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.
“Iambusy,” 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.”
Rather flattened by the interview with Mr. Schirr, Penny was glad to leave theStarplant. 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 theStarnever 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.
“Soyou’redischarging 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 theStaranother 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.”
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 uncoveredThe Secret Pactstory to boot! Don’t try to tell us you don’t know how to run a newspaper!”
“A weekly high school sheet and theStarare 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 theStar, 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 theStarplant. 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 theStaroffice, 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 theStar.”
“Offer a suitable reward and information will be provided as to the whereabouts of your father. Make your offer known in theStar.”
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 theStartomorrow. 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.