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 RiverviewStar. 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 theStarever 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’sStar—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!”
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 entireStarstaff, 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 theStar. 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 theStaroffice. 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!”
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 theStaroffice. 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 canfeelit.”
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 theStaroffice 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.”
“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 theStarlook 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 theStaroffice. 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.
Next morning, Penny, red-eyed because she had slept little, walked slowly toward theStaroffice. 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 theStarcarried 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 theStarbuilding, 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 theStarplant. 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.
“DeWittwasin 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.”