“It will be interesting to learn if Mr. Daniels makes an arrest. Do you expect to print anything about it in the paper?”
“Only routine news of the fire,” Mr. Parker replied. “There may be much more to this little incident than appears on the surface, but until something develops, we must wait.”
“If you could gain proof that night riders are operating in this community, what then?” Penny suggested eagerly.
“In that case, I should certainly launch a vigorous campaign. But why go into all the details now? I’m sure I’ll not assign you to the story.”
“Why not?” Penny asked in an injured tone. “I think night riders would be especially suited to my journalistic talents. I could gather information about Clem Davis and the Prestons—”
“This is Sheriff Daniel’s baby, and we’ll let him take care of it for the time being,” Mr. Parker interrupted. “Why not devote yourself to the great mystery of the Hubell clock? That should provide a safe outlook for your energies.”
The car was drawing close to Riverview. As it approached the tall stone tower, Penny raised her eyes to the dark windows. Just then the big clock struck twice.
“Two o’clock,” Mr. Parker observed, taking a quick glance at his watch. “Or would you say three?”
“There’s no argument about it this time, Dad. All the same, I intend to prove to you that I was right!”
“How?” her father asked, covering a wide yawn.
“I don’t know,” Penny admitted, favoring the grim tower with a dark scowl. “But just you wait—I’ll find a way!”
“I declare, getting folks up becomes a harder task each morning,” declared Mrs. Maud Weems, who had served as the Parker housekeeper for eleven years, as she brought a platter of bacon and eggs to the breakfast table. “I call and call until I’m fairly hoarse, and all I get in response is a few sleepy mutters and mumbles. The food is stone cold.”
“It’s good all the same,” praised Penny, pouring herself a large-size glass of orange juice. “There’s not a woman in Riverview who can equal your cooking.”
“I’m in no mood for blarney this morning,” the housekeeper warned. “I must say quite frankly that I don’t approve of the irregular hours in this house.”
“Penny and I did get in a little late last night,” Mr. Parker admitted, winking at his daughter.
“A little late! It must have been at least four o’clock when you came in. Oh, I heard you tiptoe up the stairs even if you did take off your shoes!”
“It was only a few minutes after two,” Penny corrected. “I’m sorry though, that we awakened you.”
“I hadn’t been asleep,” Mrs. Weems replied, somewhat mollified by the apology. “I’m sure I heard every stroke of the clock last night.”
“You did!” Penny exclaimed with sudden interest. “How many times would you say it struck at midnight? I mean the Hubell Tower clock.”
“Such a question!” Mrs. Weems protested, thoroughly exasperated.
“It’s a very important one,” Penny insisted. “My reputation and five gallons of gas are at stake, so weigh well your words before you speak.”
“The clock struck twelve, of course!”
“There, you see, Penny,” Mr. Parker grinned triumphantly. “Does that satisfy you?”
“Mrs. Weems,” Penny persisted, “did you actually count the strokes?”
“Certainly not. Why should I? The clock always strikes twelve, therefore it must have struck that number last night.”
“I regret to say, you’ve just disqualified yourself as a witness in this case,” Penny said, helping herself to the last strip of bacon on the platter. “I must search farther afield for proof.”
“What are you talking about anyhow?” the housekeeper protested. “It doesn’t make sense to me.”
As she finished breakfast, Penny explained to Mrs. Weems how the disagreement with her father had arisen. The housekeeper displayed slight interest in the tale of the clock, but asked many questions about the fire at the Preston farm.
“That reminds me!” Mr. Parker suddenly exclaimed before Penny had finished the story. “I want to ’phone Sheriff Daniels before I start for the office. Excuse me, please.”
Pushing aside his chair, he went hurriedly to the living room. Not wishing to miss any news which might have a bearing on the affair of the previous night, Penny trailed him, hovering close to the telephone. However, her father’s brief comments told her almost nothing.
“What did you learn?” she inquired eagerly as he hung up the receiver. “Was Clem Davis arrested last night?”
“No, it turned out about as we expected. Apparently, Davis knew the sheriff was looking for him. Anyway, he never returned home.”
Jamming on his hat, Mr. Parker started for the front door. Penny pursued him to the garage, carrying on a running conversation.
“This rather explodes my theory about Clem not being guilty,” she remarked ruefully. “If he were innocent, one would expect him to face the sheriff and prove an alibi.”
“Davis can’t be far away,” Mr. Parker responded, getting into the maroon sedan. “The sheriff will nab him soon.”
Penny held open the garage doors, watching as her father backed down the driveway, scraping the bark of a tree whose gnarled trunk already bore many scars. Before she could reenter the house, Louise Sidell, a dark-haired, slightly plump girl, who was Penny’s most loyal friend, sauntered into the yard.
“Hi!” she greeted cheerily. “About ready?”
“Ready for what?” Penny asked, her face blank.
Louise regarded her indignantly. “If that isn’t just like you, Penny Parker! You make promises and then forget them. Don’t you remember telling Mrs. Van Cleve of the Woman’s Club that we would help sell tags today, for the Orphans’ Home summer camp?”
“Now that you remind me, I have a vague recollection. How many are we to sell?”
“Twenty-five at not less than a quarter each. I have the tags, but we’ll have to work fast or the other girls will sell all the easy customers.”
“I’ll be with you in two shakes,” Penny promised, heading for the house. “Wait until I tell Mrs. Weems where I am going.”
Returning a moment later with the car ignition keys, she found Louise staring disconsolately at the empty space in the garage.
“What became of your new car?” asked her chum.
“Dad’s auto is in the garage for repairs,” Penny explained briefly. “I didn’t have the heart to make him walk.”
“I should think not!” laughed Louise. “Imagine having three cars in one family—if you can call this mess of junk by such a flattering name.” Depreciatingly, she kicked the patched tire of a battered but brightly painted flivver which had seen its heyday in the early thirties.
“Don’t speak so disrespectfully of my property,” Penny chided, sliding into the high, uncomfortable seat. “Leaping Lena is a good car even if she is a bit creaky in the joints. She still takes us places.”
“And leaves us stranded,” Louise added with a sniff. “Oh, well, let’s go—if we can.”
Penny stepped on the starter and waited expectantly. The motor sputtered and coughed, but true to form, would not start. Just as the girls were convinced that they must walk, there was an explosive backfire, and then the car began to quiver with its familiar motion.
“You should sell Lena to the government for a cannon,” Louise teased as they rattled down the street. “What do you burn in this smoke machine? Kerosene?”
“Never mind the slurs. Where do we start our business operations?”
“We’ve been assigned to the corner of Madison and Clark streets,” Louise answered as she separated the yellow benefit tags into two evenly divided piles. “It shouldn’t take us long to get rid of these.”
Neither of the girls regretted their promise to help with the tag-day sale, for the cause was a worthy one. The campaign to raise sufficient funds with which to purchase and equip an orphans’ summer camp site, had been underway many weeks, and was headed by Mrs. Van Cleve, a prominent club woman.
Parking Leaping Lena at the designated street corner, the girls went to work with a will. All their lives they had lived in Riverview, and Penny in particular, had a wide acquaintance. Accosting nearly everyone who passed, she soon disposed of all her tags, and then sold many for her chum.
“They’ve gone fast,” Louise declared as the morning wore on. “We have only one left.”
“Don’t sell that tag!” Penny said impulsively. “I have it earmarked for a certain person—Old Seth McGuire.”
“The caretaker at the Hubell Clock Tower?” Louise asked in astonishment.
“Yes, he always liked children and I think he would be glad to help.”
“But why drive so far?” protested Louise. “I’m sure we could dispose of it right here, and much quicker.”
“Oh, I have a special reason for going to see Seth,” Penny answered carelessly. “I’ll tell you about it on the way there.”
From her chum’s manner, Louise deducted that something interesting lay ahead. She had learned, frequently to her sorrow, that Penny enjoyed interviewing unusual characters and engaging in amazing activities. Only a few months earlier, the girls had operated their own newspaper in an abandoned downtown building with results which were still the talk of Riverview. Another time they had attended a society wedding on an island guarded by a drawbridge, and had ended by using the drawbridge as a means of capturing a boatload of crooks. In fact, Louise took delight in remarking that if ever her chum chose to write an autobiography, a suitable title would be: “Life with Penelope Parker: Never a Dull Moment.”
“What’s up now, Penny?” she inquired, as they rattled toward the Hubell Tower in Leaping Lena.
“Just a little argument I had with Dad last night. I maintain that the big clock struck thirteen last night at midnight. He thinks I’m a wee bit touched in the head.”
“Which you must be,” retorted Louise. “Who ever heard of such a thing?”
“What’s so crazy about it?” Penny asked with a grimace. “Didn’t you ever hear a clock strike the wrong number?”
“Of course, but not the Hubell clock. Why, the works were purchased in Europe, and it’s supposed to be one of the best in the country.”
“Even a good clock can make a mistake, I guess. Anyway, we’ll see what Seth McGuire has to say about it.”
Penny brought Leaping Lena to a quivering halt opposite the tall Hubell Tower. Glancing upward at the octagonical-shaped clock face, she saw that the hands indicated twenty minutes to twelve.
“Rather an awkward time to call,” she remarked, swinging open the car door, “but Seth probably won’t mind.”
As the girls walked toward the tower entrance, they noticed that the grounds surrounding the building were not as neat as when last they had viewed them. The shrubs were untrimmed, the lawn choked with weeds, and old newspapers had matted against the hedge.
“I wonder if Mr. McGuire has been well?” Penny commented, knocking on the tower door. “He always took pride in looking after the yard.”
“At least he seems to be up and around,” Louise returned in a low tone. “I can hear someone moving about inside.”
The girls waited expectantly for the door to open. When there was no response to their knock, Penny tried again.
“Who’s there?” called a loud and not very friendly voice.
Penny knew that it was not Old Seth who spoke, for the caretaker’s high-pitched tones were unmistakable.
“We came to see Mr. McGuire,” she called through the panel.
The door swung back and the girls found themselves facing a stout, red-faced man of perhaps forty, who wore a soiled suede jacket and unpressed corduroy trousers.
“McGuire’s not here any more,” he informed curtly. “You’ll probably find him at his farm.”
Before the man could close the door, Penny quickly asked if Mr. McGuire had given up his position as caretaker because of sickness.
“Oh, he was getting too old to do his work,” the man answered with a shrug. “I’m Charley Phelps, the new attendant. Visiting hours are from two to four each afternoon.”
“We didn’t come to see the clock,” persisted Penny.
“What did bring you here then?” the man demanded gruffly. “You a personal friend of Seth’s?”
“Not exactly.” Penny peered beyond the caretaker into an untidy living room clouded with tobacco smoke. “We thought we might sell him one of these tags. Perhaps you would like to contribute to the orphans’ camp fund?”
She extended the bit of yellow cardboard, bestowing upon the attendant one of her most dazzling smiles.
“No, thanks, Sister,” he declined, refusing to take the tag. “You’ll have to peddle your wares somewhere else.”
“Only twenty-five cents.”
“I’m not interested. Now run along and give me a chance to eat my lunch in peace.”
“Sorry to have bothered you,” Penny apologized woodenly. Without moving from the door, she inquired: “Oh, by the way, what happened to the clock last night?”
“Nothing happened to it,” the caretaker retorted. “What d’you mean?”
“At midnight it struck thirteen times instead of twelve.”
“You must have dreamed it!” the man declared. “Say, what are you trying to do anyhow—start stories so I’ll lose my job?”
“Why, I never thought of such a thing!” Penny gasped. “I truly believed that the clock did strike thirteen—”
“Well, you were wrong, and I’ll thank you not to go around telling folks such bunk!” the man said angrily. “The clock hasn’t struck a wrong hour since the day it was installed. I take better care of the mechanism than Seth McGuire ever did!”
“I didn’t mean to intimate that you were careless—” Penny began.
She did not complete the sentence, for Charley Phelps slammed the door in her face.
“Well, Penny, you certainly drew lightning that time,” Louise remarked dryly as the girls retreated to Leaping Lena. “I thought Mr. Phelps was going to throw the tower at you!”
“How could I know he was so touchy?” Penny asked in a grieved tone.
“You did talk as if you thought he had been careless in taking care of the big clock.”
“I never meant it that way, Lou. Anyway, he could have been more polite.”
Jerking open the car door, Penny slid behind the steering wheel and jammed her foot on the starter. Leaping Lena, apparently realizing that her young mistress was in no mood for trifling, responded with instantaneous action.
“I guess you’re satisfied now that the clock never struck thirteen,” Louise teased as the car fairly leaped forward.
“I should say not!” Penny retorted. “Why, I’m more convinced than ever that something went wrong with the mechanism last night. Phelps knew it too, and for that reason didn’t want us asking questions!”
“You die hard, Penny,” chuckled Louise. “From now on, I suppose you’ll go around asking everyone you meet: ‘Where were you at midnight of the thirteenth?’”
“It wouldn’t do any good. Most folks just take things for granted in this world. But there’s one person who would pay attention to that clock!”
“Who?”
“Why, old Seth McGuire. We’ll drive out to his farm and ask him about it.”
“It’s lunch time and I’m hungry,” Louise protested.
“Oh, you can spend the rest of your life eating,” Penny overruled her. “Business before pleasure, you know.”
Seth McGuire, one of Riverview’s best known and well loved characters, had been caretaker at the Hubell Clock Tower from the day of its erection, and the girls could not but wonder why he had been relieved of his post. The old man had personally installed the complicated machinery, caring for it faithfully over the years. In fact, his only other interest in life was his farm, located a mile from the city limits, and it was there that Penny hoped to find him.
“Watch for a sign, ‘Sleepy Hollow,’” she instructed. “Mr. McGuire has given his place a fancy name.”
A moment later Louise, seeing the marker, cried: “There it is! Slow down!”
Penny slammed on the brakes and Leaping Lena responded by shivering in every one of her ancient joints. Louise was thrown forward, barely catching herself in time to prevent a collision with the windshield.
“Why don’t you join a stunt circus?” she said irritably. “You drive like Demon Dan!”
“We’re here,” replied Penny cheerfully. “Nice looking place, isn’t it?”
The car had pulled up near a small, neatly-kept cottage framed in well-trimmed greenery. An even, rich green lawn was highlighted here and there by beds of bright red and blue flowers.
After admiring the grounds, the girls rang the front bell. Receiving no response, they went around to the rear, pounding on the kitchen screen door.
“Mr. McGuire’s not here,” said Louise. “Just another wild goose chase.”
“Let’s try this out-building,” Penny suggested, indicating a long, low structure made of cement building blocks which was roofed with tin. A sign dangling above the door proclaimed that it was the foundry and machine shop of one Seth McGuire, maker of bells and clocks.
As the girls peered through the open door an arresting sight met their gaze. Through clouds of smoke they saw a spry old man directing the movements of a muscular youth who pulled a large pot-shaped crucible of molten metal on an overhead pulley track.
“Are you Seth McGuire?” Penny shouted to make herself heard above the noise of running machinery.
The old man, turning his head, waved them back.
“Don’t come in here now!” he warned. “It’s dangerous. Wait until we pour the bell.”
With deft, sure hands, the old fellow pulled control chains attached to the crucible. The container twisted and finally overturned, allowing the molten metal to pour into a bell-shaped mold. As the last drops ran out of it, a great cloud of steam arose, enveloping both the old man and his helper.
“Won’t they be burned?” Louise murmured in alarm, moving hastily backwards.
“Mr. McGuire seems to know what he’s doing,” Penny answered, watching with interest.
In a moment the steam cleared away, and the old man motioned that the girls might come inside.
“You’ll have to excuse my manners,” he apologized, his mild blue eyes regarding them with a twinkle. “Pouring a bell is exacting work and you can’t stop until it’s done.”
“Is that what you were doing?” Penny inquired, staring at the steaming mass which had been poured into the mold. “It’s sort of like making a gelatin pudding, isn’t it?”
“Jake and me never thought of it that way,” the old man replied. “I learned from an old Swiss bell maker when I was a lad. And I apprenticed under a master, you may be sure of that.”
“How do you make a bell anyway?” Louise inquired curiously.
“You can’t tell in five minutes what it takes a lifetime to learn,” the old man answered. “Now a bell like this one I’m making for the Methodist Church at Blairstown takes a heap o’ work. Jake and me have worked a solid week getting the pattern and mold ready for that pouring job you just saw.”
“Do you ever have any failures?” Penny asked, seeking to draw him out.
“Not many, but once in awhile a bell cracks,” the old fellow said modestly. “That happens when the mold is damp, or not of proper temperature. If gasses collect you may get a nice healthy explosion, too!”
“Does it take a long while to finish a bell after it’s been poured?” Penny pursued the subject.
“A large one may require a week to cool, but I’ll have this fellow out of the mold by tomorrow night,” Mr. McGuire returned. “Then we’ll polish her off, put in the clapper, and attach the bell to a sturdy mounting. If the tone is right, she’ll be ready to install.”
“How do you tell about the tone?” Louise questioned in perplexity.
“This one should have a deep, low tone,” the old man replied. “Other things being equal, a large bell gives a deeper tone than a small one. Pitch depends upon diameter, and timbre upon the shape and the alloy used.”
“I never realized there was much to a bell besides its ding-dong,” commented Penny. “But tell me, Mr. McGuire, do you find this work more interesting than taking care of the Clock Tower?”
“Looking after that place wasn’t work. It was more like a rest cure. I took the job because, twelve years ago when the tower went up, they couldn’t find a competent man to look after the clock.”
“And now you’ve gone back to your old trade?”
“Oh, I liked it at the tower,” Old Seth admitted truthfully. “I’m a bit old to do heavy work such as this. More than likely I’d have gone on putting in my time if Mr. Blake hadn’t wanted the job for a friend of his.”
“Mr. Blake?” Penny inquired thoughtfully. “Do you mean Clyde Blake, the real estate man?”
The old bell maker nodded as he gazed moodily out the window toward the distant tower which could be seen outlined against the blue sky.
“Yes, it was Blake that eased me out of that job. He has a lot of influence and he uses it in ways some might say isn’t always proper. I can make a fair living as long as I have my health, so I’m not complaining.”
“We met the new caretaker this morning,” Penny said after a moment. “He wasn’t very polite to us, and the grounds have gone to wrack and ruin.”
“Did you notice the flower beds?” Old Seth asked, feeling creeping into his voice. “Half choked with weeds. Charley Phelps hasn’t turned a hand since he took over there six weeks ago.”
“I suppose he spends most of his time looking after the big clock,” Penny remarked, deliberately leading the old man deeper.
“Charley Phelps spends most of his hours smoking that vile pipe of his and entertaining his roustabout friends,” Old Seth snapped. “He doesn’t know as much as a child about complicated clock machinery. What he can’t take care of with an oil can goes unrepaired!”
The conversation had moved in exactly the channel which Penny desired.
“No doubt that explains why the clock hasn’t always been striking right of late,” she said in an offhand way. “Last night I was almost sure I heard it strike thirteen instead of twelve times. In fact, I had a little argument with my father about it.”
“You were correct,” the old man assured her. “I was working late here in the shop and heard it myself.”
“There! You see, Louise!” Penny cried triumphantly, turning to her chum.
“Mr. McGuire, what would cause the clock to strike wrong?” the other asked.
“I was wondering myself,” he admitted. “In all the ten years I was at the tower, it never once struck an incorrect hour. I think that there must have been something wrong with the striking train.”
“Pardon my ignorance,” laughed Penny, “but what in the world is the striking train?”
“Oh, we apply that name to the center section of the mechanism which operates the clock. The going train drives the hands, while the quarter train chimes the quarter-hours, sounding four tuned bells.”
“Just as clear as mud,” sighed Louise who disliked all mechanical things. “Does the clock strike wrong every night?”
“Last night was the first time I ever heard it add a stroke,” Mr. McGuire answered. “I’ll be listening though, to see if Phelps gets it fixed.”
Penny and Louise had accomplished the purpose of their trip, and so, after looking about the shop for a few minutes, left without trying to sell the old man a camp-benefit tag.
“Why didn’t you ask him to take one?” Louise asked as she and her chum climbed into the parked car.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Penny answered uncomfortably. “It just came over me that Old Seth probably doesn’t have much money now that he’s out of steady work.”
“He must make quite a lot from his bells.”
“But how often does he get an order?” Penny speculated. “I’d guess not once in three months, if that often. It’s a pity Mr. Blake had to push Mr. McGuire out of the tower job.”
Louise nodded agreement, and then with a quick change of subject, reminded her chum that they had had no lunch.
“It’s too late to go home,” said Penny, who had other plans. “I’ll treat you to one of the biggest hamburger sandwiches you ever wrapped your teeth around! How’s that?”
“I’ll take anything so long as you pay for it,” Louise agreed with a laugh.
Driving on to Toni’s, the girls lunched there without incident, and then started for Riverview by a different route.
“Say, where are you taking me anyway?” Louise demanded suspiciously. “I’ve never been on this road before.”
“Only out to the Davis farm,” Penny responded with a grin. “We have a little detective work to do.”
During the bumpy ride, she gave her chum a vivid account of the adventure she had shared with her father the previous night.
“And just what do you expect to learn?” Louise inquired at the conclusion of the tale. “Are we expected to capture Clem Davis with our bare hands and turn him over to the authorities?”
“Nothing quite so startling. I thought possibly Mrs. Davis might talk with us. She seemed to know a lot more about the fire than she would tell.”
“I don’t mind tagging along,” Louise consented reluctantly. “It doesn’t seem likely, though, that the woman will break down and implicate her husband just because you want a story for theRiverview Star.”
Undisturbed by her chum’s teasing, Penny parked Leaping Lena at the entrance to the lane, and the girls walked to the cabin.
“It doesn’t look as if anyone is here,” Louise remarked, rapping for the second time on the oaken door.
“I’m sure there is,” Penny replied in a whisper. “As we came up the lane, I saw the curtains move.”
Louise knocked a third time, so hard that the door rattled.
“At any rate, no one is going to answer,” she said. “We may as well go.”
“All right,” Penny agreed, although it was not her nature to give up so easily.
The girls walked down the lane until a clump of bushes screened them from the cabin.
“Let’s wait here,” Penny proposed, halting. “I have a hunch Mrs. Davis is hiding from us.”
“What’s to be gained by waiting?” grumbled Louise.
Nevertheless, she crouched beside her chum, watching the house. Ten minutes elapsed. Both Louise and Penny grew very weary. Then unexpectedly, the cabin door opened and Mrs. Davis peered into the yard. Seeing no one, she took a wooden water bucket and started with it to the pump which was situated midway between cabin and stable.
“Now’s our chance!” Penny whispered eagerly. “Come on, Louise, we’ll cut off her retreat and she can’t avoid meeting us!”
Hastening up the lane, Penny and Louise approached the pump in such a way that Mrs. Davis could not return to the house without meeting them. Not until the woman had filled the water bucket and was starting back did she see the two girls.
“Well?” she demanded defiantly.
By daylight the woman appeared much younger than Penny had taken her to be the previous night. Not more than thirty-two, she wore a shapeless, faded blue dress which had seen many washings. Rather attractive brown hair had been drawn back into a tight, unbecoming knot that made her face seem grotesquely long.
“I don’t suppose you recognize me,” Penny began diffidently. “My father and I were here last night with Sheriff Daniels.”
“I remember you very well,” the woman retorted. “What do you want?”
“Why, I should like to buy some melons,” Penny replied, the idea only that instant occurring to her. “Have you any for sale?”
“Melons,” the woman repeated, and the hard line of her mouth relaxed. “I thought you came to pester me with questions. Sure, we’ve got some good Heart o’ Gold out in the patch. How many do you want?”
“About three, I guess.”
“You can pick ’em out yourself if you want to,” Mrs. Davis offered. Setting down the water bucket, she led the way through a gate to a melon patch behind the cabin. Her suspicions not entirely allayed, she demanded: “Sheriff Daniels didn’t send you out here?”
“Indeed not,” Penny assured her. “I haven’t seen him since last night.”
“It’s all right then,” Mrs. Davis said in a more friendly tone. She stooped to examine a ripe melon. “I figured maybe he sent you to find out what became of my husband.”
“Oh, no! Didn’t Mr. Davis return home last night?”
“Not on your life!” the woman answered grimly. “And he won’t be back either—not while Sheriff Daniels is looking for him.”
From Mrs. Davis’ manner of speaking, Penny was convinced that she had been in communication with her husband since the sheriff’s visit. Trying to keep her voice casual, she observed:
“Don’t you think it would be wise for your husband to give himself up? By hiding, he makes it appear as though he actually did set fire to the Preston barn.”
“Clem would be a fool to give himself up now! Why, they’d be sure to hang the fire onto him, even though he wasn’t within a mile of the Preston place.”
“Then couldn’t he prove it?”
“Not a chance,” the woman said with a short, hard laugh. “Clem was framed. He never rode the horse last night, and that black hood was planted in the stable.”
“Does your husband have any enemies?”
“Sure, he’s got plenty of ’em.”
“Then perhaps you can name a person who might have tried to throw blame on your husband.”
“I could tell plenty if I was a mind to,” the woman said significantly. “I’d do it in a minute, only it would make things worse for Clem.”
Penny started to reply, then remained silent as she saw that Mrs. Davis’ gaze had focused upon a section of cornfield which fringed the melon patch. The tall stalks were waving in an agitated manner, suggesting that someone might be moving among them.
“Here are your melons,” Mrs. Davis said nervously, thrusting three large ones into Penny’s hands. “That will be a quarter.”
As the girl paid her, she abruptly turned and hurried toward the house.
“Just a minute, Mrs. Davis,” Penny called. “If you’ll only talk to me I may be able to help your husband.”
The woman heard but paid no heed. Picking up the water bucket, she entered the cabin, closing the door behind her.
“Well, we gained three melons, and that’s all,” Louise shrugged. “What’s our next move?”
“I think Mrs. Davis was on the verge of telling us something important,” Penny declared, her voice low. “Then she saw someone out there in the corn field and changed her mind.”
“I don’t see anyone now,” Louise said, staring in the direction her chum had indicated. “The stalks aren’t even moving.”
“They were a moment ago. Clem Davis may be hiding out there, Lou! Or it could be some of Sheriff Davis’ men watching the cabin.”
“Or an Indian waiting to scalp us,” teased Louise. “Let’s go back to the car.”
Penny shook her head and started toward the corn patch. Reluctantly, Louise followed, overtaking her at the edge of the field.
“Sheriff Daniels!” Penny called through cupped hands.
There was no answer, only a gentle rippling of the corn stalks some distance from them.
“Whoever the person is, he’s sneaking away,” Penny whispered. “Come on, let’s stop him!”
“Don’t be foolish—” Louise protested, but her chum had vanished into the forest of tall corn.
After a moment of indecision she, too, entered the field. By that time there was no sign of Penny, no sound to guide her. Wandering aimlessly first in one direction, then another, she soon became hopelessly lost.
“Penny!” she shouted frantically.
“Here!” called a voice not far away.
Tracing the sound, and making repeated calls, Louise finally came face to face with her chum.
“Such a commotion as you’ve been making,” chided Penny. “Not a chance to catch that fellow now!”
“I don’t care,” Louise retorted crossly. Her hair was disarranged, stockings matted with burs. “If we can get out of this dreadful maze I want to go to the car.”
“We’re at the edge of the field. Follow me and I’ll pilot you to safety.”
Emerging a minute later at the end of the corn row, Penny saw the stable only a few yards away. Impulsively, she proposed to Louise that they investigate it for possible clues.
“I’ve had enough detective work for one day,” her chum complained. “Anyway, what do you hope to discover in an old barn?”
“Maybe I can induce the horse to talk,” Penny chuckled. “Sal must know all the answers, if only she could speak.”
“You’ll have to give her the third degree by yourself,” Louise decided with finality. “I shall go to the car.”
Taking the melons with her, she marched stiffly down the lane and climbed into Leaping Lena. Carefully she rearranged her hair, plucked burs, and then grew impatient because her chum did not come. Fully twenty minutes elapsed before Penny emerged from the stable.
“Sorry to keep you waiting so long, Lou,” she apologized as she reached the car. “See what I found!”
Penny held up a bright silver object which resembled a locket, save that it was smaller.
“What is it?” Louise inquired with interest.
“A man’s watch charm! It has a picture inside too!”
With her fingernail, Penny pried open the lid. Flat against the cover had been fastened the photograph of a boy who might have been ten or twelve years of age.
“Where did you get it, Penny?”
“I found it lying on the barn floor, not far from the place where we picked up the black hood last night.”
“Then it must belong to Clem Davis!”
“It may,” Penny admitted, sliding into the seat beside her chum. “Still, I don’t believe the Davis’ have any children.”
“What will you do with the charm? Turn it over to the sheriff?”
“I suppose I should, after I’ve shown it to Dad,” Penny replied, carefully tying the trinket into the corner of a handkerchief. “You know, Lou, since finding this, I wonder if Mrs. Davis may not have told the truth.”
“About what, Penny?”
“She said that her husband had been framed.”
“Then you think this watch charm was left in the barn to throw suspicion upon Clem Davis!”
Penny shook her head. “No, this is my theory, Louise. Perhaps someone hid the black hood there, and rode Clem’s horse to make it appear he was the guilty person. Inadvertently, that same person lost this watch charm.”
“In that case, you would have a clue which might solve the case.”
“Exactly,” Penny grinned in triumph. “Get ready for a fast ride into town. I’m going to rush this evidence straight to theStaroffice and get Dad’s opinion.”
Not wishing to ride to theStarbuilding, Louise asked her chum to drop her off at the Sidell home. Accordingly, Penny left her there, and then drove on alone to her father’s office. The news room hummed with activity as she sauntered through to the private office.
“Just a minute, please,” her father requested, waving her into a chair.
He completed a letter he was dictating, dismissed his secretary, and then was ready to listen. Without preliminary ado, Penny laid the watch charm on the desk, explaining where she had found it.
“Dad, this may belong to Clem Davis, but I don’t think so!” she announced in an excited voice. “It’s my theory that the person who planted the black hood in the stable must have lost it!”
Mr. Parker examined the charm carefully, gazing at the picture of the little boy contained within it.
“Very interesting,” he commented. “However, I fear you are allowing your imagination to take you for a ride. There isn’t much question of Clem Davis’ guilt according to the findings of the sheriff.”
“Has any new evidence come to light, Dad?”
“Yes, Penny, the sheriff’s office has gained possession of a document showing beyond question that Clem Davis is a member of a renegade band known as the Black Hoods.”
“Where did they get their proof?”
“Sheriff Davis won’t disclose the source of his information. However, our star reporter, Jerry Livingston, is working on the case, and something may develop any hour.”
“Then you’re intending to make it into a big story?” Penny asked thoughtfully.
“I am. An underground, subversive organization, no matter what its purpose, has no right to an existence. TheStarwill expose the leaders, if possible, and break up the group.”
“Since the Hoods apparently burned the Preston storage barn, their purpose can’t be a very noble one,” Penny commented. “Nor are their leaders especially clever. The trail led as plain as day to Clem Davis—so straight, in fact, that I couldn’t help doubting his guilt.”
“Penny, I’ll keep this watch charm, if you don’t mind,” Mr. Parker said, locking the trinket into a drawer. “I’ll put Jerry to work on it and he may be able to learn the identity of the little boy in the picture.”