“Here’s one which might be interesting,” she said. “How about assigning me to it after I get this society job in hand?”
Mr. Parker read the item and his eyes blazed with anger.
“Do you know what this means, Penny?”
“Mr. DeWitt told me a little about the Celestial Temple society. He said the paper never ran such items.”
“Certainly not! Why, I should like nothing better than to see the entire outfit driven out of town! Riverview is honeycombed with mediums, fortune tellers and faith healers!”
“Perhaps they mean no harm, Dad.”
“I’ll grant there may be a small number of persons who honestly try to communicate with the spirit world,” Mr. Parker replied. “My concern is not with them, but with a group of professional mediums who lately have invaded the city. Charlatans, crooks—the entire lot!”
“Why don’t you write an editorial about it?” Penny suggested.
“An editorial! I am seriously tempted to start a vigorous campaign, but the trouble is, the police cannot be depended upon to cooperate actively.”
“Why, Dad?”
“Because experience has proven that such campaigns are not often successful. Evidence is hard to gain. If one place is closed up, others open in different sections of the city. The mediums and seers operate from dozens of private homes. When the police stage raids they acquire no evidence, and only succeed in making the department look ridiculous.”
“Yet the mediums continue to fleece the public?”
“The more gullible strata of it. Until recent months the situation here has been no worse than in other cities of comparable size. Lately an increasing number of charlatans has moved in on us.”
“Why don’t you start a campaign, Dad?” Penny urged. “You would be doing the public a worthwhile service.”
“Well, I hesitate to start something which I may be unable to finish.”
“At least the public deserves to be warned.”
“Unfortunately, Penny, many persons would take the attitude that theStarwas persecuting sincere spiritualists. A campaign must be based on absolute evidence.”
“Can’t it be obtained?”
“Not without great difficulty. These mediums are a clever lot, Penny. They prey upon the superstitions of their intended victims.”
“I wish you would let me work on the story, Dad.”
“No, Penny,” responded her father. “You attend to your society and allow DeWitt to worry about the Celestial Temple crowd. Even if I should launch a campaign, I couldn’t allow you to become mixed up in the affair.”
The telephone bell jingled. With a tired sigh, Penny reached for the receiver.
“Society desk,” she said mechanically.
“I am trying to trace Mr. Parker,” informed the office exchange operator. “Is he with you, Miss Parker?”
“Telephone, Dad,” said Penny, offering him the receiver.
Mr. Parker waited a moment for another connection to be made. Then Penny heard him say:
“Oh, it’s you, Mrs. Weems? What’s that? Repeat it, please.”
From her father’s tone, Penny felt certain that something had gone wrong at home. She arose, waiting anxiously.
Mr. Parker clicked the receiver several times. “Apparently, Mrs. Weems hung up,” he commented.
“Is anything the matter, Dad?”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Parker admitted, his face troubled. “Mrs. Weems seemed very excited. She requested me to come home as soon as possible. Then the connection was broken.”
“Why don’t you try to reach her again?”
Mr. Parker placed an out-going call, but after ten minutes the operator reported that she was unable to contact the housekeeper.
“Mrs. Weems never would have telephoned if something unusual hadn’t happened,” Penny declared uneasily. “Perhaps, she’s injured herself.”
“You think of such unpleasant things.”
“Something dreadful must have happened,” Penny insisted. “Otherwise, why doesn’t she answer?”
“We’re only wasting time in idle speculation,” Mr. Parker said crisply. “Get your things, Penny. We’ll start home at once!”
Penny immediately locked her desk and gathered up hat and gloves. She was hard pressed to keep pace with her father as they hastened to the elevator.
“By the way, you have your car downstairs?” the publisher inquired absently. He seldom drove his own automobile to the office.
“What a memory you have, Dad!” chuckled Penny. “Yes, I have all two of them! Parked in the loading dock for convenience.”
“Penny, haven’t I told you a dozen times—” Mr. Parker began, only to check himself. “Well, it will save us time now. However, we may discuss a few matters when we get home.”
The elevator shot them down to the first floor. Leaping Lena and the maroon sedan remained in the loading dock with a string ofStarpaper trucks blocking a portion of the street.
“Hey, sister,” a trucker called angrily to Penny. “It’s time you’re getting these cars out of here.” He broke off as he recognized Mr. Parker and faded behind one of the trucks.
“Dad, do you mind steering Lena?” Penny asked demurely. “We can’t leave her here. You can see for yourself that she seems to be blocking traffic.”
“Yes, I see,” Mr. Parker responded grimly.
“Of course, if you would feel more dignified driving the sedan—“
“Let me have the keys,” the publisher interrupted. “The important thing is to get home without delay.”
Penny became sober, and slid into her place at the wheel of Leaping Lena. Amid the smiles of the truckers, Mr. Parker drove the two cars out of the dock.
Once underway, the caravan made reckless progress through rush-hour traffic. More than once Penny whispered a prayer as Lena swayed around a corner, missing other cars by scant inches.
Presently the two automobiles drew up before a pleasant, tree-shaded home built upon a high terrace overlooking a winding river. Penny and her father alighted, walking hurriedly toward the front porch.
The door stood open and from within came the reassuring howl of a radio turned too high.
“Nothing so very serious can have happened,” remarked Penny. “Otherwise, Mrs. Weems wouldn’t have that thing going full blast.”
At the sound of footsteps, the housekeeper herself came into the living room from the kitchen. Her plump face was unusually animated.
“I hope you didn’t mind because I telephoned the office, Mr. Parker,” she began apologetically. “I was so excited, I just did it before I stopped to think.”
“Penny and I were nearly ready to start home in any case, Mrs. Weems. Has anything gone wrong here?”
“Oh, no, Mr. Parker. It was the telegram.”
“Telegram? One for me, you mean?”
“No, my own.” The housekeeper drew a yellow paper from the pocket of her apron, offering it to the publisher. “My Cousin David died out in Montana,” she explained. “The funeral was last Saturday.”
“That’s too bad,” remarked Penny sympathetically. And then she added: “Only you don’t look particularly sad, Mrs. Weems. How much did he leave you?”
“Penny! You say such shocking things! I never met Cousin David but once in my life. He was a kind, good man and I only wish I had written to him more often. I never dreamed he would remember me in his will.”
“Then he did leave you money!” exclaimed Penny triumphantly. “How much does the telegram say, Dad?”
“You may as well tell her, Mr. Parker,” sighed the housekeeper. “She’ll give me no peace until she learns every detail.”
“This message which is from a Montana lawyer mentions six thousand dollars,” returned the publisher. “Apparently, the money is to be turned over without legal delay.”
“Why, Mrs. Weems, you’re an heiress!” cried Penny admiringly.
“I can’t believe it’s true,” murmured Mrs. Weems. “You don’t think there’s any mistake, Mr. Parker? It would be too cruel if someone had sent the message as a joke.”
Before returning the telegram to the housekeeper, Mr. Parker switched off the radio.
“This message appears to be authentic,” he declared. “My congratulations upon your good fortune.”
“What will you do with all your money?” inquired Penny.
“Oh, I don’t know.” The housekeeper sank into a chair, her eyes fastening dreamily on a far wall. “I’ve always wanted to travel.”
Penny and her father exchanged a quick, alarmed glance. Mrs. Weems had been in charge of the household for so many years that they could not imagine living without her, should she decide to leave. During her brief, infrequent vacations, the house always degenerated into a disgrace of dust and misplaced furniture, and meals were never served at regular hours.
“The oceans are very unsafe, Mrs. Weems,” discouraged Penny. “Wars and submarines and things. Surely you wouldn’t dare travel now.”
“Oh, I mean in the United States,” replied the housekeeper. “I’ve always wanted to go out West. They say the Grand Canyon is so pretty it takes your breath away.”
“Mrs. Weems, you have worked for us long and faithfully and deserve a rest,” said Mr. Parker, trying to speak heartily. “Now if you would enjoy a trip, Penny and I will get along somehow for two or three weeks.”
“Oh, if I go, I’ll stay the entire summer.” The housekeeper hesitated, then added: “I’ve enjoyed working here, Mr. Parker, but doing the same thing year after year gets tiresome. Often I’ve said to myself that if I had a little money I would retire and take life easy for the rest of my days.”
“Why, Mrs. Weems, you’re only forty-eight!” protested Penny. “You would be unhappy if you didn’t have any work to do.”
“At least, I wouldn’t mind trying it.”
“Such a change as you contemplate should be considered carefully,” contributed Mr. Parker. “While six thousand seems a large sum it would not last long if one had no other income.”
Before Mrs. Weems could reply, a strong odor of burning food permeated the room.
“The roast!” exclaimed the housekeeper. “I forgot it!”
Penny rushed ahead of her to the kitchen. As she jerked open the oven door, out poured a great cloud of smoke. Seizing a holder, she rescued the meat, and seeing at a glance that it was burned to a crisp, carried the pan outdoors.
“What will the neighbors say?” Mrs. Weems moaned. “I never did a thing like that before. It’s just that I am so excited I can’t think what I am doing.”
“Don’t you mind,” laughed Penny. “I’ll get dinner tonight. You entertain Dad.”
With difficulty she persuaded the housekeeper to abandon the kitchen. Left to herself, she opened a can of cold meat, a can of corn, a can of peaches, and with a salad already prepared, speedily announced the meal.
“Mr. Parker, I truly am ashamed—” Mrs. Weems began.
“Now don’t apologize for my cooking,” broke in Penny. “Quantity before quality is my motto. Anyway, if you are leaving, Dad will have to accustom himself to it.”
“I’ll hide the can opener,” said Mr. Parker.
“That’s a good idea, Dad.”
“Before I go, I’ll try to teach Penny a little more about cooking,” Mrs. Weems said uncomfortably. “Of course, you’ll have no difficulty in getting someone efficient to take my place.”
“No one can take your place,” declared Penny. “If you leave, Dad and I will go to wrack and ruin.”
“You are a pair when you’re left to yourselves,” Mrs. Weems sighed. “That’s the one thing which makes me hesitate. Penny needs someone to keep her in check.”
“An inexperienced person would be putty in my hands,” declared Penny. “You may as well decide to stay, Mrs. Weems.”
“I don’t know what to do. I’ve planned on this trip for years. Now that it is possible, I feel I can’t give it up.”
Penny and Mr. Parker regarded each other across the table, and immediately changed the subject. Not until that moment had they actually believed that the housekeeper was serious about leaving Riverview. Somehow they had never contemplated a future without Mrs. Weems.
“I happen to have two complimentary tickets to a show at the Rialto,” Mr. Parker said offhand. “I’ll be tied up with a meeting tonight, but you folks might enjoy going.”
“Shall we, Mrs. Weems?” inquired Penny.
“Thank you,” responded the housekeeper, “but I doubt if I could sit still tonight. I thought I would run over to see Mrs. Hodges after dinner. She’ll be pleased to learn about my inheritance, I know.”
“A friend of yours?” asked Mr. Parker.
“Yes, Penny and I have been acquainted with her for years. She lives on Christopher Street.”
“Perhaps this is none of my affair, Mrs. Weems. However, my advice to you is not to tell many persons about your inheritance.”
“Oh, Mrs. Hodges is to be trusted.”
“I am sure of it, Mrs. Weems. I refer to strangers.”
“I’ll be careful,” the housekeeper promised. “No one ever will get that money away from me once I have it!”
Penny helped with the dishes, and then as her father was leaving the house, asked him if she might have the two theatre tickets.
“Since Mrs. Weems doesn’t care to go, I’ll invite Louise,” she explained.
Mr. Parker gave her the tickets. Making certain that the housekeeper was upstairs, he spoke in a low tone.
“Penny, Mrs. Weems is serious about leaving us. You must try to dissuade her.”
“What can I do, Dad?”
“Well, you usually have a few ideas in the old filing cabinet. Can’t you think of something?”
“I’ll do my best,” Penny said with a twinkle. “We can’t let an inheritance take Mrs. Weems from us, that’s certain.”
After her father had gone, Penny telephoned Louise, agreeing to meet her chum at the entrance of the Rialto. Arriving a few minutes early, she idly watched various cars unloading their passengers at the theatre.
Presently a long black limousine which Penny recognized drew up at the curb. The chauffeur opened the door. Mr. Kohl and his wife stepped to the pavement. Observing the girl, they paused to chat with her.
“I see you have the new fender installed on your car, Mr. Kohl,” Penny remarked with a grin. “May I ask how much I owe the garageman?”
“The sum was trifling,” responded the banker. “Twelve dollars and forty cents to be exact. I may as well take care of it myself.”
“No, I insist,” said Penny, wincing inwardly. “You see, I am one of theStar’shighly paid executives now. I write society in Miss Hilderman’s absence and Dad gives me a salary.”
“Oh, really,” remarked Mrs. Kohl with interest. “We are giving a dinner for eight tomorrow night. You might like to mention it.”
“Indeed, yes,” said Penny eagerly.
Obtaining complete details, she jotted notes on the back of an envelope. Mrs. Kohl, at Penny’s request, was able to recall several important parties which had been held that week, providing material for nearly a half-column of society.
After the Kohls had entered the theatre, Penny turned to glance at the black limousine which was pulling away from the curb. A short distance away stood a young man who likewise appeared to be watching the car. He wore a gray suit and a gray felt hat pulled unnaturally low over his eyes as if to shield his face.
As Penny watched, the young man jotted something down on a piece of paper. His gaze remained fixed upon the Kohl limousine which was moving slowly down the street toward a parking lot.
“Why, that’s odd!” thought Penny. “I do believe he noted down the car license number! And perhaps for no good purpose.”
Deciding that the matter should be brought to Mr. Kohl’s attention, Penny looked quickly into the crowded theatre lobby. The banker and his wife no longer were to be seen.
Turning once more, the girl saw that the young man in gray had also disappeared.
“Now where did he go?” thought Penny. “He must have slipped into the alley. I wish I knew who he was and why he wrote down that car license number.”
Curious to learn what had become of the man, she walked to the entrance of the alley. At its far end she could barely distinguish a shadowy figure which soon merged into the black of the starless night.
Penny was lost in thought when someone touched her arm. Whirling, she found herself facing Louise Sidell.
“Oh, hello, Lou,” she laughed. “You startled me.”
“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” apologized Louise. “I missed my bus. May I ask what you find of such interest in this alley?”
“I was looking for a man. He’s disappeared now.”
Penny told Louise what she had observed, mentioning that in her opinion the man might be a car thief.
“I’ve heard that crooks spot cars ahead of time and then steal them,” she declared. “I think I should have Mr. Kohl paged in the theatre, and tell him about it.”
“You’ll make yourself appear ridiculous if you do,” Louise discouraged her. “The man may not have taken down the license number at all. Even if he did, his purpose could have been a legitimate one.”
“Then why did he slip down the alley?”
“It’s merely a short-cut to another street, isn’t it? Penny, your imagination simply works at high speed twenty-four hours of the day.”
“Oh, all right,” said Penny with a shrug. “But if Mr. Kohl’s car is stolen, don’t blame me.”
“It won’t be,” laughed Louise, linking arms with her chum. “Not with a chauffeur at the wheel.”
Entering the theatre, the girls were escorted to their seats only a few minutes before the lights were lowered. Penny glanced over the audience but failed to see either Mr. Kohl or his wife. The curtain went up, and as the entertainment began, she dismissed all else from her mind.
The show ended shortly before eleven and the girls mingled with the crowd which filed from the theatre. Penny watched for Mr. and Mrs. Kohl but did not see them. As she walked with Louise toward the bus stop she spoke of her new duties as society editor of theStar.
“Lou,” she asked abruptly, “do you mind going home alone?”
“Why, no. Where are you taking yourself?”
“To theStaroffice, if you don’t mind.”
“At this time of night?”
“I have a few notes I should type. Unfinished work always makes me nervous.”
“You, nervous!” Louise scoffed. “I’ll bet you want to see Jerry Livingston!”
“No such thing,” denied Penny indignantly. “Jerry doesn’t work on the night force unless he’s assigned to extra duty.”
“Well, you have something besides work on your mind.”
“Come along with me, Suspicious, and I’ll prove it.”
“No, thanks,” declined Louise. “It’s home and bed for me. You run along.”
The girls separated, Penny walking three blocks to theStarbuilding. The advertising office was dark, but blue-white lights glowed weirdly from the composing room. Only a skeleton night staff occupied the newsroom.
Without attracting attention, Penny entered her own office. For an hour she worked steadily, writing copy, and experimenting with various types of make-up to be used on Monday’s page.
The door creaked. Glancing up, Penny momentarily was startled to see a large, grotesque shadow of a man moving across the glass panel. However, before she actually could be afraid, Jerry Livingston stepped into the room.
“Oh, it’s you!” she laughed in relief. “I thought it was against your principles to work overtime.”
The reporter slumped into a chair, and picking up a sheet of copy paper, began to read what Penny had composed.
“I’m not working,” he replied absently. “Just killing time.” With a yawn he tossed the paper on the desk again.
“Is my stuff that bad?” inquired Penny.
“Not bad at all. Better than Miss Hilderman writes. But society always gives me a pain. Not worthy of your talents, Penny.”
“I wish you would tell Dad that, Jerry. I’d love to work on a big story again—one that would rock Riverview on its foundation!”
“I could bear up under a little excitement myself, Penny. Ever since you broke the Green Door yarn, this sheet has been as dead as an Egyptian tomb.”
“Things may pick up soon.”
“Meaning—?”
“Dad is thinking rather seriously of launching a drive against an organized group of mediums.”
“So I hear,” nodded Jerry. “You know, for a long while I’ve thought that a clever reporter might be able to dig up some evidence at the Celestial Temple.”
“Then you know about the place?”
“I’ve been there several times.”
“What are the meetings like, Jerry?” Penny asked eagerly.
“Similar to a church musical service. At least everything was dignified when I was there. But I sure had a feeling that the lid was about to blow off.”
“Perhaps you were suspected of being aStarreporter, Jerry.”
“Oh, undoubtedly. I could tell that by the way folks stared at me. The only person who would have a chance to get real evidence would be someone unknown as a reporter.”
“I wish Dad would let me try it.”
“I don’t,” said Jerry flatly. “The Celestial Temple is no place for a little girl like you.”
Penny did not reply as she lowered her typewriter into the cavity of the desk. She was thinking, however, that if Louise could be persuaded to accompany her, she would investigate the Celestial Temple at the first opportunity.
“I’ll take you home,” Jerry offered as Penny reached for her hat.
The night was a warm, mellow one in early June, marred only by dark clouds which scudded overhead, threatening rain. Deciding to walk, Penny and Jerry crossed the park to Oakdale Drive where many of Riverview’s most expensive homes had been built.
“Doesn’t Mr. Kohl live on this street?” Penny presently asked her escort.
“Yes,” he answered, “in a large stone apartment building. I’ll point it out when we get there.”
They walked for a time in silence. Then Penny found herself telling about the afternoon meeting with Mr. Kohl which had led her to Kano’s Curio Shop. She spoke, too, of the silken ladder which had so aroused her speculation. Jerry listened with polite interest.
“You and Louise shouldn’t have chased around Dorr Street alone,” he said severely. “It’s a bad district.”
“Oh, it was safe enough, Jerry. I’d like to go back there. I can’t help being curious about that strange ladder which the old Japanese man was sewing.”
“I doubt if there’s a story connected with it. The Japanese make any number of curious articles of silk, you know.”
“But a ladder, Jerry! What purpose could it serve?”
“For one thing it would be more convenient to carry than the ordinary type.”
“One couldn’t stand it against a wall or use it in the ordinary way, Jerry. I asked the Japanese about it but he refused to answer.”
“He may not have understood you.”
“Oh, he understood, all right. Do you know what I think? He was afraid I might discover something which would involve him with the police!”
“Better forget the Kano Curio Shop,” Jerry said tolerantly. “I repeat, Dorr Street is no place for you.”
“And I’m supposed to forget the Celestial Temple, too,” grumbled Penny. “Oh, I see you grinned behind your hand! Well, Mr. Livingston, let me tell you—“
She paused, and Jerry’s hand tightened on her own. Unmistakably, both had heard a muffled scream. The cry seemed to have come from one of several large brick and stone buildings only a short distance ahead.
“What was that?” Penny asked in a low tone. “Someone calling for help?”
“It sure sounded like it!” exclaimed Jerry. “Come on, Penny! Let’s find out what’s going on here!”
Together Penny and Jerry ran down the street, their eyes raised to the unevenly lighted windows of the separate apartment houses. They were uncertain as to the building from which the cry had come.
Suddenly the front door of the corner dwelling swung open, and a young woman in a maid’s uniform ran toward them.
Jerry, ever alert for a story of interest to theStar, neatly blocked the sidewalk. Of necessity the girl halted.
“Get a policeman, quick!” she gasped. “Mr. Kohl’s apartment has been robbed!”
“Mr. Kohl—the banker?” demanded Penny, scarcely believing her ears.
“Yes, yes,” the maid said in agitation. “Jewels, silverware, everything has been taken! The telephone wire was cut, too! Oh, tell me where I’ll find a policeman!”
“I’ll get one for you,” offered Jerry.
The information that it was Mr. Kohl’s house which had been burglarized dumbfounded Penny. As the reporter darted away to summon help, she showered questions upon the distraught maid.
“I don’t know yet how much has been taken,” the girl told her excitedly. “The rooms look as if a cyclone had swept through them! Oh, what will the Kohls say when they learn about it?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Kohl aren’t home yet?”
“No, they went to the theatre. They must have stopped at a restaurant afterwards. When they hear of this, I’ll lose my job.”
“Perhaps not,” said Penny kindly. “Surely you weren’t to blame for the burglary.”
“They’ll think so,” the maid responded gloomily.
“I am acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Kohl. Perhaps, if I speak a good word for you it may help.”
“I doubt it,” the girl responded. “I was supposed to have stayed at the apartment the entire evening.”
“And you didn’t?”
“No, I went to a picture show.”
“That does throw a different light on the matter,” commented Penny.
“I didn’t think it would make any difference. I intended to get here ahead of the Kohls.”
“The robbery occurred while you were away?”
“Yes. As soon as I opened the door I knew what had happened! Oh, I’ll lose my job all right unless I can think up a good story.”
“I wouldn’t lie if I were you,” advised Penny. “The police are certain to break down your story. In any case, you owe it to yourself and your employers to tell the truth.”
A misty rain had started to fall. The maid, who was without a wrap, shivered, yet made no move to re-enter the building. Overhead, all along the dark expanse of apartment wall, lights were being turned on.
“I am afraid your scream aroused nearly everyone in the building,” said Penny. “If I were in your place I would return to the Kohl apartment and not answer many questions until the police arrive.”
“Will you stay with me?”
“Gladly.”
The apartment door had slammed shut and locked with the night latch. Fortunately the maid had a key with her so it was not necessary to ring for the janitor. Ignoring the persons who had gathered in the hall, they took an automatic lift to the third floor, letting themselves into the Kohl suite.
“This is the way I found it,” said the maid.
She switched on a light, revealing a living room entirely bare of rugs. Where three small Oriental rugs had been placed, only rectangular rims of dirt remained to mark their outlines.
Beyond, in the dining room with its massive carved furniture, the contents of a buffet had been emptied on the floor. Several pieces of china lay in fragments. A corner cupboard had been stripped, save for a vase and an ebony elephant with a broken tusk.
“The wall cabinet was filled with rare antiques,” disclosed the maid. “Mrs. Kohl has collected Early American silver for many years. Some of the pieces she considered priceless.”
The bedrooms were in less disorder. However, bureau drawers had been overturned, and jewel cases looted of everything save the most trivial articles.
“Mrs. Kohl’s pearls are gone, and her diamond bracelet,” the maid informed, picking up the empty jewel box. “I am pretty sure she didn’t wear them to the theatre.”
“I wouldn’t touch anything if I were you,” advised Penny. “Fingerprints.”
The maid dropped the case. “Oh!” she gasped. “I never thought of that! Do you think the police will blame me for the robbery?”
“Not if you tell them the truth. It surely will be unwise to try to hide anything.”
“I won’t hold anything back,” the maid promised. “It happened just like I said. After Mr. and Mrs. Kohl left I went to a picture show.”
“Alone?”
“With my girl friend. After the show we had a soda together, and then she went home.”
“What time did you get here?”
“Only a minute or two before I called for help. I tried the telephone first.”
“Why didn’t you summon the janitor?”
“I never thought of that. I was so excited I ran outside hoping to find a policeman.”
Penny nodded and, returning to the living room, satisfied herself that the telephone wires actually had been cut.
“You didn’t notice anyone in the halls as you went downstairs.”
“No one. Old Mr. Veely was on the lower floor when I came from the show, but he’s lived here for seven years. I don’t see how the burglar got into the apartment.”
“I was wondering about that myself. You’re quite sure you locked the suite door?”
“Oh, yes, I know I did,” the maid said emphatically. “And it isn’t possible to get into the building without a key. Otherwise, the janitor must be called.”
Penny walked thoughtfully to the living room window. The apartment stood fully thirty-five feet from a neighboring building, with the space between much too wide to be spanned. Below, the alley was deserted, and no fire escape ascended from it.
“The burglar couldn’t have entered that way,” declared the maid. “He must have had his own key.”
Before Penny could respond, a sharp knock sounded on the door. The servant girl turned to open it. However, instead of the anticipated police, the apartment janitor, George Bailey, peered into the disordered room.
“I heard someone scream a minute or so ago,” he said. “Some of the tenants thought it came from this apartment. Maybe they were mistaken.”
“There’s no mistake,” spoke Penny from across the room. “The Kohls have been robbed. Will you please come inside and close the door?”
“Robbed! You don’t say!” The janitor stared with alarmed interest. “When did it happen?”
Penny allowed the maid to tell what had occurred, adding no information of her own. When there came a lull in the excited flow of words, she said quietly:
“Mr. Bailey, do you mind answering a few questions?”
“Why should I?” the janitor countered. “I’ll tell you right now I know nothing about this. I’ve attended strictly to my duties. It’s not my lookout if tenants leave their suite doors unlocked.”
“No one is blaming you,” Penny assured him. “I merely thought you might contribute to a solution of the burglary.”
“I don’t know a thing about it.”
“You didn’t let anyone into the apartment building tonight?”
“Not a soul. I locked the service door at six o’clock, too. Now let me ask this: Who are you, and how did you get in here?”
“That’s fair enough,” smiled Penny. She told her name, explained that she was an acquaintance of the Kohls, and had been summoned by the maid.
“Please don’t think that I am trying to play detective,” she added. “I ask these questions in the hope of gaining information for my father’s paper, theStar.”
“Well, it looks to me as if it was an inside job,” the janitor replied, mollified. “Come to think of it though, I’ve seen a suspicious-acting fellow hanging around the building.”
“You mean tonight?”
“No, several days ago. He stayed on the other side of the street and kept watching the doorway.”
“What did he look like, Mr. Bailey?”
“Oh, I don’t remember. He was just an average young man in a gray overcoat and hat.”
“Gray?” repeated Penny alertly.
“It may have been light blue. I didn’t pay much attention. At the time I sized up the fellow as a detective.”
Penny had no opportunity to ask additional questions for just then voices were heard in the hallway. As she opened the door, Jerry Livingston, followed by a policeman, came toward her.
“Learn anything?” the reporter asked softly in her ear.
“A little,” answered Penny. “Let’s see how much the officer turns up before I go into my song and dance.”
Making a routine inspection of the rooms, the police questioned both the maid and the janitor. From an elderly lady who occupied the adjoining suite he gleaned information that the Kohls’ telephone had rung steadily for fifteen minutes during the early evening hours.
“What time was that?” interposed Penny.
The policeman gazed at her with sharp disapproval. “Please,” he requested with exaggerated politeness.
“Sorry,” apologized Penny, fading into the background.
“It rang about eight o’clock,” the old lady revealed.
“The information is not significant,” said the officer, glancing again at Penny.
She started to speak, then bit her lip, remaining silent.
“Well, sister, what’s on your mind?” he demanded abruptly.
“Excuse me, officer, but I think the information does have importance. Couldn’t it mean that the crooks, whoever they were, telephoned the apartment to make certain it was deserted before breaking in?”
“Possibly,” conceded the policeman. His frown discouraged her. “Any other theories?”
“No,” said Penny shortly.
The policeman began to herd the tenants into the hall. For a moment he paid no attention to Penny and Jerry, who with the maid were permitted to remain.
“Never try to show up a policeman, even if he is a stuffed shirt,” remarked the reporter softly. “It gets you nowhere.”
The door closed and the officer faced the pair.
“Now young lady,” he said, quite pleasantly. “What do you know about this burglary? I’ll be very glad to listen.”
“I don’t really know a thing,” admitted Penny. “But here’s a little clue which you may be able to interpret. I can’t.”
Leading the policeman to the window, she started to raise the sash. The officer stopped her, performing the act himself, his hand protected by a handkerchief.
“There is your clue,” said Penny.
She indicated two freshly made gashes on the window ledge. Separated by possibly a foot of space, they clearly had been made by a hook or sharp instrument which had dug deeply into the wood.
“What do you think of it?” Penny asked as the officer studied the marks in silence.
“I’d say they were made by something which hooked over the ledge,” the policeman replied. “Possibly a ladder with curving irons.”
Jerry gazed down over the window ledge into the dark alley.
“No ordinary ladder could reach this high,” he commented. “Raising an extension would be quite a problem, too.”
The Kohl maid timidly approached the window, gazing at the two deep gashes with interest. Asked by the policeman if she ever had noticed them before, she shook her head.
“Oh, no, sir. They must have been made tonight. I know they weren’t there this afternoon when I dusted the window sills.”