“Is anyone there?” Tillie demanded, coming quickly to the window. Her pallid features were rigid with fear and her breathing quickened.
“He’s gone now, I think.”
“There was someone a moment ago?”
“Yes, a man, hiding behind the lilacs. I believe he must have been watching the house—or possibly the storm cellar!”
“Then you see I was right,” Tillie declared. “Oh, this is a dreadful place, and I’ll be glad to leave it.”
“I almost wish you were staying,” said Penny slowly. “You might be able to learn what’s hidden in that cave.”
“Not with Peter Fenestra so suspicious. Anyway, you couldn’t hire me to remain even if he would allow it. I’d rather starve.”
“You have no place to go, Tillie?”
“I’ll find work. If not in Riverview then I can return to the country. Anything will be better than what I’ve had.”
Penny groped in the dark for the lamp, relighting it.
“Tillie,” she said, “how would you like to work at our place for a few days?”
“You don’t mean it.”
“I do if it can be arranged,” Penny affirmed. “We have a housekeeper, but it occurred to me that she might take your place here.”
“She’d be very foolish to give up a good job for this.”
“It would only be temporary. I think I can induce her to make the change for a few days. The question is, can we get Peter Fenestra to accept her?”
“I doubt if he’ll hire anyone now that I am leaving. Why do you want your housekeeper in such a place as this, Penny?”
“Only for one reason. To learn what’s going on here. I confess you’ve made me very curious about the storm cave.”
“Fenestra would watch her every minute, the same as he did me. It won’t work.”
“It will if Mrs. Weems can get the job,” declared Penny confidently. “First of all, we must make Fenestra so uncomfortable he’ll want someone to take care of the house. Is he a good cook?”
“Oh, wretched. And the trick of keeping a good fire going is simply beyond him. Why, if we turned the damper, it never would occur to him to change it.”
“Thanks for the idea,” laughed Penny. “Let’s hide the breakfast supplies, too.”
Tillie was quite certain that her friend did not know what she was doing, but she offered no objection to the plan. Before leaving the house they altered the stove damper, hid the coffee pot, and placed salt in the sugar bowl.
“If Old Peter doesn’t get his coffee in the morning he’ll simply rave,” chuckled Tillie. “Missing it may be the one thing which will make him hire a new housekeeper.”
The girls were watchful as they crossed the yard, but they observed no one lurking about the premises. Evidently the man who had hidden behind the lilacs had taken himself elsewhere.
Penny escorted Tillie to the parked automobile, leaving her there while she went to the cottage for Mrs. Weems. The housekeeper was ready and waiting by the time she arrived.
“Penny, I nearly gave you up,” she sighed. “Why did it take so long?”
“I’ve been busy finding you a new position,” chuckled Penny. “Starting tomorrow morning, you’re to work for Peter Fenestra instead of us.”
In the act of locking the cottage door, Mrs. Weems turned to face the girl.
“Penny,” she said, “I am tired tonight and in no mood for your jokes.”
“This isn’t a joke, Mrs. Weems. I really do want you to change jobs with Tillie Fellows. You remember I told you about her.”
Not giving the housekeeper an opportunity to speak, she rapidly outlined her plan.
“Early tomorrow morning I’ll drive you to Fenestra’s farm,” she ended gleefully. “You’re to knock on the door, and say you’re looking for a job at very low wages. Fenestra will be so desperate he’ll welcome you with open arms. Then as soon as he’s off his guard you learn what is hidden in the storm cave.”
“How lovely,” said Mrs. Weems. “I’ve listened to your crazy schemes for years, Penny, but this one takes the prize!”
“You’ll do it, won’t you?”
“I certainly will not.” The housekeeper spoke with biting emphasis.
“Oh, Mrs. Weems,” Penny moaned. “You don’t realize how much this means to me! If only you’ll go there, I may be able to get a wonderful scoop for theWeekly Times.”
“I wish you never had started that paper. I declare, ever since you took over the oldPressplant, you’ve done the wildest things.”
“This isn’t wild,” Penny argued. “It’s absolutely logical. I would try for the job myself only I know Fenestra wouldn’t give it to me. Besides, I am kept busy at the plant.”
“I refuse to play detective for you, Penny. That’s final.”
Completely downcast, Penny followed Mrs. Weems along the river trail. However, she had no intention of giving up so easily.
“Then if you won’t,” she remarked, “I must take Tillie to a charity home. She had intended to start working at our place.”
“The girl may spend the night with us, if you like. We have an extra room.”
“Tillie would never accept such a favor,” insisted Penny. “More than anything else she wants a job. Mrs. Weems, please reconsider—”
“It’s a crazy scheme!”
“No, it isn’t,” Penny refuted, and noting indications of weakening, launched into another lengthy argument.
Mrs. Weems drew a deep sigh. “I don’t know why I allow you to twist me around your finger the way you do.”
“You’ll try for the job?”
“I suppose so. But what will your father say?”
“He’ll call it clever journalism,” chuckled Penny. “Don’t you worry about Dad. Just leave everything to me.”
During the ride to Riverview Mrs. Weems was further influenced by Tillie Fellows’ account of Fenestra’s peculiar actions. Gradually she began to share Penny’s opinion that the man might have reason to fear for his life. However, she could not agree with the girls that anything of great value was hidden in the cave.
“Perhaps we’re wrong,” Penny conceded, “but you must go there with an open mind, Mrs. Weems. Observe everything you can and report to me. Particularly I want to learn what Fenestra knows about John Munn and the octopus tattoo.”
“I shan’t try very hard to get the job,” threatened the housekeeper.
At seven the next morning Penny awakened Mrs. Weems from a sound slumber, reminding her that it was time to start for the Fenestra farm. Protesting that the idea seemed crazier than ever, the housekeeper snuggled down beneath the covers again.
“You promised you would go,” reminded Penny brutally. “Please hurry, because I must get you established before I go to school.”
By the time Mrs. Weems was dressed, breakfast and the car awaited her. She drank the bitterly strong coffee and, still protesting, allowed Penny to drive her within view of the Fenestra farm.
“Is that the place?” she inquired with distaste as the automobile halted.
“Yes, I don’t dare go any closer for fear Fenestra will see me. You know the story you’re to tell him.”
“Which one? You’ve suggested so many that my mind is a-whirl.”
“Then make it simple. Just say you’re a widow, out of work, and that you’re a wonderful housekeeper. I’ll wait here. If you go inside I’ll know you’ve been given the job.”
“When will you come for me?”
“I’ll try to see you tomorrow. But hold the fort until I arrive even if it’s a week.”
A bundle of clothing under her arm, Mrs. Weems trudged on down the road. Penny watched her with misgiving. The adventure was not to the housekeeper’s liking, and it was doubtful that her application for work would be an enthusiastic one.
Turning the car in the road, she pulled to one side and waited. Mrs. Weems had reached the farmhouse. Following instructions, she knocked at the side entrance. In a moment or two the door was opened by Peter Fenestra.
Anxiously, Penny watched. The interview seemed to be taking a long while, but at least Fenestra had not closed the door in the housekeeper’s face.
Then, to her delight, Mrs. Weems followed the man into the house.
“The job is hers!” she thought exultantly. “If she doesn’t fail me, I may yet break an important story in my paper! I feel in my bones that Peter Fenestra’s cave soon will yield its secret!”
At school, during the afternoon assembly period, Penny received a note from Louise which read:
“TheWeekly Timesis in urgent need of feature stories for our next issue. Any ideas?”
Penny scrawled a huge zero on the paper, decorated it with angel wings, and sent it down the aisle. An answer came immediately.
“You’ll have to do something about it. All of our reporters are taking a vacation until after monthly exams. Can’t you write some sort of story?”
Penny considered the problem as she studied her history lesson. Just as the dismissal bell rang an inspiration seized her.
“Lou, I do have an idea!” she declared, linking arms with her chum. “How about an interview with Ellis Saal?”
“Who is he?” inquired Louise, somewhat dubiously.
“A tattoo artist who has a little shop on Dorr Street. He takes passport pictures, too. I noticed the place weeks ago.”
“What makes you think the story would be worth printing?”
“Tattooing is a fascinating subject.”
“It is to you. I doubt if our readers share your enthusiasm.”
“They will when they read my story,” countered Penny.
Early the next morning she presented herself at Mr. Saal’s place of business, a den-like crack in the wall, barely wide enough to accommodate a door.
Pausing, she stared at a sign which proclaimed that for a nominal sum Mr. Saal would tattoo or photograph all comers. In a glass frame were displayed many samples of tattooing—bleeding hearts, clasped hands, sailing ships, birds in flight and other artistic conceptions.
Penny entered the shop. The front end of the long, narrow room was unoccupied, but the sound of hammering led her to the rear. A man of some sixty-odd years was engaged in making a new shelf. As he saw her the hammer dropped from his hand.
“Good morning,” said Penny in her friendliest tone. “Are you Mr. Saal?”
“That’s me,” he replied, regarding her curiously.
“Excuse me for bothering you,” apologized Penny, “but I should like to interview you for my newspaper.”
Mr. Saal’s intelligent but somewhat child-like eyes fixed her in a steady stare.
“A reporter,” he said finally in a long suffering tone. “They wouldn’t respect a man’s privacy—or anything else for that matter, I reckon.”
“There is one thing I am sure all reporters respect, Mr. Saal,” responded Penny. “Art. From the samples of your work which I saw out front I am sure you are a great tattoo artist.”
Mr. Saal melted like a lump of butter on a hot stove. Penny had struck his weakest spot.
“You flatter me,” he said, a faint pattern of a smile etching his face. “I admit I’m good, although maybe not quite the best in the business. What do you want to know?”
“A story about the tattooing business in general and you in particular, Mr. Saal. How do you do it? How did you start? Who was the most famous person you ever tattooed? What is your favorite design? Do you think a tattoo looks better on the arm or the chest? What—?”
“Hold it, young lady, hold it. You seem to be a living question mark.”
Mr. Saal motioned for Penny to follow him to the front of the shop. As he offered her a chair she took a quick glance at a row of dirty, smeary bottles of chemicals on a shelf above her head.
“Now let’s take your first question,” said Mr. Saal, seating himself opposite the girl. “I can’t tell you how to tattoo—that’s a secret of the profession.”
“How much do you charge for one?”
“Depends upon how much a fellow is willing to pay. Take this town—it’s a cheap place. Nobody has any money. The King of England paid fifty dollars for his tattoo and what do I get? I’m lucky if it’s a dollar. And mostly hoodlums to work on. You can’t give a man much of a tattoo for a dollar.”
“Do you ever remove tattoos, Mr. Saal?”
“It’s against the law,” the man replied briefly.
“I didn’t know that,” said Penny in surprise. “Why?”
“Crooks can be identified by their tattoos. Oh, it’s easy for a fellow to get one on, but not so easy to get it off.”
“But it can be done?” Penny persisted. “Have you ever removed one?”
“I’m the only man in the state who can take off a tattoo so it doesn’t show,” boasted Mr. Saal. “The surgeons have tried, but you always can see where it was.”
“Tell me about some of the tattoos you’ve removed,” urged Penny.
“I’ve told you more than I should now,” said Mr. Saal. “You’ll print it in the paper and then I’ll get into trouble with the police.”
“This will be strictly confidential,” promised Penny.
“It’s this way,” Mr. Saal justified himself. “I never do any work for crooks—not me. But if a law-abiding, respectable citizen comes here and says he’s sick of his tattoo, then sometimes I take it off for him if he’s willing to pay the price. Fact is, I’m workin’ on a mighty interesting case right now. It’s a design that’s rare—an octopus.”
Penny did not trust herself to speak for a moment. Carefully she controlled her voice as she said casually:
“How interesting, Mr. Saal, An octopus tattoo! Was the man a sailor?”
“He was an old salt all right, though he denied it.”
“What is his name?”
“I couldn’t tell you that,” answered Mr. Saal. “I have to protect my customers.”
“Tell me more about the tattoo,” urged Penny.
“It’s just a figure about so large—” Mr. Saal demonstrated with his hands, “on the man’s back. Funny place for a tattoo, ain’t it?”
“I should say so,” agreed Penny. “Is it merely a figure of an octopus? No words or anything like that?”
“There are two words. I took ’em off last week.”
“Two?” inquired Penny. “What are they, Mr. Saal?”
“They don’t make sense. The words areFor One.”
“I once saw an octopus tattoo such as you describe,” declared Penny. “But I distinctly recall that the design used only a single word. It wasOne.”
“Is that so?” inquired Mr. Saal. “Maybe the tattoo isn’t as uncommon as I thought. But I never saw one like it before.”
“I wonder what can be the significance of the words?”
“I was asking my customer about it. He pretended he didn’t know, but I figure maybe he and some buddies had a sentence tattooed on ’em.”
“You mean that if one were able to read several tattoos together, the words would make sense?”
“That’s right,” nodded Mr. Saal. “I don’t know about this octopus tattoo, but I figure it may have been that way.”
“Did your customer have any other tattoos on his body?” Penny questioned. “An anchor, for instance?”
“Didn’t notice ’em if he did.”
“I suppose it takes a long while to remove a tattoo. Does your customer come often?”
“Every Tuesday and Thursday night. He complains because I don’t do the work faster, but I tell him if he wants a good job it has to be done carefully.”
Before Penny could ask another question, two young sailors swaggered into the shop. Ellis Saal, scenting business, immediately arose.
“Be careful what you write up,” he warned as he left her. “There’s been a lot of articles on tattooin’, but not a one that’s right. It just ain’t possible for a reporter to write a true story unless it’s about a murder or a fire!”
“I’ll be careful,” promised Penny.
Leaving the shop, she walked slowly to her parked car. The information obtained from the tattoo artist both excited and mystified her.
“I don’t believe Mr. Saal could have been mistaken about the words which were incorporated in the design,” she thought. “And I’m equally certain I wasn’t mistaken about Anchor Joe’s tattoo. It had only the single word, ‘One.’”
Mr. Saal’s declaration that his customer was not the possessor of a tattooed anchor caused Penny to wonder if the person could be Joe Landa. However, the man was wanted by government agents and it seemed reasonable to believe that he might seek to remove tell-tale markings.
“I know what I’ll do,” she decided. “Thursday night I’ll watch Mr. Saal’s shop. In that way I may be able to learn the identity of his mysterious customer!”
Penny compressed the facts given her by Ellis Saal into a brief, lively feature story for theWeekly Times. She was careful not to divulge that the man had removed a tattoo from a customer, but to Louise she confided the entire story.
“All unwittingly, Mr. Saal gave me just the clue I need,” she declared enthusiastically. “It will be a gigantic step forward if I learn the identity of his mysterious customer.”
“What’s to be gained by it?” asked Louise as she slugged a story and speared it on a hook. “What will be proven?”
“Well, if I’m ever going to solve the mystery I must gather every fact I can,” Penny said defensively. “I aim to learn the meaning of those strange tattoos and, above all, the reason why John Munn was pushed from the bridge.”
“You have your work cut out for you,” responded Louise dryly.
“But Mr. Saal’s information helps. You remember I told you that John Munn’s tattoo bore the wordAll. Anchor Joe’s was exactly the same except for the word,One. And now Ellis Saal has a customer with two words on his back:For One. Why, I believe I have it!”
Penny sprang from her chair, eyes dancing with excitement.
“You have what?” asked Louise calmly.
“It came to me like a flash—the meaning of those tattooed words! If we haven’t been dumb!”
“Kindly stop jumping around, and explain.”
“Mr. Saal told me he thought several sailors might have had a sentence incorporated in their tattoo. That is, only a word or two was used in each design, but taken as a whole it would make sense.”
“And you think you have the phrase?”
“I do, Louise! Why couldn’t it be:All for one, one for all?”
“If the men were close friends, that would be fairly logical. But the words we have to juggle don’t make such a sentence, Penny.”
“Obviously there must be a fourth sailor whose tattoo includes the words, ‘for all,’” argued Penny. “Then it would fit perfectly.”
“Just because four men were pals, you think they would have such nonsense tattooed on their backs?”
“That’s my theory.”
“If you’re right, then the mystery is solved.”
“Far from it,” corrected Penny. “I haven’t learned who pushed John Munn from the bridge or why. You remember how Anchor Joe talked about someone who had ‘ratted’? The four of them must have been in on a scheme, and one man betrayed his comrades.”
“Better bridle that imagination before it takes you for too wild a ride,” chuckled Louise.
“Then you think there’s nothing to my theory?” Penny demanded in an injured tone.
“I think that if you speculate upon it much longer we’ll never get any work done,” Louise replied, turning once more to her typewriter. “These headlines must be composed if ever we expect to get another paper on the street.”
Disappointed that her chum did not take the matter more seriously, Penny went to consult Old Horney in the composing room. The pressman had proven to be worth many times the small salary which the girls paid him. Not only had he made the rotary presses ready for service, but he had cleaned and oiled every useable piece of machinery in the building. Eagerly he awaited the day when Penny would print theWeeklyin her own plant.
“Everything’s all set,” he told her with a worshipful grin. “Whenever you give the word, we can go to press.”
“That’s fine,” Penny praised. “Louise and I have been having a few difficulties, financial and otherwise. But I hope it won’t be long now.”
She talked with Old Horney about various technical problems, then returned to her desk. Slipping a sheet of paper into her typewriter, she composed a letter to a well known steamship, theDorasky.
Slipping it into her pocket, she opened the door of Louise’s office.
“Do you mind staying here alone for awhile?”
“No, of course not. Where are you going?”
“To mail an important letter. Then I want to drive out to Fenestra’s farm and see Mrs. Weems.”
“I’ll look after everything until you get back,” Louise promised. She glanced curiously at the letter but did not ask to whom it was directed.
Penny dropped the stamped envelope into a convenient corner mailbox, and then drove toward the outskirts of the city. Nearing Drexel Boulevard it suddenly occurred to her that she never had found time to revisit Matthew Judson’s home.
“Pauletta owes me an explanation for the way she acted the other day,” she thought. “I have a notion to stop and see if she’s alone.”
Penny impulsively spun the wheel, and followed the boulevard to the Judson home. The iron gate stood open. She drove through, up the curve of cement to the house.
In response to her knock, an untidy colored maid admitted her to a dark, dusty living room. As she awaited Pauletta, her wandering gaze noted a number of significant details. The walls had not been decorated in many years, upholstered furniture had assumed a moth-eaten appearance, and the entire room seemed spiritless.
Pauletta came slowly down the circular stairway. She hesitated as she recognized Penny, but could not retreat.
“How do you do,” she said somewhat stiffly. “Nice of you to call.”
“I think you know why I came,” said Penny. “We were unable to talk when I was here before.”
“I’ve told you all there was to it,” Pauletta declared, seating herself opposite the girl. “Frankly, I can’t see that the affair is any of your concern. I wore the disguise because I didn’t wish to be recognized on board theGoodtime.”
“Your explanation isn’t very satisfactory, I’m afraid. Tillie Fellows is staying at our home now.”
“What of it?”
“She was robbed that night on the boat.”
“We discussed it before,” Miss Judson said in exasperation. “You insult me by suggesting that I may have snatched the girl’s pocketbook! Why should I steal when my father is wealthy? I’ve always had everything I want.”
“I should like very much to believe you,” said Penny quietly. “But unless you are willing to offer a complete explanation, I am afraid I can’t.”
“Very well, if I must, I’ll tell,” Miss Judson replied angrily. “You may have read in the newspapers that I am engaged to marry Major Howard Atchley?”
“The story escaped me.”
“I admire Howard very much,” resumed Pauletta, still in an icy tone. “He comes from an excellent family, is well-to-do, and in Father’s opinion will make me a good husband.”
“Your opinion differs?” Penny inquired softly.
“I do not love Howard, and I never shall. On the night you saw me aboard theGoodtimeI had gone with another friend of mine, Carl Feldman, intending to enjoy the excursion trip.”
“Your father knew nothing about it?”
“I told him I was going with another girl.”
“Oh, I see.”
“There was nothing wrong about it,” Pauletta said irritably. “But I’m fairly well known. I realized that if I were recognized, Father or Howard might learn about it. Then there would be trouble, for Howard is a very jealous person.”
“So you resorted to the wig and glasses?”
“Yes, that was my sole reason. Major Atchley met me at the boat. Before joining him I threw the bundle of clothing into the river. Now are you satisfied with my explanation?”
“I am,” said Penny. “In fact, I never believed that you had robbed Tillie.”
“You certainly acted that way.”
“Perhaps, I only wanted to learn the truth.”
Miss Judson did not reply. Her cold stare made it evident that she disliked Penny and regarded her as a meddler.
“Is there anything else you wish to know?” she asked after a lengthy silence.
“Nothing, Miss Judson. I was only thinking that I would like to help you and your father.”
“Thank you. We don’t require assistance.”
“Perhaps you don’t,” said Penny, “but your father needs friends. He admitted to me that if it weren’t for you he would be tempted to end everything.”
The words stunned Pauletta. “Father never said that!” she exclaimed.
“He did.”
“I can’t believe it. Why, Father’s the most cheerful person in the world!”
“In your presence, possibly. The loss of theMorning Pressmust have been a heavy blow to him.”
“Father wasn’t forced to give up the paper,” Pauletta protested. “He did it because he was tired of working so hard.”
“Was that what he told you?”
“Why, yes. I know of no other reason.”
“The general belief seems to be that your father speculated on the stock market, losing large sums of money.”
“That can’t be true,” denied Pauletta. “To my knowledge Father never gambled. He may have bought a few stocks from time to time, but only for investment.”
“Then you feel sure he did not dispose of thePressbecause he needed money?”
Pauletta hesitated before she answered. “It never occurred to me before, but Father has been rather close the past year. I thought it was sheer carelessness when he let this place run down. He always gave me everything I wanted.”
“Why does he favor your marriage to the Major?”
“Perhaps money does enter into it,” Pauletta said slowly. “Many times Father has reminded me that I would have every luxury as Howard’s wife.”
“Your friend Carl is poor?”
“He has a fairly good position, but not much money. Father always seemed to like Carl. That was why I couldn’t understand when he asked me not to see him again.”
“I am sure your father thinks only of your welfare.”
“But I would rather marry Carl and be poor always than to have riches with Howard.”
“You’ve not told your father that?”
“Why, no. It never occurred to me that money had influenced him.”
“There’s another rumor,” said Penny. “I suppose I shouldn’t mention it.”
“I wish you would.”
“I’ve heard it said that your father disposed of thePressbecause he had been blackmailed.”
“By whom?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. It was only a rumor.”
“There may be truth in it,” Pauletta replied in a low voice. “You’ve opened my eyes, Miss Parker. I’ve been very blind.”
“Then you think someone may have forced your father to pay money?”
“I don’t know. But Father has acted strangely ever since he gave up the paper. Once a month, on the fourth, he receives a visit from a queer looking man. Always he tries to get me out of the house before the fellow comes.”
“Don’t you know his name?”
“No, Father has never told me. The man seldom stays longer than ten minutes.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Not very well because I never saw him at close range. I should say he’s middle-aged, dark and cruel looking. Not at all the sort Father would choose for a friend.”
“Your father offers no explanation as to why the man comes?”
“None. He refuses to discuss the subject. I’ve noticed, though, that for days after the fellow leaves he’s very nervous and uneasy.”
“Excuse me for asking so many questions, Miss Judson, but do you know of any reason why your father might be blackmailed?”
“No, I don’t. I am sure he’s never been involved in anything dishonorable.”
Penny had no more to tell, and she was convinced that Pauletta had given a truthful account of the situation. Feeling that she was not particularly welcome, she arose to leave.
“I am glad you came,” Pauletta said, extending her hand. “Please excuse my rudeness. There were so many things I failed to understand.”
“You must forgive me, too,” replied Penny. “I didn’t mean to meddle. I truly want to help your father.”
“I wish I could help him, too,” said Pauletta in a troubled voice. “In the past I fear I’ve been very selfish and inconsiderate.”
“There’s a way to help if you’re willing to do it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You say that on the fourth of each month a man comes here to see your father. If you tried could you learn his name?”
“I might drop in upon them at an awkward moment, compelling Father to introduce me.”
“Are you willing to do it?”
“Why, yes, but I fail to see what will be gained.”
“Perhaps nothing, perhaps a great deal,” replied Penny. “If the man is a blackmailer, it should help for us to know his name.”
“I’ll learn what I can.”
“Then until the fourth, good-bye. And please, not a word to Mr. Judson. We must work secretly.”
Reflecting upon the information given her by Pauletta, Penny drove on toward Peter Fenestra’s home. A quarter of a mile away she parked the car, and set off afoot, hoping to attract no attention should the owner be at home.
It was well that she took the precaution. She was three hundred yards from the grounds when suddenly she saw a man emerge from behind the barn. At a glance she observed that he was too short to be Peter Fenestra.
As Penny paused to watch, the man moved stealthily across the yard to the front door of the farmhouse. His face turned slightly in her direction, and she recognized Anchor Joe.
“What can he be doing here?” she thought in amazement.
The question soon was answered. Glancing quickly about, Anchor Joe dropped a white envelope on the front porch. Then he pounded several times on the door before darting to the shelter of the lilac bushes.
Several minutes elapsed before the door was opened by Peter Fenestra. He glanced alertly about the yard, and then his gaze fell upon the envelope. Penny heard him mutter to himself as he picked it up.
Fenestra’s face became convulsed with rage as he tore open the flap and saw the message. Still muttering, he crumpled the paper and thrust it into his pocket. Entering the house, he slammed the door.
With Peter at home Penny dared not try to see Mrs. Weems. As she hesitated, debating, Anchor Joe came from his hiding place. He did not see the girl.
“Joe!” she called softly.
The sailor turned. Recognizing her, he ran in the opposite direction across the yard. Keeping low behind a hedge, he started toward the river.
“Joe! Come back!” Penny called again.
Paying no heed, the sailor fled through the fields. Soon he was hidden by tall trees and bushes.
Penny felt deeply disturbed, wondering if Anchor Joe made a practice of watching the Fenestra home. She was inclined to believe that this had not been his first visit there.
Unexpectedly the farmhouse door swung open. Penny barely had time to step behind a large maple before Peter Fenestra came down the path. He went directly to the barn, and a few minutes later backed out his automobile.
“Good!” thought Penny. “He’s likely driving to Riverview. Now I can talk to Mrs. Weems without fear of interruption.”
As soon as the car had disappeared down the main road, she ran to the kitchen door and knocked. When it was not opened immediately, she thrust her head inside and called the housekeeper’s name.
“Here I am,” answered Mrs. Weems, hurrying from the dining room. “I hope you’ve come to take me home, Penny Parker!”
“No, only to receive your report.” Penny sank into a chair beside the stove. “You don’t act very pleased with your new job.”
“It’s a dreadful place. I was crazy to say I would stay here.”
“Haven’t you learned anything?”
“I’ve learned that Peter Fenestra is one of the most disagreeable men I ever met in my life! There’s no satisfying him. He requires a slave, not a housekeeper!”
“But what about the storm cave?” Penny asked. “Were you able to find out what Fenestra stores in it?”
“Of course not. The padlock always is locked, and he keeps the key in his pocket.”
“But he does have something hidden there?” Penny questioned eagerly. “He goes down into it at night?”
“I’ve seen him enter the cave once since I came here.”
“When was that?”
“Last night after I had gone to bed. I heard the door close, so I went to the window and watched.”
“How long did he stay there, Mrs. Weems?”
“About three hours I’d judge. It was after two o’clock when he returned to his room.”
“Whatcanhe have hidden in the cave?”
“Nothing in my opinion,” declared Mrs. Weems. “I think he cooks something. At least he builds a fire.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I could see smoke seeping out from the cracks of the cave door.”
Penny frowned. “I can’t guess what he could be cooking,” she said. “Surely he doesn’t have a still down there.”
“I doubt it very much. Probably you’ve built up a great mystery about nothing.”
Pouring hot water over the dishes, Mrs. Weems began to wash them. Penny picked up a towel and automatically wiped and stacked them away.
“I didn’t imagine that this house was being watched,” she replied. “Only a few minutes ago I saw Anchor Joe steal to the door and leave a letter for Mr. Fenestra.”
“Anchor Joe!”
“Mr. Moyer never caught him it seems. But why should the fellow come here? What message did he leave Fenestra?”
“I heard a knock on the front door,” Mrs. Weems admitted. “Fenestra answered it, and when he came back into the kitchen he was in a dreadful temper.”
“The letter upset him?”
“I didn’t know he had received one.”
“Yes, Anchor Joe left it on the doorstep. It may have been a threatening note. I’d give a lot to know.”
“Fenestra has been very nervous since I came here,” Mrs. Weems contributed. “If he hears any unusual sound in the yard he immediately becomes alert.”
“As if he were afraid for his life?”
“Yes, he does act that way. I doubt if he’ll stay here much longer. His clothes are all packed in suitcases.”
“Thatisimportant information,” declared Penny. “Oh, dear, if only we knew why he’s being threatened, and why he intends to leave! I believe I’ll go upstairs and inspect his room.”
“You’ll learn nothing there,” responded Mrs. Weems. “Fenestra is a careful man. He leaves no papers lying about.”
“It will do no harm to look.”
Penny climbed the creaking stairs and was followed by Mrs. Weems.
“This is his room,” said the housekeeper, opening a door. “I haven’t made the bed yet.”
She busied herself smoothing covers while Penny wandered about. The room had no rug. It was furnished with an old fashioned dresser, a wash stand and a bed with a high headboard.
Penny opened the closet door. The hangers were dangling together, without clothing. Everything had been packed into two suitcases which stood against the wall.
“I’ve already inspected the luggage,” said Mrs. Weems as the girl bent to open one of the bags. “You’ll find nothing except clothing. I tell you, Peter Fenestra is a very cautious man.”
“I can believe it,” agreed Penny. “This room is as bare of evidence as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.”
“Just what do you hope to find?”
“Well, I don’t know. What’s this?” Penny picked up a sheet of notebook paper from the dresser.
“Don’t get excited over that,” laughed Mrs. Weems.