtfully. “But some of the evidence may have been left. It’s worth investigating.”

The nurse returned to the room with a vase for the flowers.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to remain much longer,” she said regretfully.

As she arose to go, Penny remembered to deliver Old Charley’s message.

“How’s everything at the office?” Mr. DeWitt asked. “Who’s in charge?”

“Harley Schirr.”

Mr. DeWitt’s forehead wrinkled. “Now I know I’ve got to roll out of here!” he declared. “Things will be in a nice state by the time I get back.”

Penny did not wish to worry him. “Oh, everything will go along,” she soothed. “Mr. Schirr is very efficient in his methods.”

“And opinionated,” muttered DeWitt. “Oh, well, I’ll be back on the job in ten days.”

Penny did not disillusion him. Saying goodbye, she returned to the newspaper office. Pausing at the downstairs advertising department, she talked to Bud Corbin, a close friend of Jerry’s.

“This is the only address Jerry gave me,” Mr. Corbin said, taking a card from his billfold. “A wire might reach him. But there’s a good chance it won’t. When he left here, he wasn’t sure he’d stop at Elk Horn Lodge.”

Grateful for the address, Penny composed a telegram which the advertising man offered to send for her. In the message she not only told of her father’s strange disappearance, but asked for a complete duplication of material lost in the portfolio.

“At least I’ve started the ball rolling,” she thought, with renewed hope in her efforts. “I believe Jerry can help if only he gets the wire.”

Penny had not forgotten Mr. DeWitt’s suggestion that some evidence against the tire-theft gang might be found in Mr. Parker’s safe.

“I hate to open it while Dad is away,” she reflected. “Still, I know the combination, and I’m sure he would want me to do it.”

To brave Harley Schirr a second time was a duty not to Penny’s liking. She debated waiting until after four o’clock when the editor doubtless would leave the building. But time was precious and she could not afford to wait.

“What am I, a coward?” she prodded herself. “Why should I be afraid of Harley Schirr? When Dad gets back on the job, he’ll bounce him back where he belongs.”

Penny’s reappearance in the newsroom created a slight stir. However, no one spoke to her as she walked straight to her father’s office. The door was closed.

“Mr. Schirr isn’t in conference?” she asked one of the copy readers.

“No, just go right on in,” the man returned carelessly.

Without knocking, Penny opened the door. On the threshold, she paused, startled. Harley Schirr was down on his knees in front of the open safe. Evidently he had been going through Mr. Parker’s private papers in systematic fashion for he was circled by little piles of manila envelopes.

Mr. Schirr was even more startled than Penny. He sprang to his feet, the picture of guilt. Then, recovering his poise, he scowled and demanded: “Here again?”

Penny carefully closed the office door before she spoke. Then her words were terse.

“Mr. Schirr, kindly explain what you are doing in my father’s safe.”

“Looking for information about the tire-theft gang.”

“A story you say the Star never should print.”

“That’s neither here nor there.” A deep flush had crept over Schirr’s cheeks but his manner remained confident. “As editor I have to know what’s going on.”

“Who gave you permission to open the safe?”

“You forget that I am editor here, Miss Parker.”

“At least I’ve been reminded of it enough times,” Penny retorted. “How did you learn the combination?”

“I’ve known it.”

“You saw the numbers written on Dad’s desk,” Penny accused.

Mr. Schirr did not deny the charge. Turning his back, he started to remove a rubber band from a small stack of yellowed letters. The act infuriated Penny, for she recognized the packet. Years before, the letters had been written by her own mother, and Mr. Parker always had treasured them.

“Don’t you touch those!” she cried, darting forward. “They’re personal.”

Snatching the packet from Mr. Schirr, she gathered up the other papers and envelopes from the floor. Thrusting everything into the safe, she closed and locked the door.

“Well!” commented the editor scathingly.

“You’re through here!” said Penny, facing him with blazing eyes. “Do you understand? I’m discharging you.”

Mr. Schirr looked stunned. Then he laughed unpleasantly.

“So you’re discharging me,” he mocked. “By what right may I ask?”

“This is my father’s plant.”

“Which doesn’t necessarily make you the editor or the owner, Miss Penelope Parker. You’re a minor as well as a nuisance. If your father proves to be dead, the court will step in—”

“Get out!” cried Penny, fighting to keep back the tears. “You don’t care about Dad, or anything but your own selfish interests!”

“Now you’re hysterical.”

Penny’s anger subsided, to be replaced by a cool determination that Harley Schirr should not remain in charge of the Star another hour.

“I meant just what I said,” she told him quietly. “Please go.”

Schirr smiled grimly. Seating himself at the desk, his eyes challenged hers.

“I remain as editor here,” he announced. “If you wish to contest my right, take your case to court. In the meantime, keep out of my private office.”

CHAPTER
10
TALE OF A GHOST

Beaten and close to tears, Penny stumbled out of Harley Schirr’s office. As she paused just beyond the closed door, every eye in the newsroom focused upon her. Salt Sommers, camera box slung over his shoulder, went over and spoke to her.

“Penny, we all heard that row. If you say the word, we’ll walk out of here in a body.”

Penny smiled, touched by the expression of loyalty. “That would do no good,” she replied. “Thanks just the same.”

“We’re through taking orders from Schirr!” Salt went on. “He always has been a pain in the neck, and now that he has authority, there’s no holding him down. How about it, boys?”

A chorus of approval greeted his words. One of the reporters picked up a paper weight and would have hurled it against the closed door, had not another restrained him.

“I’m sure Dad would want everyone to carry on,” Penny said quietly. “The paper must be published the same as always.”

“We could do our work and do it well, if Schirr would just leave us alone,” growled one of the copy readers.

“That’s right!” added another. “Why don’t you take over, Penny?”

“Mr. Schirr just reminded me that I’m not the editor. I know nothing about running a newspaper.”

“How about the time you ran the High School weekly?” Salt reminded her. “Why, you did a bang up job of it, and uncovered The Secret Pact story to boot! Don’t try to tell us you don’t know how to run a newspaper!”

“A weekly high school sheet and the Star are two different propositions.”

“But your father has a fine organization here,” Salt argued. “If Schirr can be kept from breaking it up, everything will go along. The boys all know their jobs.”

Penny’s eyes began to sparkle. But she said: “I don’t see how I could take over, much as I would like to do it. Schirr has staked out rights in Dad’s office and nothing will move him short of a court order.”

“You don’t need a fancy office to run a paper,” Salt grinned. “We’ll just take our orders from you. Schirr can sit until he’s had enough of it.”

Penny gazed at the eager, loyal faces about her. Nearly all of the men were old employees, personally trained by her father and Mr. DeWitt. She knew she could depend on them.

“We’ll do it!” she exclaimed suddenly. “As your new editor, I wish to issue my first order. Please, let’s not publish any more sensational stories about Dad’s disappearance.”

“Okay Chief,” grinned one of the desk men. “That suits us all fine.”

Penny was given a seat of honor at the slot of the circular copy desk. There she was able to read and pass upon every story which flowed from the typewriters of the various reporters. With the courteous help of one of the deskmen, she remade the front page of the noon edition. A particularly sensational story about Mr. Parker, prepared earlier in the day, was promptly “busted.”

Penny found her new duties exacting, but surprisingly easy. Over the years it was astonishing how much she had learned about the workings of a newspaper plant. At different times she had served as reporter, society editor and special feature writer. As for the editorial policy of the Star, she was thoroughly familiar with it, for her father frequently aired his views at home.

Shortly after the noon edition rolled from the press, the buzzer in Mr. Schirr’s office sounded. Mr. Parker’s private secretary did not answer. The buzzer kept on for nearly five minutes. Then the door was flung open.

“What the blazes is the matter with everyone?” Schirr shouted.

His gaze fastened upon Penny at the copy desk.

“Meet our new editor, Mr. Schirr,” said Salt, who had that moment come out of the camera room.

Schirr ignored Penny. Snatching up one of the noon editions, still fresh with wet ink, he glanced at the front page. His eyes flashed.

“Eckert,” he said to the head copy man, “come into my office. I want to talk to you.”

“Oh, sure,” said Eckert, but he did not follow Schirr into the adjoining room.

Soon the ex-editor came storming out to learn what was wrong. This time his expression was baffled.

“Mr. Eckert,” he said with exaggerated politeness. “Will you please step into my office?”

“Sorry,” replied the copy reader. “You may as well know right now that you’re not giving the orders around here!”

“We’ll see about that!” cried Schirr.

Darting to one of the speaking tubes, he called the foreman of the press room.

“Schirr talking!” he said curtly. “Stop the presses! Kill that noon edition! We’re making over the front page!”

“Can’t hear you,” was the reply, for word had been passed to the men in the pressroom. “Louder!”

Schirr shouted until he was nearly hoarse. Then suddenly conscious that he was making a spectacle of himself, he slammed into his office. A minute later he reappeared, hat jammed low over his eyes.

“This is a very clever scheme, Miss Parker,” he said, facing her. “Well, it won’t work. I’m leaving, but I’ll be back. With a lawyer!”

He strode from the newsroom, banging the door so hard the glass rattled.

“Don’t worry about that egg,” Salt advised Penny. “He’s mostly bluff.”

“I think he does mean to get a court order,” she returned soberly.

“He may try,” Salt shrugged. “We can handle him.”

Following Schirr’s departure, everything moved smoothly at the Star plant. One edition after another rolled from the presses. Penny was kept busy, and frequently she was worried and in doubt. Nevertheless, everyone made the way easy for her, and as the day wore on she gained confidence.

Throughout the afternoon, news stories kept pouring into the Star office, but no encouraging information came in regard to Mr. Parker. Several times Penny called the police station and also talked with Mrs. Weems. The housekeeper, fearful that the girl would become ill, insisted upon bringing a hot evening meal to the office.

“Penny, you’ve been here all day,” she chided anxiously. “You must come home with me.”

“I can’t just yet,” Penny replied. “There’s too much to do. By tomorrow, if Schirr doesn’t make trouble, things will smooth out.”

“You’re working so hard you’ll be sick abed!”

“I want to work,” Penny said grimly. “It keeps me from thinking. Anyway, Dad would want me to do it.”

Mrs. Weems sighed as she gathered up the lunch basket and thermos bottle. Penny barely had tasted the food.

“When will you be home?” the housekeeper asked.

“I can’t say exactly. After the night editions are out. Don’t sit up for me.”

“You know I couldn’t go to bed until you are home,” Mrs. Weems responded. “You’ll take a taxi?”

“Of course,” promised Penny.

After the housekeeper had gone, she plunged into her duties once more. With the force short of two men, DeWitt and Schirr, there really was too much work for the desk men to do unassisted. Penny wrote headlines, copy-read stories, and passed on all matters of policy. So busy did she keep, that when at length she glanced at her watch, it was eleven-thirty.

“Gracious!” she thought. “And Mrs. Weems will be waiting up for me!”

Saying goodnight to the men who would carry on in her absence, she went down the back stairs to the street. As she glanced about for a taxicab, she saw Old Mose Johnson shuffling toward the loading dock.

“Good evening,” she greeted him. “I’m glad to see you’re ahead of time tonight.”

“Good evenin’, Miss Penny,” the colored man said, doffing his tattered hat. “Yas’m. I’se heah, but I seed dat same ghost a-lurkin’ behind de gate!”

“I hope that ghost isn’t becoming a habit with you, Mose.”

“Deed Miss Penny, he’s mo’ dan a habit,” the colored man sighed. “He’s a suah-nuff live ghost. De fust time I seed him I thought he wasn’t no imagination ghost. But when I saw him agin’ tonight I was dead suah of it.”

“What happened this time, Mose?”

“Well, Miss Penny, I was a walking along dat same road, down by de ole Harrison place when I seed him again. He was a-cavortin’ behind dat same iron gate. And he was dressed de same too, in a long white robe.”

“And you ran the same too, I suppose?” smiled Penny.

“Ah made myself scarce around dat gate, but I didn’t run home dis time. I was a-skeered of mah ole woman. I beats it to de restaurant on de co’ner and waits dere ’till a bus comes. Oh, I’se gettin’ good, Miss Penny! I can see a ghost and git to work on time, all de same evenin’!”

“Well, keep up the good work,” Penny said jokingly as she turned away.

The meeting with Old Mose had served to divert the girl’s mind from her own difficulties. Riding home by taxi, she caught herself reviewing the details of the colored man’s outlandish tale.

“Mose couldn’t have seen a ghost,” she thought, “but he’s honest about being frightened. If I didn’t have so many serious troubles, I’d be tempted to investigate the old Harrison estate myself.”

Penny alighted at her home and walked wearily up the shoveled path. Snow was falling once more. Already the exposed porch was covered with a half-inch coating of feathery flakes.

Inside the house a light flashed on. The bright beam shining through the window drew Penny’s attention to a series of freshly-made footprints criss-crossing the porch.

“Mrs. Weems must have had a visitor,” she thought, observing that the heel marks were made by a woman’s shoe.

As Penny reached for the door knob, her glance fell upon a long, narrow envelope which protruded from the tin mailbox. She removed it, wondering why the housekeeper had neglected to do so.

Mrs. Weems opened the door.

“Thank goodness, you’re home at last, Penny. I fell asleep on the davenport. There isn’t any word—”

“Not a scrap of news,” Penny completed.

Dropping the letter on the center table, she removed her wraps and flung herself full length on the davenport.

“You poor child!” Mrs. Weems murmured. “You’re practically exhausted. Please go straight to bed. I’ll fix some warm milk and perhaps you can sleep.”

“I don’t feel as if I’d ever sleep again,” Penny declared. “I’m tired, but I feel so excited and tense.”

Mrs. Weems picked up the girl’s coat and cap. Shaking them free of snow, she hung the garments in the closet.

“Did you have a bad time of it today?” Penny asked after a moment.

“It wasn’t exactly pleasant,” Mrs. Weems replied. “Reporters and photographers came from every paper in Riverview. The police too—although I was glad to have them. And the telephone! I counted twelve calls in an hour.”

“You must be dead. You shouldn’t have waited up for me.”

“I wanted to, Penny. About an hour ago I thought I heard your step on the porch, but I was mistaken.”

Penny sat up. “Haven’t you had a caller during the last hour, Mrs. Weems?”

“No, I’ve been alone.”

“But I saw footprints on the porch! And I found this in the mailbox!”

Penny snatched the long envelope from the table. Holding it beneath the bridge lamp, she noticed for the first time that it bore no stamp. Strangely, it was addressed to her.

“Why, where did you get that letter?” cried Mrs. Weems.

“Found it in the mailbox.” Penny’s hand trembled as she ripped open the flap.

A sheet of writing paper, high quality and slightly perfumed, slid from the envelope. The message was terse and bore no signature at the end. It read:

“Offer a suitable reward and information will be provided as to the whereabouts of your father. Make your offer known in the Star.”

CHAPTER
11
BY A CEMETERY WALL

Penny and Mrs. Weems reread the anonymous message many times, analyzing every word.

“Plainly this note was written by a woman of some means for the paper is fine quality,” Penny commented. “She must have sneaked up on the porch about an hour ago.”

“Call the police at once,” urged Mrs. Weems. “They’ll tell us what we should do.”

“Whoever left the note may be watching the house.”

“We must risk that, Penny. I’ll call the station myself.”

While Mrs. Weems busied herself at the telephone, Penny switched off the living-room light. She could see no one loitering anywhere near the house. Slipping on her coat, she went outside to inspect the footprints left on the porch. Only a few remained uncovered by snow. There was no way to tell in which direction the writer of the anonymous message had gone.

Mrs. Weems had completed her telephone call by the time Penny reentered the house.

“Two detectives will be here in a few minutes,” she revealed. “You keep watch for them while I run upstairs and get into something more suitable than a lounging robe.”

Within ten minutes a car drew up in front of the house. Penny already was acquainted with Detectives Dick Brandon and George Fuller, and had great confidence in their judgment. Anxiously she and Mrs. Weems waited while the men scanned the anonymous message.

“This might be only a crank note,” commented Brandon. “Someone who’s read of Mr. Parker’s disappearance, and hopes to pick up a little cash.”

“Then you don’t think it came from the tire-theft gang?” Penny asked.

“Not likely. A professional kidnaper never would have sent a note like this. The handwriting hasn’t even been disguised.”

“Will it be possible to trace the person?”

“It should be if we have a little luck.” Detective Brandon pocketed the letter. “Now this is what you must do, Miss Parker. Offer a reward—say five thousand dollars—for information about your father.”

“I’ll get the story in every edition of the Star tomorrow. And then what am I to do?”

“You’ll likely hear from the writer of this anonymous message, either by letter or telephone. If you contact the woman, arrange a meeting. Then notify us immediately.”

The discussion went on. When at length the two detectives left, Penny and Mrs. Weems were hopeful that within another twenty-four hours they might know Mr. Parker’s fate.

In the morning, after only five hours of sleep, Penny was back at her desk. Her first act was to dictate the story offering a five-thousand-dollar reward for information about her father. Not even to Salt Sommers did she confide that she had received an anonymous message.

“Everything’s going well here at the plant,” he assured her. “Harley Schirr hasn’t so much as stuck his nose through the door.”

“I hope we’re through with him,” replied Penny soberly. “However, I don’t feel that we are. By the way, no telegram has come from Jerry?”

“No message yet. Guess he didn’t get your wire.”

Throughout the morning, Penny worked tirelessly at her desk. Although her father’s office now was vacant, she did not take possession. Even when she occasionally entered to get papers from the file, it gave her a queer, tight feeling. Her father’s old neck-scarf still hung on the clothes tree. The rubbers he hated to wear stood heel to heel against the wall.

“Dad is alive and well,” she told herself whenever her courage faltered. “By tomorrow he’ll be back. I know he will.”

At noon Salt brought Penny a sandwich which she ate without leaving her desk. As she struggled with the last mouthful, the telephone rang.

“Is this Miss Parker?” inquired a woman’s voice.

Penny gripped the receiver tightly. Her pulse began to pound. Although she had no real reason for thinking so, she suddenly knew that she was in contact with the mysterious writer of the anonymous message.

“Yes,” she replied, keeping her voice calm.

“You offered a reward in your paper today. Five thousand dollars for information about Mr. Parker.”

“True. Can you tell me anything about his disappearance?”

“I can if you’re willing to pay the money.”

“I’ll be glad to do it.”

“And no questions asked?”

“No questions,” Penny promised. “If you actually can provide information that will help me find my father, I’ll be happy to give you the money.”

There was a long silence. Fearful lest the woman had lost her nerve and was about to hang up, Penny said anxiously:

“Where shall I meet you? Will you come to my home?”

“That’s too risky.”

“Then where shall I meet you?”

“Tonight at eight. You know the cemetery out on Baldiff Road?”

“Baldiff Road?” Penny repeated doubtfully.

“You’ll find it on a county map,” the woman instructed. “Meet me at the cemetery wall promptly at eight. And don’t bring anyone with you. Just the money. I’ll guarantee to tell you where you can find your father.”

The receiver clicked.

Greatly excited, Penny made a futile attempt to trace the telephone call. Failing, she set off for the police station to talk to Detectives Fuller and Brandon.

“The woman must be a rank amateur or she wouldn’t have arranged a meeting in the way she did!” Detective Brandon assured Penny. “Now let’s find out where Baldiff Road is located.”

Using a large map, he circled an area several miles south of Riverview. Penny was surprised to note that Baldiff Road branched off from the same deserted thoroughfare which she and Louise had followed on the night of the blizzard. The cemetery, Oakland Hills, was situated perhaps a mile from the old Harrison place where Mose Johnson had claimed to have seen a ghost.

“It shouldn’t be hard to nab the woman when she shows up,” Detective Fuller declared. “Dick and I will get there early and keep watch.”

“Just what am I to do?” Penny inquired. “Shall I take the reward money with me?”

“We’ll give you a package of fake money,” the detective answered. “Drive to the cemetery alone at the appointed hour. If the woman shows up, talk to her, try to learn what she knows. We’ll attend to the rest.”

Penny returned home to consult with Mrs. Weems. How to reach the cemetery was something of a problem. Her own car, minus its wheels, remained at the Yacht Club, and Mr. Parker’s automobile had been hauled to a garage for extensive repairs.

“Can’t you borrow a car from someone at the Star office?” suggested the housekeeper. “And do take a man with you when you drive to the cemetery.”

“No, I must go alone,” insisted Penny. “That part is very important.”

In the end she was able to borrow Salt Sommer’s coupe. A little after seven o’clock she set off for Baldiff Road with the package of fake money in her possession. The night was not cold, but a stiff wind blew through the evergreens; whirlwinds of snow chased one another across the untraveled road.

“What a dreary place for a meeting,” Penny shivered as she glimpsed the bleak cemetery on a hilltop.

The area, a full half-mile from any house, was bounded by a high snow-covered brick wall. Beyond the barrier, starlight revealed a cluster of rounding tombstones layered with white. No one was visible, neither the woman nor members of the police force.

Penny glanced at her watch. It lacked ten minutes of eight o’clock. She parked not far from the cemetery entrance and switched off the engine.

Twenty minutes elapsed. Nervous and cold, Penny climbed from the car and tramped back and forth to restore circulation. She had begun to doubt that the woman would keep the appointment.

Then, coming swiftly down the road, she saw a strange looking figure. The one who approached wore a long, tight-fitting coat. A hat with a dark veil covered the woman’s face.

“There she is!” thought Penny, every nerve tense.

The woman came closer. While still some distance from the cemetery entrance, she suddenly paused. Her head jerked sideways. Then to Penny’s dismay, she turned and fled toward the woods.

“Wait!” Penny shouted. “Don’t be afraid! Wait!”

The woman paid no heed. Lifting her coat the better to run, she disappeared among the trees.

CHAPTER
12
FLIGHT

As Penny wondered what to do, Detectives Brandon and Fuller leaped from their hiding place behind the cemetery wall. Their car had been secreted in a clump of bushes farther down the road. By pure mischance, the woman in the black veil had seen it as she approached, and fearing treachery, had fled.

“Quick, Dick, or she’ll get away!” Fuller shouted.

Penny did not join in the pursuit. Reentering her car, she waited anxiously. From the crashing of underbrush, she knew the detectives were having difficulty in following the woman. In the dark forest it would be very easy for her to elude the officers.

Three quarters of an hour elapsed before the men returned.

“We lost her,” Detective Brandon reported. “No use searching any longer.”

Sick at heart, Penny drove slowly toward home. Her hopes had been completely dashed. Not only had she failed to contact the mysterious woman, but there now seemed little likelihood of doing so.

“I may receive another telephone message,” she thought, “but I doubt it. That woman probably will be too badly frightened to try to contact me again.”

At the exit of Baldiff Road, Penny headed down the winding hillside highway which she and Louise had followed on the night of the blizzard. The route, although slightly longer, would take her close to the Riverview Yacht Club.

“I’ll go that way and see if my car is still there,” she decided. “Then tomorrow I can have it hauled home and jacked up. I should have looked after the matter long ago.”

The coupe rounded a curve and the road dipped between an avenue of swaying, whispering pines. To the left, shrouded in snow, loomed the old Harrison house. The estate was picturesque in itself, and Mose Johnson’s tale about a ghost had intensified the girl’s interest.

“Wonder who owns the place now?” she speculated. “Probably not any member of the Harrison family, as I believe they were old-timers in Riverview.”

Penny slowed the car to idling speed. Deliberately keeping to the left hand side of the road, she studied with deep interest the long, snow-frosted fence which bounded the grounds. The barrier was an unfriendly one, high and spiked at the top.

Suddenly her attention focused upon a well-beaten path in the snow just inside the fence. The footprints, plainly visible in the bright moonlight, extended the full width of the grounds.

Into Penny’s mind flashed the wild yarn told by Mose Johnson.

“Ghost tracks!” she thought. “At least those prints must have been made by whatever he saw beyond the gate.”

So interested was Penny in the path that for an instant she completely forgot her driving. The front left wheel of the car struck a tiny mound of ice and snow at the road’s edge.

Barely in time to avoid an accident, the girl twisted the steering wheel and brought the car back on the highway.

“Another second and I’d have been in the ditch!” she thought shakily. “If I must look for a ghost, guess I’ll do the job right.”

Penny pulled up, this time at the opposite side of the road. Getting out, she crossed to the iron fence and peered through it. The path which had attracted her attention had been pounded hard by someone who had walked just inside the enclosure.

“Odd!” she reflected. “Maybe Old Mose’s ghost has more substance than I thought.”

Penny glanced toward the big house, dark and majestic in its setting of evergreens. Obviously the place had been closed for the winter. Walks were not shoveled, blinds had been drawn, and no tire tracks led to and from the three-car garage.

“Wonder who or what could have made that path?” she mused. “Certainly not an animal.”

Unable to solve the mystery, Penny turned to re-enter the parked coupe. Before she could cross the road, a light went on in a third floor room of the estate house. Startled, she stared at it. As she watched, it was extinguished.

“Someone must live here!” thought Penny. “Or am I seeing spooks myself?”

For a long while she watched the upper floor of the house. The light did not reappear. At length, wearying of the vigil, she returned to the car.

Penny started the engine and bent down to open the fins of the heater. Straightening, she cast a last, careless glance toward the old estate. Her heart did a flip-flop.

Beyond the iron gate, in the garden area, a white-robed figure slowly paced back and forth!

“My Aunt!” whispered Penny. “Am I seeing things or am I seeing things?”

For a moment she sat very straight, watching. The ghostly figure, white from head to toe, moved with measured steps toward the high gate.

“There aren’t any ghosts,” she encouraged herself. “But if that’s not a spook, it must be someone dressed up like one! And who would play Hallowe’en games on a cold night like this?”

Alone, frankly nervous, Penny had no overpowering desire to investigate the white-robed figure at close range. A large, spreading evergreen half-blocked her view of the gate. She could not see the ghost plainly, but she distinctly heard the rattle of a chain as the apparition tested the lock.

“Real or imaginary, that spook is trying to get out!” Penny thought with a shiver. “If Mose were here now I’d challenge him to a race!”

The white-gowned figure shook the gate chain a second time, then slowly retreated. Penny watched for a moment, before abruptly swinging open the car door. She had decided to investigate.

As she crossed the road, the white figure moved away from her. By the time she reached the gate, it had disappeared around a corner of the house.

“At least Mr. Spook wasn’t carrying his own tombstone!” Penny observed to herself. “Mose exaggerated that part.”

She waited, leaning against the gate post. Within three minutes a light went on in the upper part of the house. For a fleeting instant before the blind was pulled, she saw someone standing in front of an old-fashioned dresser.

“Mr. Ghost seemingly has turned in for the night,” thought Penny. “But is it a he, she, or it?”

Soon the bedroom light was extinguished. Cold and tired, Penny decided that the mystery must remain unsolved. However, as she drove on, she kept thinking about what she had seen. Of one thing she now was certain. The estate was not deserted!

Without stopping at the Yacht Club grounds, Penny made certain that her stripped car and ice boat remained as she last had seen them. Driving on to Riverview, she left Salt’s car at the Star plant, then taxied home to tell Mrs. Weems of her failure at the cemetery.

“Don’t feel badly about it,” the housekeeper comforted. “Surely the woman who telephoned will make another attempt to reach you.”

“I doubt it,” Penny replied gloomily. “She’ll know now that the police are watching for her.”

“This entire affair is so bewildering,” sighed Mrs. Weems. “How could your father have been kidnaped? If what we’ve learned is true, he left the scene of the accident of his own free will.”

“I never was so baffled in my life,” Penny returned, throwing herself on the davenport. “I used to think I was good at solving puzzles. Now I know I’m just plain dumb.”

“Have you thought about employing a private detective?”

“It might be a good idea!” Penny agreed, encouraged. “I’ll see what I can do tomorrow.”

As she started wearily up the stairs to bed, Mrs. Weems called after her to say that Louise Sidell had telephoned earlier in the evening. Penny nodded absently, assuming that her chum had phoned to express sympathy. She did not think of the matter again until the next morning at breakfast. As she was leaving the table, Mrs. Weems came in to report that Louise once more was on the telephone.

“Penny, I can’t tell you how shocked I was to learn about your father,” her chum began breathlessly. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I’m afraid not, Lou.”

“What are you using for a car? You must need one badly.”

“Salt Sommers let me have his last night. I’ll get along.”

“Penny, I know how you can buy tires!” Louise went on. “In fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“How can I buy tires? Rubber is supposed to be scarce.”

“When I was having my hair fixed at the beauty parlor yesterday I heard two women talking!” Louise declared excitedly. “It seems there’s a garage where you can get them if you pull the right strings!”

“Oh! A Black Market place?”

“I suppose that’s what you would call it.”

“I don’t want to get tires illegally,” Penny said. “I’m not interested, Lou.”

“You don’t even care to know the name of the garage?”

“What good would it do?”

“None perhaps, but it might give you a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Penny repeated. She glanced at the clock, impatient because the conversation was being prolonged. A great deal of important work awaited her.

“You don’t want to know the name of the place?” Louise persisted.

“Yes, I do. On second thought, it might be well worth while to find out what I can about Black Market operations in tires.”

The conviction had come suddenly to Penny that all the evidence contained in her father’s lost portfolio must be gathered anew. No word had been received from Jerry Livingston. In the quest for information, she must depend upon her own efforts.

“It’s going to give you a real shock to learn the name of the place,” Louise went on.

“I’m shock proof by this time,” answered Penny. “Let ’er fly.”

But Louise was unwilling to divulge the information over the telephone.

“I don’t dare tell you now,” she replied. “Just sit tight for ten minutes and I’ll deliver my bombshell in person.”

CHAPTER
13
A BLACK MARKET

Ten minutes later Louise was at the front door with the Sidell family car. She tooted the horn until Penny put on her coat and went outside.

“Jump in and I’ll take you to the place of mystery,” Louise greeted her. “On second thought, you’d better drive. I hate icy roads.”

Penny slid behind the steering wheel. “But where are we going?” she protested. “Honestly, Lou, I haven’t much time—”

“Mattie Williams’ garage is the place that sells the tires! Now, are you interested?”

“Am I? Why, we stopped there with Salt Sommers!”

“We did indeed. Remember the big truck?”

“Lou, you may have stumbled into something really important!”

“Glad you think so, chum. But you’re not interested in Black Markets.”

“I’ve changed my mind! I want to talk to Mattie Williams right away!”

Penny started the car. Driving with a mechanical, unthinking efficiency born of many years’ practice, she questioned Louise as to the source of her information. The girls were deep in a discussion when they heard someone shout. Salt Sommers had hailed them from the curb.

“Why, hello,” Penny greeted him, stopping the car with a jerk. “Any trouble at the Star?”

“Not from Schirr,” grinned Salt. “I’m hot-footing it to the Ladies Club to mug some dames pouring tea! For the society page.”

“Poor Salt!” smiled Penny, knowing how he hated trivial assignments.

“On your way to the office?” the photographer questioned.

Penny hesitated, then decided to confide in Salt. She repeated what Louise had told her about the Mattie Williams’ garage.

“Well, can you beat that!” the photographer exclaimed. “I don’t know Mattie and her partner well, but I always supposed they were honest. So they’re dealing in stolen tires!”

“We don’t know for sure,” Penny said hastily. “Our information is mostly founded on rumor.”

“And the tires may not be stolen ones,” contributed Louise. “I only heard they can be bought there.”

Penny added that she would not take time to run down the Black Market story save that her father’s disappearance might have a connection with the tire-thief gang.

“I aim to learn the names of those men Dad intended to expose,” she said earnestly.

Somewhat startled by the grim note of Penny’s voice, Salt warned her that she might be venturing on dangerous ground.

“We all admire your courage,” he said, “but you mustn’t take foolish risks. Your father would turn thumbs down on that idea.”

“It’s because of Dad that I must investigate every angle of the tire-theft racket.”

“Quite an ambitious assignment,” Salt said dryly. “Now as soon as Jerry gets back from Canada—”

“We can’t wait! Something has to be done right away!”

“I know how you feel,” responded Salt, “but there’s such a thing as being too courageous.”

“I’m not courageous,” Penny denied. “Last night at the cemetery I was scared half to death. And then when I saw the ghost—”

“What ghost?” interrupted Louise.

Penny had not intended to speak of what she had seen at the Harrison estate. The slip of tongue made it necessary to tell of the path by the gate, the retreating figure, and the mysterious light.

“That’s funny,” commented the photographer, regarding her with a peculiar expression. “Since I’ve been on duty at the observation tower I’ve never seen any activity at the estate.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts, but I saw one all that same!” Penny insisted. “Just watch some night and see for yourself!”

Annoyed by Salt’s smile, she shifted gears and drove on down the street. Turning to Louise, she asked earnestly: “You believe I saw something wandering about the estate last night, don’t you?”

“Well,” Louise hesitated, unwilling to offend her chum. “You must have been quite upset after failing to meet that woman at the cemetery. Under the circumstances....”

“I was as calm as I am now,” Penny cried indignantly. “I saw it, I tell you!”

“Of course you did, dear,” Louise soothed. “Do please watch your driving more carefully, or I’ll have to take over.”

Penny suddenly relaxed. “Okay, have it your own way,” she shrugged. “I wouldn’t believe Mose Johnson, so why should you believe me? It’s just one of those things.”

For a long while they rode in silence. Few cars were on the road and there was little business activity at Kamm’s Corner. Penny parked in front of the Mattie Williams’ garage.

“What excuse will we have for questioning her?” Louise asked dubiously.

“I’m not going to make an excuse,” said Penny. “I’ll just come right out and ask her if she sells tires without a special order.”

The girls entered the warm little office, stamping snow from their galoshes.

“Just a minute,” called a voice which belonged to Mattie Williams.

The garage owner was busy with a customer. Soon however, she came in from the main part of the building, wiping her oily hands on a piece of waste.

“What can I do for you?” she inquired briskly.

“You remember us, don’t you?” asked Penny, leading into the subject of tires as gradually as possible. “We’re friends of Salt Sommers.”

“Oh, sure!” the woman’s face lighted. “You came in with him the night of the bad storm.”

“My car had been stripped of its tires. Ever since, I’ve been wondering how to get new ones.”

A slightly guarded expression came over Mattie Williams’ face. She said nothing.

“I was told I might obtain some here,” Penny plunged on.

“You can,” said Mattie. “Provided you have an order from your Ration Board.”

“Not without it?”

Mattie gazed at Penny with undisguised scorn. “What sort of a place do you think we run here?” she demanded. “Of course we don’t sell tires without an order.”

“But we were told—”

“Well, you were told wrong,” snapped Mattie. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”

Picking up a wrench from the desk top, the woman left the office.

“I guess I didn’t approach her the right way,” remarked Penny sadly. “Either that, or our information was incorrect. Louise, are you sure—”

“Oh, I am!” her chum insisted. “The two women I overheard, distinctly said Mattie Williams’ garage. Of course, they might have been wrong about it.”

Before Penny and Louise could leave the office, a middle-aged man with glasses came in through the street door.

“Sam Burkholder here?” he demanded, warming himself by the stove.