“Windows were made to look through,” Penny responded coolly. “Let’s see what Charley Phelps is doing inside the tower.”
Circling the building, the girls placed a rock beneath one of the rear windows. From that unstable perch, Penny was able to peer into the living quarters of the tower.
“Well, what do you see, Sherlock?” Louise demanded impatiently.
“Nothing.”
“How perfectly amazing!” Louise taunted mischievously. “What do you make of it?”
“Charley Phelps seems to be reading a newspaper.”
“Baffling! It must have some deep, dark significance.”
With a sigh, Penny stepped down from the rock. “Want to look?” she invited.
“I do not!”
“Then I guess we may as well go home,” Penny said reluctantly.
As she spoke, both girls heard an automobile pull up in front of the tower. With reviving hope, Penny placed a restraining hand on Louise’s arm, forcing her to wait in the shadow of the building. A minute elapsed and then the front door of the tower slammed shut. Without the slightest hesitation, Penny once more moved to her previous position beneath the window.
“Charley has some visitors,” she reported in a whisper. “Four men I never saw before. I wish I could hear what they are saying.”
“Why not smash the window, or saw a hole through the wall?” Louise proposed sarcastically.
Penny stepped from the rock, offering the place to her chum.
“Do look inside,” she urged. “Maybe you’ll recognize those men. It’s really important.”
Louise unwillingly did as requested, but after a moment moved away from the window.
“I never saw any of them either,” she said. “They must be friends of Charley Phelps.”
“It’s a special meeting,” Penny insisted. “I suspect other men may come along within a few minutes.”
“I know one thing,” Louise announced flatly. “I’ll not be here to see them. If you’re not ready to go home, then I shall walk!”
“Oh, all right, I’ll go,” Penny grumbled. “It seems a pity though, just when we might have learned something important.”
Taking care to remove the stone from beneath the tower window, she hastened after her chum. In silence they drove to the Sidell home where Louise alighted.
“Sorry to have spoiled your fun, Penny,” she apologized as she said goodnight. “If you’ll only arrange to conduct your explorations by daylight I’ll try to cooperate.”
Arriving at her own home a few minutes later, Penny found her father waiting up for her. Mr. Parker had attended a meeting of the Camp Fund board, and upon returning at eleven-thirty, had been disturbed to find his daughter absent.
“Hold it! Hold it!” Penny greeted him before he could speak. “I know it’s late, but I can explain everything.”
“You’re always able to explain—too well,” the editor responded dryly. “Mrs. Weems expected that you would be home not later than eleven o’clock.”
“Well, one thing just seemed to lead to another, Dad. Louise and I saw a wonderful show, I obtained a copy of Ben Bowman’s signature, and then to top it off, the Hubell clock struck thirteen again!”
“Which in your estimation explains everything?”
“I wish it did,” Penny said, neatly changing the subject. “Dad, Louise and I saw a number of men going into the tower tonight. Obviously, they were summoned there by the striking of the clock.”
“Tommyrot!”
“Oh, Dad, you haven’t a scrap of imagination,” Penny sighed. “Has it never occurred to you that Charley Phelps may be connected with the Hoods?”
“Never,” replied Mr. Parker. “And if I were you I shouldn’t go around making such wild suggestions. Youmightfind yourself involved in serious trouble.”
“You’re the only one to whom I’ve confided my theory, Dad. In fact, it only this minute occurred to me.”
“So I thought, Penny. If I were you I would forget the Hubell clock. Why not devote yourself to something worthwhile?”
“For instance?”
“I’ll provide an interesting job. I’ve been asked to select play equipment for the new orphans’ camp. I’ll be happy to turn the task over to you.”
“Do you think I could do it?” Penny asked dubiously.
“Why not? You can learn from the matron of the Home what is needed, and then make your selection.”
“I’ll be glad to do it, Dad. When is the camp to open?”
“The actual date hasn’t been set, but it will be soon. That is, unless a serious disagreement arises about the camp site.”
“A disagreement?” Penny inquired curiously.
“Yes, Mr. Blake is trying to influence the board to buy a track of land which he controls.”
“At a very high price?”
“The price seems to be fair enough. I personally don’t care for the site, however. It’s located on the river, but too close to the swamp.”
“Then why does the board consider it?”
“Mr. Blake gave a very generous donation, you remember. I figured at the time he would expect something in return.”
“He’ll profit by the sale?”
“Obviously. I don’t know who owns the land, but Blake will receive a commission on the sale. The board also is considering a wooded property closer to Riverview, and I favor that site.”
“Will the board listen to you, Dad?”
“I rather doubt it. My objections weren’t especially vigorous. Either property will be satisfactory, and Blake’s price is a trifle more attractive.”
With a yawn, Mr. Parker arose and locked the front door.
“It’s after one,” he said. “Let’s get to bed.”
Penny started up the stairway, only to pause as the telephone rang. While her father answered it, she waited, curiously to learn who would be calling at such a late hour. In a moment he replaced the receiver on its hook.
“That was the night editor of theStar,” he explained briefly.
“Has a big story broken, Dad?”
“Another storage barn was burned to the ground about ten minutes ago. The night editor called to ask how I wanted the story handled.”
“Then the depredation was done by the Hoods!”
“It looks that way.”
Penny came slowly down the stairway to face her father.
“Dad, if the fire was set only a few minutes ago, doesn’t that support my theory?”
“Which theory? You have so many.”
“I mean about the Hubell Tower,” Penny said soberly. “The clock struck thirteen on the night the Preston barn was destroyed! Don’t you see, Dad? The Hoods hold their meetings and then ride forth to accomplish their underhanded work!”
“Penny, let’s postpone this animated discussion until morning,” Mr. Parker said wearily, reaching to switch out the bridge lamp.
“Then you don’t agree with me that the caretaker of the Tower may have some connection with the Hoods, Dad?” she asked in an injured tone.
“I certainly do not,” he answered firmly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed.”
Decidedly crestfallen, Penny followed her father upstairs. For several minutes she stood by the window of her room, gazing toward the Hubell Tower whose lights could be dimly seen across the city. Then, with a shrug, she too dismissed the subject from her mind and gave herself to slumber.
Mr. Parker had gone to the office by the time Penny arose the next morning. Finding a discarded newspaper by his plate, she eagerly scanned it for an account of the midnight fire. To her disappointment, only a brief item appeared on the front page. The story merely said that the barn of John Hancock, truck farmer, had been destroyed by a blaze of unknown origin. In the right hand column was another news item to the effect that Sheriff Daniels had made no progress in tracing the missing Clem Davis.
Tossing aside the paper, Penny helped with the breakfast dishes. As gently as possible she broke the news to Mrs. Weems that she might make another trip to Claymore.
“Why bother to remain home even for meals?” the housekeeper said severely. “I declare, I don’t know what your father is thinking about to allow you such liberties! When I was a girl—”
“It was considered very daring to go for a buggy ride without a chaperon,” Penny completed mischievously. “Now, I’m very sorry about last night. Louise and I didn’t intend to remain out so late.”
“It was after one o’clock when you came in,” Mrs. Weems replied, her voice stern. “You know I don’t approve of such hours for a girl of your age.”
“I promise it won’t happen again. Please let me go to Claymore though. I’m expected to buy playground equipment for the Riverview Orphans’ new camp.”
Exerting all her charm, Penny explained the necessity for the trip. Finally convincing Mrs. Weems that the excuse had not been “thought up” on the spur of the moment, she was granted the requested permission.
Penny’s next move was to induce Louise Sidell to accompany her on the excursion. Both girls laid siege to Mrs. Sidell who somewhat dubiously said that her daughter might go, providing she would be home by nightfall.
Recalling her father’s instructions, Penny called at the Riverview Orphans’ Home to talk with the matron. There she obtained a list of playground equipment to be purchased, with suggested prices for each item.
As the girls were leaving the institution they met Miss Anderson and paused to inquire about Adelle.
“The child seems to be nervous and unhappy,” the young woman told them. “Especially so since she ran away. We sincerely hope she will presently become adjusted.”
Penny asked if there was any prospect the little girl would be adopted.
“Not very soon,” Miss Anderson answered regretfully. “In fact, her name is not on the list of eligibles. We never allow a child to leave the Home until we feel that he or she is capable of adapting himself to new conditions.”
The drive to Claymore was an enjoyable one, and by eleven o’clock, the girls had purchased many of the items on their list. To the amusement of the department store salesman, they insisted upon testing teeter-totters, swings, and even the slides.
“All this equipment is for the Riverview Orphans’ Home—not for ourselves,” Penny explained. “The committee will pay for it.”
“Very well, we’ll send the merchandise just as soon as a cheque is received,” the salesman promised, giving her an itemized bill.
Feeling very well satisfied with their purchases, Penny and Louise wandered into another department of the store. The delightful aroma of food drew them to a lunch counter, and from there they went to the main floor.
The store was very crowded. As Penny was inspecting a pair of gloves on a counter, a man pushed past her, and ran toward the nearest exit. In surprise she turned around, unintentionally blocking the way of a store detective. Shoving past her, he pursued the first man only to lose him in the milling crowd near the front door.
“That fellow must have been a shoplifter!” Penny remarked to Louise. “I think he got away too!”
The unexpected commotion had drawn the interest of many shoppers. Mingling with the crowd, the girls heard a woman tell a companion that the man who had escaped was wanted for attempting to pass a forged cheque.
A moment later, the store detective came striding down the aisle. Pausing at the jewelry counter he spoke to the floorman, confirming the report.
“Well, the fellow escaped! He tried to pass a bum cheque for fifty dollars.”
“What name did he use?” the floorman inquired.
“Ben Bowman. It will be something else next time.”
Penny had heard the words. Startled by the name, she moved hastily to the detective’s side.
“Excuse me,” she addressed him, “did I understand you to say that a man by the name of Ben Bowman forged a cheque?”
“That’s correct, Miss,” the detective answered, staring at her curiously. “Know anything about the man?”
“I think I may. Would it be possible for me to see the cheque?”
The detective removed it from a vest pocket, offering the signature for inspection. One glance satisfied Penny that the cheque had been signed by the same man who had been sending her father “crank” messages.
“At home I have a telegram which I’m sure bears this identical signature!” she revealed. “I’ve never seen the man though—except as he ran through the store.”
The store detective questioned Penny at length about her knowledge of Bowman. Realizing that a description of the man might be of great value to her, he showed her a small card which bore a mounted photograph.
“This is Ben Bowman,” he assured her. “He’s an expert forger, and uses any number of names. Think you can remember the face?”
“I’ll try to,” Penny replied. “He doesn’t seem to have any distinguishing features though.”
“His angular jaw is rather noticeable,” the detective pointed out. “Brown eyes are set fairly close together. He’s about six feet two and dresses well.”
Penny was highly elated to have gained a description of Bowman, and especially pleased that the man had been traced to Claymore. The fact that he was a known forger, encouraged her to hope that police soon would apprehend him.
“That one hundred dollars Dad offered for Bowman’s capture is as good as mine already,” she boasted gleefully to Louise as they left the store. “All I need to do is wait.”
“No doubt you’ll collect,” Louise admitted grudgingly. “I never met anyone with your brand of luck.”
“I feel especially lucky today too,” Penny said with a gay laugh. “Tell you what! Let’s make another tour of the vegetable markets.”
“It will make us late in getting home. The time is sure to be wasted too.”
“Oh, come along,” Penny urged, seizing her by the arm. “I promise to have you in Riverview no later than three o’clock.”
In driving into Claymore that morning the girls had noticed a large outdoor market near the outskirts of the city. Returning to it, Penny parked the car, and with her chum wandered about the sales area.
“A nice fat chicken?” a farm woman asked persuasively, holding up an uninviting specimen. “Fresh eggs?”
“We’re looking for melons,” Penny replied.
“Mr. Breldway has some nice cantaloupes,” the woman returned. “He got a truck load of ’em in from Riverview just the other day.”
Locating Mr. Breldway’s place of business, Louise and Penny began to inspect the melons offered for sale. Almost at once they came upon a basket of cantaloupes which bore a blurred stamp.
“Louise, these look like the Davis crop!” Penny cried excitedly. “Wouldn’t you say someone deliberately had blocked out the old marking?”
“It does appear that way.”
“Maybe we can find just one melon with the original stamp!”
Penny dug into the basket with both hands, tossing up cantaloupes for Louise to place on the ground. Their activities immediately drew the attention and displeasure of Mr. Breldway.
“If you’re looking for a good melon let me help you,” he said, hurrying toward them.
Penny straightened, holding up a cantaloupe for him to see.
“I don’t need any help,” she said distinctly. “I’ve found the melon I want. It bears the Davis stamp.”
“The melon you have selected is a very good one,” the market man declared, not understanding the significance of Penny’s remark. “Shall I put it in a sack for you?”
“I’m not interested in the melon—only in the stamp,” Penny replied. “Do you realize that you may be liable to arrest?”
“What d’you mean, liable to arrest?” the man demanded. “I’m an honest dealer and I have a license.”
“Look at these melons.” Penny held up one which bore the blurred stamp. “The trade name has been altered.”
The dealer took the cantaloupe from her, examining it briefly. She then offered him the single melon bearing the Davis stamp.
“Well, what about it?” he asked.
“Just this. A few nights ago a truck load of melons similar to these, was stolen from the Davis farm near Riverview. The thief was trailed right to this city.”
“You’re trying to say that I sell stolen melons!”
“I’m not making any direct accusations,” Penny replied evenly. “No doubt you can explain where you got the melons.”
“Certainly I can. I bought a truck load of them from a farmer named John Toby. The melons were good, the price cheap, and I didn’t pay any attention to the stamp.”
“Is Mr. Toby a regular dealer?”
“I buy from him now and then, when his prices are right. I never bothered to ask any questions.”
“Where does the man live?”
“I can’t tell you that. He’s a large, heavy-set fellow with brown hair and eyes.”
The description was too meagre to be of value to Penny.
“Does Mr. Toby drive a red truck?” she inquired thoughtfully.
“He did this last time.”
“It was a red truck which was stolen from the Davis farm,” Penny said quietly. “I’m sure these melons came from there too.”
“I paid good money for them,” the dealer retorted in a defiant tone. “So far as I knew, they belonged to this fellow Toby. I can’t investigate every farmer who offers me produce.”
“All the same, you could get into serious trouble for selling stolen melons,” Penny replied. “Of course, I have no intention of going to the police, providing you are willing to cooperate.”
“What d’you mean, cooperate?” the dealer inquired suspiciously.
“Only this. Will you see John Toby again?”
“That’s hard to tell. He said he might bring in another load of melons within the next few days.”
“When you receive the next shipment, will you notify me?”
“Yes, I’m willing to do that,” the dealer promised. “If Toby is crooked, I want to know it myself.”
Penny gave the man her name, address, and telephone number. Knowing that he might not be able to reach her quickly enough, she instructed him to detain the farmer by force if necessary.
“If I can’t get in touch with you, I may have the fellow questioned by police,” the dealer offered. “I don’t want to put myself into a hole.”
Penny was not entirely satisfied that the market man would keep his promise. However, she hesitated to make a report to the police without first consulting her father. Everything considered, it seemed best to let the situation work out as it would.
“Well, your luck is still running true to form,” Louise said jokingly, as the girls drove toward Riverview. “Do you have any idea who John Toby may be?”
“Not the slightest,” Penny confessed. “The description would fit Hank Holloway, or for that matter, any one of a dozen men I know.”
The girls arrived in Riverview by mid-afternoon after an uneventful trip. Penny dropped Louise at the Sidell home and then went to theStaroffice to talk with her father. Mr. Parker was absent from his desk, but his secretary who was typing letters, explained that he would return in a moment.
Penny sat down in her father’s chair to wait. A bulky, unsealed envelope lay on the desk. Peering at it curiously she noted that it bore the marking: “Property Deed: Lots 456, 457, and 458.”
“What’s this?” she asked aloud. “Is Dad buying property?”
“Oh, no,” the secretary replied, glancing up from her typewriter. “That is the deed and abstract for the Orphans’ Camp site.”
“I wonder which property it is?”
“The land Mr. Blake controls, I believe. At least he brought the papers into the office this morning for your father’s inspection. I heard him say that if the forms are satisfactory, the deal will be completed at once.”
Penny unfolded one of the lengthy documents, shaking her head as she scanned the legal terms.
“I don’t see how Dad makes anything of this,” she said. “Such a mess of words and names!”
“I imagine Mr. Parker intends to turn it over to his lawyer,” the secretary smiled.
The editor entered the office at that moment, and Penny directed her next question to him.
“Dad, is it all settled that the camp board will purchase Mr. Blake’s land?”
“Practically so,” he answered. “If my lawyer, Mr. Adams, approves the abstract, the deal will be completed. Against my advice Mrs. Van Cleve already has given Blake five hundred dollars to hold an option.”
“Why did she do that, Dad?”
“Well, Blake convinced her he had another buyer for the property. It’s the old story. Competition stimulates interest.”
“Do the papers seem to be all right?”
“Oh, I’ve not looked at them,” Mr. Parker replied. “Blake is a good real estate man though, so there’s not likely to be any flaw.”
“Who actually owns the property, Dad?”
“It’s there on the abstract,” he answered. “Why not look it up for yourself?”
“Too much like doing home-work,” Penny grinned, but she spread the document on the desk and began to read various names aloud. “‘Anna and Harry Clark to Lydia Goldwein, Lydia Goldwein to Benjamin Bowman—’”
“What was that name?” Mr. Parker demanded sharply.
“Benjamin Bowman.” Penny peered at the document a second time to make certain she had made no mistake. “That’s the truth, Dad. Who knows, maybe it’s your old pal, Ben!”
“Are you making up that name?” Mr. Parker asked skeptically.
Penny thrust the abstract into his hand. “Here, read it for yourself, Dad. Bowman seems to be the present owner of the land.”
Mr. Parker rapidly scanned the document.
“The land is held by a Benjamin Bowman,” he admitted, frowning. “A strange coincidence.”
“I never heard of a Bowman family living near Riverview,” Penny remarked, reaching for a telephone book. “Did you?”
“No, but Bowman is a fairly common name.”
Turning to the “B” section Penny went through the telephone list.
“There’s only one Bowman here,” she said, penciling a circle around the name. “A Mrs. Maud Bowman.”
“The name Maud Bowman doesn’t appear on the abstract,” Mr. Parker declared, as he studied the document once more. “There’s something funny about this.”
“Mr. Blake seemed rather eager to dispose of the land, didn’t he?”
“His price was a bit low, which surprised me,” Mr. Parker said, thinking aloud. “Probably everything can be explained satisfactorily.”
“Then why not ask Mr. Blake to do it?” Penny proposed. “He should be able to tell you something about his client.”
“That’s really a first-class idea,” Mr. Parker agreed and he reached for a telephone. “I’ll ask Mr. Blake to come here at once.”
Mr. Blake, suave, completely at ease, sat opposite Mr. Parker and Penny in the editor’s private office.
“I came as soon as I could after receiving your telephone message, Mr. Parker,” he said pleasantly. “Now what seems to be the trouble?”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have bothered you,” the editor apologized. “However, in glancing over the abstract for the Orphans’ Camp property I noticed that the land is owned by a man named Benjamin Bowman.”
“Quite true. I am acting as his agent.”
“It happens that I have had dealings with a man by that same name,” resumed Mr. Parker. “Rather unpleasant dealings, I might add. I’m curious to learn if this property owner is the same fellow.”
“Very unlikely, I think,” Mr. Blake shrugged. “My client does not reside in Riverview.”
“Nor does the man I have in mind.”
“Can you tell us what he looks like?” Penny interposed eagerly.
“I am very sorry, but I can’t,” Mr. Blake returned. “I’ve never met Mr. Bowman.”
“Yet you act as his agent?” Mr. Parker inquired in astonishment.
“All our dealings have been by mail or telephone.”
“I see,” the editor commented reflectively. “Well, at least you can provide me with the man’s address.”
“I can’t do that either,” Mr. Blake declined. “Benjamin Bowman is a salesman with no permanent address. He communicates with me at fairly regular intervals, but until I hear from him, I have no idea where he will be the following week.”
“Your description seems to fit the man of my acquaintance,” Mr. Parker said dryly. “But tell me, how do you expect to complete this deal? Will Bowman come here to sign the necessary papers?”
“Oh, that won’t be required. He’s already made out the sales documents, and also given me a power of attorney.”
“Mr. Bowman seems to think of everything,” Mr. Parker remarked grimly. “I was hoping for the pleasure of meeting him.”
“I really don’t see what all this has to do with the sale of the property,” Mr. Blake reproved in a mild voice. “You feel that the site is a suitable one, and the price right?”
“I have no serious objections to it.”
“Then why allow your personal feelings to interfere with the deal?”
“I have no intention of doing so,” Mr. Parker answered.
“Then if you’ll give your approval, we’ll sign the final papers tomorrow at my office. The dedication of the new camp has been set for the tenth of the month, and that means no time can be lost.”
“Everything seems to have been settled without my approval,” Mr. Parker said, smiling. “However, if you don’t mind, I’ll keep this abstract a little longer.”
“As you like,” the real estate man shrugged. “Have your lawyer go over the records with a fine tooth comb. He’ll find no flaws anywhere.”
Arising, Mr. Blake bowed politely and left the office. Penny waited until she knew that he was a considerable distance from the door before seeking her father’s opinion of the interview.
“Everything may be on the level,” he conceded, frowning. “I’ve no reason to distrust Blake, and yet I can’t help feeling that there’s something peculiar about this land deal.”
“Blake has been rushing things through at such a furious rate,” Penny nodded. “Another thing, Ben Bowman is a well-known forger.”
“What makes you think that?” the editor asked alertly. “Any real information?”
Penny revealed everything she had learned that day at Claymore. Mr. Parker listened attentively, making few comments until she had finished.
“I am more than ever convinced there is something phoney about Bowman’s connection with this affair,” he declared grimly. “We’ll see what my lawyer has to say.”
Having made up his mind that the transaction merited a thorough investigation, Mr. Parker personally carried the questionable abstract to a reliable law firm, Adams and McPherson. The report came back late in the afternoon, and was relayed to Penny at the dinner table.
“Mr. Adams says that the abstract seems to be drawn up correctly,” the editor disclosed. “He could find no flaw in it or in any of the records at the court house.”
“Then apparently we jumped too hasty to conclusions,” Penny remarked in disappointment.
“I’m not so sure. Mr. Adams tells me that the ownership of the property is a very muddled affair.”
“Muddled?”
“Yes, it has changed hands many times in the past year, and oddly, none of the buyers or sellers seem to be known in Riverview.”
“What does Mr. Adams think about that, Dad?”
“He advises that the records be inspected very carefully. It will take weeks though, for they are quite involved.”
“I suppose that will hold up the opening of the camp.”
“It may,” Mr. Parker acknowledged. “However, it seems wise to take every precaution even if the camp isn’t opened this year. Too much money is involved to risk paying for land which may have a faulty title.”
The following day, the editor conferred with members of the Camp Fund board, telling of his findings. To his chagrin, Mrs. Van Cleve did not share his views.
“I trust Mr. Blake’s judgment implicitly,” she insisted. “I am sure the property will be satisfactory in every way. If there should by chance be any flaw in the title, he would make it good.”
“We can’t possibly delay the dedication another week,” added another feminine member of the board. “The summer is nearly over now.”
“At least postpone making the final payment until after I have had another report from my lawyers,” Mr. Parker pleaded.
“Very well, we’ll do that,” Mrs. Van Cleve agreed. “Mr. Blake is so obliging I am sure he will allow us to set up equipment on the land, even though we don’t actually possess title.”
The entire transaction seemed very unbusinesslike to Mr. Parker, but he did not attempt to force his opinion upon the board members. Accordingly, plans went forward for the grand opening of the camp. Stories appeared regularly in theStar, playground equipment and floored tents were set up on the camp site, and the actual dedication program was announced.
“You might know Mr. Blake would be invited to make the main speech,” Penny remarked disapprovingly as she scanned the latest story of the coming affair. “Every day, in every way, he gives me a bigger and bigger pain!”
Throughout the week both she and Louise had been very active, helping out at the new camp site. The land had been cleared of underbrush, trails had been constructed, and a well dug. While supervising the setting-up of slides, merry-go-rounds and teeter-totters, Penny upon several occasions had had disagreements with Mr. Blake. The man remained at the site almost constantly, imposing his wishes upon everyone.
“A great deal of time and money has been spent getting that place ready for the dedication,” Penny commented to her father. “If anything should happen that the final papers aren’t signed, it would be a pity.”
“I’ve had no report as yet,” Mr. Parker answered. “My lawyers tell me they never delved into a more involved case.”
“What does Mr. Blake think about the investigation?”
“He seems to be agreeable. However, I suspect he’s been working on the various board members, trying to get them to conclude the deal without waiting.”
“How long will it be before you’ll have a final report, Dad?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I expected to get it long before this.”
In the flurry of preparing for the camp dedication, Penny had no opportunity to give much thought to other affairs. She did not see Seth McGuire, the sheriff had nothing to disclose concerning Clem Davis’ disappearance, and the Black Hoods seemed to have become an extinct organization.
On the morning of the designated date, Penny was abroad early. She and Louise planned to drive to the dedication exercises together, and wished to arrive before the grounds were congested. Eating breakfast hurriedly, Penny scarcely noticed when her father was called to the telephone. He absented himself from the dining room nearly fifteen minutes. As he returned to the table, Penny pushed back her chair, ready to leave.
“Well, I’ll see you at the camp grounds, Dad,” she said lightly.
“I don’t know what to do about the dedication,” responded Mr. Parker in a sober tone. “By rights there should be none.”
Penny stared at him.
“I’ve just heard from my lawyers,” Mr. Parker explained.
“Then, there is a flaw in the title as you suspected!”
“Decidedly. It’s a very mixed-up mess, and as yet we’re not sure what it may mean.”
“Tell me about it, Dad,” Penny pleaded, sliding back into her chair.
“Benjamin Bowman—whoever he may be—doesn’t own the camp property.”
“Then in whose name is it?”
“The property doesn’t belong to anyone.”
“Why, how ridiculous!” Penny exclaimed. “Doesn’t every piece of land in the world belong to someone?”
“Actually the heirs of Rosanna and Joseph Schulta own this particular property. But there are no heirs.”
“What you say doesn’t make sense to me, Dad.”
“The whole affair is very involved,” Mr. Parker explained. “In tracing back the history of the land, my lawyers found that originally it was owned by Rosanna and Joseph Schulta, an elderly couple, who had no known relatives. They sailed for Germany more than fifty years ago. The ship sank, and presumably they were lost. Their land was never claimed, and somehow the state overlooked the case.”
“But I thought the property had changed hands many times in recent years!”
“Only theoretically. All those records have been falsified.”
“By whom, Dad? Ben Bowman?”
“My lawyers are inclined to think Blake may be at the bottom of it. He is a very shrewd real estate man, and in examining records at the court house, he may have learned about this floating property.”
“Then he deliberately tried to cheat the Camp Fund board!”
“It looks that way. Neither Ben Bowman nor anyone else owns the property. Had you not noticed his name on the abstract, it’s unlikely the fraud would have been uncovered for quite a few years to come.”
“What will you do, Dad?” Penny inquired, deeply distressed. “The dedication is scheduled to start within an hour.”
“I don’t see how it can be postponed,” Mr. Parker said soberly. “It will have to go on according to schedule.”
“Afterwards you’ll ask for Blake’s arrest?”
“There’s no real evidence against him.”
“No evidence!”
“He claims to be a mere agent of Ben Bowman. All of the deeds and legal papers were drawn up by some other person. If any accusation is made against him, he can escape by maintaining that he knew nothing of the back records.”
“There’s one person who might be able to implicate him!” Penny exclaimed. “Ben Bowman!”
“Bowman should have it in his power to clear up some of the mystery,” Mr. Parker agreed. “But how are we to find him?”
“I don’t know,” Penny admitted. “It looks rather hopeless unless the police just present him to us wrapped in pink ribbon.”
The clock struck nine. Daring not to linger any longer, Penny hastily bade her father goodbye and left the house.
Driving to the camp site with Louise Sidell, she told her chum of the latest complications.
“Mr. Blake is one of the worst hypocrites in the world,” she declared feelingly. “He pretends he wants to help the orphans, and all the while he intends to trick the Board and make a nice profit for himself.”
“Your father won’t let him get away with it,” Louise returned confidently. “So long as the money hasn’t been paid over there’s no need to worry.”
Arriving at the camp site, the girls went at once to the official tent. To their surprise, Mr. Blake, Mrs. Van Cleve, and all members of the Board save Mr. Parker, were there. On the table lay various legal papers which bore signatures still moist with ink.
Penny gazed from one person to another, slowly comprehending the scene.
“You’re not buying this property!” she exclaimed in protest.
Mrs. Van Cleve’s reply stunned her.
“It seemed unreasonable to keep Mr. Blake waiting,” the woman said quietly. “The transaction has just been completed.”
“Oh, Mrs. Van Cleve! You’ve been cheated!”
The signing of the papers had taken Penny so by surprise that she did not weigh her words before speaking. Too late, she realized that her father never would approve of revealing the facts in such blunt fashion. However, having said so much, she was determined to go on.
“My dear, what do you mean?” inquired Mrs. Van Cleve, troubled by the unexpected accusation.
“Any money paid for this land will be lost! My father has just learned—”
“I resent such loose talk!” Mr. Blake broke in irritably. “Mr. Bowman, whom I represent, has taken a substantial loss on the property.”
“And who is Ben Bowman?” Penny challenged. “You can’t produce him, nor prove that he owns the land. The title is faulty. Neither you nor Ben Bowman has any right to sell it!”