Having delivered his ultimatum, Mr. Parker quietly withdrew.
Penny had lost her appetite for breakfast. Feeling much abused she banged out the kitchen door into the yard. Her first act was to inspect the gasoline tanks of both Leaping Lena and the maroon car. As she had feared, the combined fuel supply did not equal three gallons.
“There’s just about fifty-five miles between me and misery,” she reflected grimly. “I wouldn’t dare siphon gas out of Dad’s car or ask for credit at a filling station either!”
Wandering around to the front porch, she sat down on the steps. One of her high school boy friends pedalled past on his bicycle, calling a cheery greeting. Penny barely responded.
Presently a milk wagon clattered to a stop in front of the house. The driver came up the walk with his rack of milk bottles. Penny eyed him speculatively.
“We have a lot of old bottles in the basement,” she greeted him. “Does your company pay for them?”
“Sorry,” he declined. “We use only our own stamped bottles. There’s no deposit charge. Customers are expected to return them without rebate.”
The driver left a quart of milk on the back doorstep of the Parker home. In walking to his wagon, he paused beside Penny, remarking:
“Maybe you could sell your old bottles to a second-hand dealer. I saw one on the next street about five minutes ago.”
“Where?” Penny demanded, jumping to her feet.
“He was on Fulton Avenue when I drove past.”
Thanking the driver, Penny ran as fast as her stiff limbs would permit to the next street corner. Far up the avenue she saw a battered old car of the second-hand man. Hurrying on, she reached the automobile just as its owner came from a house carrying an armful of corded newspapers.
“Excuse me,” she called eagerly, “do you buy old bottles?”
The man turned toward her, doffing his derby hat.
“Good morning, Miss,” he said. “I buy newspapers, old furniture, rubber tires, copper, brass, or gold, but not bottles.”
Penny scarcely heard the discouraging information for she was staring at the man as if his appearance fascinated her. For a moment she could not think where she had seen him before. And then suddenly she remembered.
“Why, I saw you at Mrs. Marborough’s place!” she exclaimed. “You’re the one person who has been inside the house! I want you to tell me all about it.”
Mr. Butterworth, the second-hand dealer, scarcely knew what to make of Penny’s abrupt request.
“Tell me how the house looks inside,” she requested as he remained mute. “Is it as handsome as folks say?”
“You are a friend of Mrs. Marborough?” the man inquired, cocking his head sideways as he regarded the girl.
“Of course.”
“Then why do you not ask Mrs. Marborough that question?”
“Because she never invites anyone into her house,” Penny explained patiently. “You’re the only person to get in so far as I know. I’ll venture she sold you something. Am I right?”
“Maybe so,” Mr. Butterworth grinned. “My lips, they are sealed.”
“Sealed?”
“I promise Mrs. Marborough I tell nothing of what I see in the house.”
“Then there is something mysterious going on there!” Penny exclaimed. “Tell me, why did you go to the house?”
“Mrs. Marborough sent for me.”
“But why?” Penny demanded, exasperated because she could learn nothing of importance. “Did Mrs. Marborough sell you something?”
“Maybe so, maybe not,” the second-hand man answered, climbing into his overloaded car. “You ask her.”
Penny watched him drive away, and then returned to her own doorstep. She was listlessly throwing acorns at a squirrel when Louise Sidell came down the street, dressed in her Sunday best.
“What’s the matter, Penny?” she inquired, roving over to the porch. “How do you feel this morning?”
“Lower than the center of the earth. I’ve lost my reputation with Dad, my allowance, and my initiative. If I had a nickel I’d go drown myself in a coke!”
“What you need is a nice adventure,” Louise said mischievously. “How about a trip out to Mrs. Marborough’s tomorrow night?”
“I’ve had enough of wells!”
“Penny, you don’t mean it!” Louise grinned. “After discovering those loose bricks, you’ll just forget about them?”
“Why not?” Penny demanded wildly. “Dad won’t let me leave the house at night any more without a six thousand page report on where I am going. If I so much as mention Mrs. Marborough’s well, he’ll clap on a double punishment.”
“You can manage it somehow,” Louise declared with confidence. “I’ll meet you tomorrow night about eight-thirty.”
“Maybe,” Penny said gloomily.
Throughout the day she tried to win favor with both Mrs. Weems and her father by doing small things to please them. When the housekeeper came home from church, dinner awaited her. Penny insisted upon doing the dishes. She straightened the kitchen, she brought her father his bedroom slippers, and refrained from turning on the radio while he was reading. The schedule was a trying one for her, but she kept it up faithfully all day Sunday and until after dinner on Monday. Then came the denouement upon which she pinned her hopes.
“Dad,” she said demurely, leaning on the chair arm and stroking his hair, “with your kind permission I should like to absent myself from the house for a few minutes.”
“Where do you plan to go?” he asked, trying to act stern.
Penny was prepared for the question. From her pocket she whisked a lengthy typewritten paper, handsomely decorated with a diagram.
“What’s this?” Mr. Parker asked, his lips twitching slightly.
“Merely a report on my proposed movements for the next hour. At eight-thirty I hope to be at Louise’s house. Eight thirty-four should find me on Adams Street, moving southward. At eight thirty-eight I pass Gulbert Park—”
“Never mind,” Mr. Parker interrupted. “I see by this lengthy document that your ultimate destination is Mrs. Marborough’s estate. Isn’t it rather late to pay a social call?”
“Eight-thirty?”
“What does this X on the map represent?” the publisher asked, his interest shifting.
“Oh that?” smiled Penny. “Merely one of the fixtures in Mrs. Marborough’s yard. Louise and I think treasure may be hidden there.”
Amused by what he took to be his daughter’s whimsy, Mr. Parker returned the diagram to her.
“Do I have your permission to leave the house?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes, you may go,” he agreed. “But mind, no late hours. And no more tall tales about falling into wells!”
Louise was waiting for Penny in the Sidell yard and the girls went as quickly as they could to the Marborough estate. The house was completely dark, leading them to believe that the widow might have absented herself for the evening.
“We’ll have to be especially careful,” Louise warned as they approached the old wishing well. “She might return at any moment and find us.”
Penny had brought the silken ladder, extra rope, a flashlight and a suit of warm coveralls which her father used when he worked on the car. Donning the bulky garment, she prepared to descend a few feet into the well.
“Do be careful,” Louise said anxiously. “If you should fall you might kill yourself.”
“You think of the most cheerful things,” Penny muttered, climbing nimbly down the swaying ladder. “I’m not taking any chances though. I’ll tie myself to the ladder with this extra piece of rope.”
After she had gained the position she desired, Louise handed down the flashlight. Penny carefully inspected the brick wall.
“I believe it is an opening!” she reported jubilantly. “I really do. Here, take this flash. I can’t work and hold it.”
While Louise directed the beam from above, Penny tugged at the bricks. Unable to move them, she called for a tool which she had brought with her. By means of it, she easily pried one of the bricks loose. Pushing her arm through the opening, she encountered only empty space.
“It’s a little tunnel I think!” she shouted to Louise. “Take this brick, and I’ll try to pry out others!”
Within ten minutes Penny had handed up enough of them to make a large pile beside the flagstones.
“Do you realize you’re practically destroying Mrs. Marborough’s well!” Louise said uneasily. “How will we ever explain this?”
“I can put the bricks back again,” Penny assured her. “They were meant to come out. Now, the flashlight again.”
Balancing herself precariously on the ladder, she directed the light through the opening she had created. A long narrow tunnel which she judged to be about five feet below the ground, extended as far as she could see.
“I’m going to try to get in there!” she called to Louise. “Toss me a life preserver if I fail!”
Calculating the space, Penny swung her feet from the ladder to the ledge. Retaining an arm hold on the ropes, she edged herself backwards into the hole.
“It’s much easier than it looks,” she called encouragingly to her chum. “Come on, if you want to explore.”
Louise hesitated, and then daringly climbed down into the well. Penny helped her from the ladder into the tunnel.
“Where do you suppose this leads?” Louise gasped.
“Maybe to the house,” Penny speculated. “I know lots of these old places had escapes made so that in time of war or Indian attacks, the householders could get away. Never heard of a tunnel opening into a well though!”
The bricked passageway was so low that for the first twelve feet the girls were forced to crawl on hands and knees. Gradually, the tunnel deepened until they were able to walk in a stooped position.
“We’re coming to the end of it,” Penny presently announced.
Directly in front of her was a heavy door which showed the effects of age. It did not move easily, but together, the girls were able to swing it open.
“Where in the world are we?” Louise murmured in perplexity.
Penny flashed her light directly ahead. A series of four steps led down from the tunnel into an empty room which barely was six feet across. So far as she could see it had no exit.
“It looks as if we’re at the end of the trail,” Louise remarked in disappointment.
“This must be part of the Marborough house,” Penny declared, descending the steps into the tiny room.
“But there’s no way out of it except through the tunnel!”
“There must be if we can find it,” Penny insisted.
Wandering about the room she began to explore the walls, and Louise followed her example. Their search was rewarded, for presently they discovered a small brass knob embedded in the rough board paneling. Penny pulled on it and a section of wall slid back.
“Now we’re really in the Marborough house!” she whispered excitedly. “The basement, I think.”
Stepping through the opening, the girls made no sound as they tiptoed around in the dark, damp room. Penny’s flashlight revealed that the walls had been boarded over, but there was no solid foundation beneath their feet, only a hard dirt floor. A steep stairway led up from the basement.
“Do you suppose Mrs. Marborough is here?” Penny whispered, listening.
There was no sound from above.
“Shall we go upstairs, or back the way we came?” she asked her chum.
“Let’s risk being caught,” Louise decided after a moment’s hesitation. “I’d rather be sent to jail for house breaking than to climb into that well again.”
Huddling together, the girls crept up the stairway. The landing was blocked by another door. Penny tested it, and finding it unlocked, pushed it gently open. Again they listened.
“The coast is clear,” Louise whispered. “I’m sure Mrs. Marborough isn’t here.”
Penny stepped across the threshold, tense with anticipation. Ever since Mrs. Marborough’s arrival in Riverview she had longed to see the interior of the grand old mansion. And now, through a strange quirk of adventure, her ambition was to be gratified.
Slowly she allowed the flashlight beam to play over the walls of the room. There were several pictures in massive gold frames, leading her to think that she had entered a library or living room. Systematically, she continued to move the light about in search of furniture. So far as she could see there was none.
“The room is empty!” Louise whispered at her elbow.
A board squeaked beneath their weight as the girls tiptoed to a doorway opening into a still larger room.
“This must be the living room,” Penny decided, observing a beautiful, circular stairway which rose to the second floor.
“But where is the furniture?” demanded Louise in bewilderment.
Penny’s light cut squares across the room, but the only objects revealed were a chair and a table drawn close to the fireplace.
“What can this mean?” Louise gasped. “The house always has been furnished. Now everything is gone.”
Penny did not answer. The sound of shuffling feet on the front porch caused both girls to freeze against the wall. Before they could retreat to the basement stairs, the living room door opened. Light from a street lamp cut a path across the bare floor.
Mrs. Marborough stood framed in the doorway. The girls had made no sound, yet the mistress of Rose Acres seemed to sense that she was not alone.
“Who is it?” she called sharply. “Speak up! Who is hiding here?”
In frightened voices Penny and Louise acknowledged their presence in the dark room. Greatly relieved that the intruders were girls, Mrs. Marborough struck a match and lighted three half-burned candles which were set in a huge glass candelabra.
“Oh, so it’s you!” she exclaimed as the flickering light fell upon their faces. “May I ask why you have broken into my house?”
“We’re thoroughly ashamed of ourselves, Mrs. Marborough,” Penny said apologetically.
“Indeed we are,” added Louise. “When we started to investigate the wishing well we didn’t intend to enter the house.”
“Suppose you explain,” suggested the mistress of Rose Acres.
“It’s a long story,” sighed Penny. “May we sit down somewhere?”
The request embarrassed Mrs. Marborough. She hesitated, and then indicated that the girls were to follow her. To their surprise she led them through another empty room to the kitchen, there lighting a candle. Its soft illumination revealed an old oil stove, several chairs, a porcelain table and a cot which obviously served both as a day couch and bed.
Mrs. Marborough offered no explanation or apology. Taking wood from a box, she piled it into the fireplace, and soon had a cheerful blaze on the hearth.
Drawing their chairs to the fire, Penny and Louise explained how they had entered the old mansion. Mrs. Marborough listened attentively to their story but did not appear especially surprised.
“I’ve always known about that old tunnel,” she said when they had finished. “It was built by the first owner of this house, many, many years ago, and I doubt if it ever was used. I tried to find the entrance from the basement a few days ago, but was unable to locate it.”
“We saw you with your lantern at the wishing well,” Louise confessed. “That was what aroused our curiosity.”
“I was looking for the other tunnel entrance. I found it without much trouble, but it was so deep down in the well that I dared not risk trying to get into it. Although I considered hiring a man, I hesitated, because I knew it would cause talk.”
Penny and Louise were feeling much more at ease, sensing that the mistress of Rose Acres no longer was irritated by their actions. Eagerly they waited for her to reveal more.
“I suppose you think me a queer old lady,” Mrs. Marborough resumed. “Perhaps I am, but I have a very good reason for some of the things I do. I came to Riverview to search for something which has been lost many years.”
“Something hidden during the Civil War?” inquired Louise breathlessly.
“No, my dear, an object secreted by my sister, Virginia. Since you girls already have learned so much I will tell you all. Perhaps you have heard of the Marborough pearls?”
Penny and Louise shook their heads.
“I forget that you are so very young,” Mrs. Marborough said. “Your mothers would remember. At any rate, the necklace was handed down in our family for many generations, always to the daughter who was the first to marry. Virginia, my younger sister, dreamed and hoped that the pearls would go to her. Naturally, I shared a similar desire. As it came about, I was the first of the family to marry.”
“Then you received the necklace?” Louise commented.
“It should have gone to me, but my sister was determined I never should win such a victory over her. In a fit of anger she hid the pearls. Father tried to force her to tell what she had done with them, but she was very headstrong. She ran away from home, married a scamp, and sailed with him to South America. She died there less than two years after my own marriage.”
“What became of the pearls?” Penny asked eagerly.
“Our family believed that she took the necklace with her. For many years we assumed that Virginia’s worthless husband had obtained possession of it. He denied any knowledge of the pearls, but we never accepted his story as true. Then, a few weeks ago, a letter came from South America. It had been written by Virginia’s husband shortly before his death.”
“He confessed to the theft of the necklace?” Louise asked, trying to speed the story.
“No, indeed. He merely enclosed a letter written by Virginia years before. It was addressed to me, and had never been sent, because her husband deliberately withheld it. Just selfish and cantankerous, that man was! The letter told where the pearls had been hidden. I imagine that Virginia’s husband had planned to gain possession of them someday, but fate defeated him. So on his death bed he sent me the original letter which I should have received forty years earlier.”
“Where were the pearls hidden?” Penny questioned, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “You haven’t found them yet?”
“No, and I doubt that I ever shall,” Mrs. Marborough sighed. “Virginia’s letter was not very definite. She begged my forgiveness for having caused so much trouble, and said that she had hidden the necklace near the old wishing well.”
“Didn’t she tell you where?” Louise asked in disappointment.
“There were several words which had been blotted with ink. I suspect Virginia’s husband did it to prevent anyone but himself from learning the hiding place. Then when he finally sent the letter to me, he may have forgotten what he had done. That’s only my guess, of course. As the letter reads, my only clue is that the pearls were hidden near the wishing well.”
“That explains why you were removing the flagstones the other night,” Louise remarked.
“Yes, I’ve searched everywhere I can think of except in the old tunnel. When you girls went through it tonight, did you notice anything unusual?”
“No hiding place,” Penny replied. “Of course we weren’t looking for anything of the sort. If we could explore the passageway by daylight—”
“Can’t we help you find the pearls, Mrs. Marborough?” Louise interrupted. “It would be such fun searching for them.”
“I’ll be very happy to have your help,” the old lady said, smiling. “Upon one condition. You must tell no one. Already I am the laughing stock of Riverview and if this latest story should get around everyone would talk.”
Penny and Louise promptly assured her that they would tell no one about the pearls.
“Another thing—” Mrs. Marborough hesitated and then went on. “I suppose you understand now why I never invited you into the house. It wasn’t that I meant to be inhospitable.”
“Because the place isn’t fixed up?” Louise came to her aid. “Why, Penny and I would have thought nothing of it. This is a cozy kitchen with a cheerful fire. I think it’s nice.”
“I probably shan’t be here long. My purpose in returning to Riverview was to find the pearls. I’ve nearly made up my mind that they are lost forever.”
“Oh, don’t say that!” Penny cried. “Tomorrow, with your permission, Louise and I will explore the tunnel. We may have luck.”
“I shall be very glad to have your help, my dear.” Again Mrs. Marborough groped for words and finished awkwardly: “Please, I beg of you, don’t tell anyone what you have seen tonight, particularly the barren state of this house.”
“We understand,” Penny said gravely.
The fire had burned low. Mindful that they must be home early, the girls bade Mrs. Marborough goodbye, promising to return the following day. Once outside the mansion, they paused beside a tree so that Penny might remove the heavy coveralls which she still wore over her frock.
“What a night!” she murmured happily.
“For once, Penny, one of your crazy adventures turned out beautifully,” Louise praised. “We’ll have a wonderful time searching for that necklace! She’s certainly queer though.”
“Mrs. Marborough?”
“Yes, imagine being so sensitive about how the interior of her house looks. Who would expect it to be fixed up nicely after standing empty so many years?”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Penny asked. She hopped grotesquely on one foot as she extricated the other from the coveralls.
“Forgetting what?” Louise demanded, puzzled.
“Remember that first day we peeped into the house through the window?”
“Why, yes, what about it?”
“Your memory isn’t very good, Louise. Don’t you remember the sheet-draped furniture we saw?”
“That’s right! I had forgotten. What became of it?”
“If I had just one guess, I’d say—Mr. Butterworth.”
“Who is he, Penny?”
“A second-hand dealer who buys old furniture, newspapers, rubber tires—everything except bottles.”
“Not that funny looking man we saw enter this house the other day!”
“The same. Louise, it’s my guess that Mrs. Marborough sold all of her valuable antiques—probably for a fraction of their true worth.”
“How foolish of her. Why would she do that?”
“Don’t you understand?” Penny asked patiently. “There can be but one explanation. Mrs. Marborough isn’t wealthy any more. She’s living in dire poverty and trying to keep people from learning the truth.”
The realization that in all likelihood Mrs. Marborough had sold her valuable antiques to the second-hand dealer was disconcerting to Louise as well as Penny. They did not believe that Mr. Butterworth would pay a fractional part of the furniture’s true value, and apparently the widow’s only reason for parting with her treasures was an urgent need for money.
“Of course, I may have guessed wrong about it,” Penny admitted as she and Louise started toward home. “Just to check up, I’ll call at Mr. Butterworth’s shop tomorrow and see what I can learn.”
“I wish we dared tell someone about the condition of the house,” Louise said thoughtfully. “Why, if Mrs. Marborough is in need, Mother would help.”
“So would Mrs. Weems,” added Penny. “But we gave our promise not to reveal anything we saw. For the time-being, our hands are tied.”
The events of the night had made the girls eager to return again to Rose Acres to search for the missing pearl necklace. They agreed that immediately after school the next afternoon they would call upon Mr. Butterworth and then keep their appointment with the widow.
“Remember, we mustn’t tell anyone what we have learned,” Penny warned as she parted company with her chum. “Not even Rhoda.”
Throughout the following day, both girls were so excited that they found it all but impossible to study. When the closing bell finally brought release, they bolted from the school building before any of their classmates could detain them.
“I have the address of Mr. Butterworth’s shop,” Penny said, consulting a paper. “It’s not far from here.”
The building proved to be a typical second-hand store with old tables and chairs piled in the windows along with cut glass and bric-a-brac. Entering, the girls wandered about until a woman asked them if they were searching for anything in particular.
“We’re interested in furniture,” Penny explained. “Old pieces—antiques if we can find them.”
“Come into the back room,” the woman invited. “Mr. Butterworth bought a number of pieces just a few days ago. From one of Riverview’s best homes too.”
“Where was that?” inquired Louise.
“I didn’t hear him mention the name. It was from a house that has been closed many years. The owner returned only a short time ago and is closing out everything.”
The girls did not doubt that the furniture under discussion had been obtained from Rose Acres. They were certain of it as they viewed rosewood and mahogany chairs, imported mirrors, porcelain ornaments, massive four-poster beds, sofas with damaged coverings, and handsome chests and bureaus. Penny ventured to price a few of the items. The amount asked was so low that she knew Mr. Butterworth had paid an extremely small sum to the widow. Making an excuse for not purchasing, she and Louise escaped to the street.
“There’s no question about it,” Penny declared as they set off for Rose Acres. “Mrs. Marborough sold her beautiful things to Mr. Butterworth.”
“He can’t appreciate their value or he never would offer them at such low prices,” Louise added. “Anyone who buys those things will obtain wonderful bargains.”
Penny nodded soberly. Lost in thought, she had little to say until the girls drew near Rose Acres.
“Don’t let on to Mrs. Marborough that we’ve learned about the furniture,” she warned. “It’s really none of our affair if she sells her belongings.”
The widow had been expecting the girls and had everything in readiness to explore the tunnel. While they searched it from end to end, she waited hopefully at the wishing well.
“Have you found anything?” she called several times.
“Not yet,” Penny would reply patiently.
She and Louise laboriously examined every inch of the bricked passageway but with fading hope. The walls were firm, giving no indication that anything ever had been hidden behind or within them. To have excavated the hard-packed dirt flooring was a task not to be considered at the moment.
“There’s nothing here,” Penny whispered to her chum. “I doubt that the pearls ever were hidden in this tunnel.”
“Mrs. Marborough will be terribly disappointed,” Louise replied in an undertone. “What shall we tell her?”
“We can pretend to keep on searching. Maybe if we prowl about this place for a few days, we’ll have luck.”
“The pearls were hidden near the wishing well. We have that much to go on.”
“They may have disappeared years ago,” Penny contributed pessimistically. “To tell you the truth, I don’t feel very hopeful about ever finding them.”
Leaving the tunnel by means of the easier exit, the girls emerged into the basement. They were preparing to climb the stairs to the first floor when Mrs. Marborough’s voice reached their ears almost as plainly as if she were in the cellar.
“Louise! Penny! Are you all right?”
Startled by the clearness of the call, the girls paused on the stairway.
“Why, her voice came through as plainly as if she were in this room!” Louise exclaimed. “You don’t suppose Mrs. Marborough has ventured into the passageway?”
Thoroughly alarmed, the girls raced up the stairway and out of the house into the yard. To their relief they saw Mrs. Marborough standing by the wishing well, peering anxiously down.
“Oh, here you are!” she murmured as they ran up. “I was beginning to get worried. The last time I called you did not answer.”
“We were down in the basement,” Penny explained. “Mrs. Marborough, your voice came through to us as plainly as if you were in the passage.”
The disclosure did not seem to surprise the widow, for she smiled and said:
“I’ve always known that sound carried from the well to the house. In fact, in past years I found it amusing to listen to conversations carried on by persons who never dreamed that their words were overheard.”
“Then that explains why so many wishes which were made here at the well came true!” Penny cried. “You were the Good Fairy behind it all.”
“Oh, now and then, if it pleased my fancy, I arranged to have a wish granted,” Mrs. Marborough acknowledged, smiling grimly. “That was in the days when I had money—” she broke off and ended—“more than I have now, I mean.”
“Mrs. Marborough, you must have heard those wishes we made the day of your return to Riverview,” Penny said after a moment. “Were you responsible for sending a basket of food to Rhoda’s people?”
“I am afraid I was.”
“And did you grant Rhoda’s second wish?” Louise asked quickly. “Did you have anything to do with getting her brother, Ted, a job?”
“Judge Harlan is an old friend of mine,” Mrs. Marborough explained. “I merely wrote him a note suggesting that he would do me a favor by helping the boy if he found him worthy.”
Although the widow’s admission cleared up much of the mystery which had surrounded the old wishing well, Louise and Penny were dumbfounded, nevertheless. Never once had anyone in Riverview connected Mrs. Marborough with a particularly charitable deed.
As if guessing their thoughts, the woman said sharply:
“Now mind, I’ll not have you telling this around the town! I’m through with all such silly business, and I don’t propose to have busybodies discuss whether or not I am addle-brained!”
“Why, Mrs. Marborough!” protested Louise. “It was a kind, generous thing to do.”
“Generous, fiddlesticks! I did it because it pleased me and for no other reason. Let’s not talk about it any more.”
Mrs. Marborough questioned the girls concerning their exploration of the tunnel. Her disappointment over the failure to find the pearls was keen but she tried not to show it.
“I knew it was a fool’s errand coming to Riverview to look for that stupid necklace!” she declared. “Like as not, it never was hidden at Rose Acres, my sister’s letter to the contrary. I intend to forget about the whole affair.”
“Oh, Mrs. Marborough, don’t give up so soon,” Penny pleaded. “Louise and I have only started to search. We may find it yet.”
“You’ve been very nice,” the widow said, smiling almost in a friendly way. “I’ll remember it always when I am far away.”
“Then you intend to leave Riverview?” Louise asked in disappointment.
“I must sell Rose Acres. I have no other course open.”
“Not to Jay Franklin, I hope!” Penny exclaimed.
“I have no intention of dealing with him if anyone else will make an offer. So far I have found no other person who is interested in the property.”
Drawing a deep sigh, Mrs. Marborough arose. Without much enthusiasm she invited the girls to come with her into the house, but they tactfully declined.
“We’ll come again tomorrow, if you don’t mind,” Penny said as she and Louise turned to leave.
“Do,” replied Mrs. Marborough. “We might make a final search for the pearls.”
Enroute to Riverview, the girls talked over the situation and agreed that the prospect of finding the necklace was a slim one. They had grown to like the eccentric widow and were sorry that she had decided to move away from the city of her birth.
“I am sure if she had money she would remain here,” Louise declared. “And it will nearly kill her if she is forced to deal with Jay Franklin. How she does dislike him!”
Parting with her chum in the business section of Riverview, Penny went directly to theStaroffice. Her father was ready to start home.
“Anything new about Jay Franklin and those record stones he hopes to sell to the museum?” Penny inquired absently as the automobile sped along the congested streets.
“Nothing you haven’t heard,” Mr. Parker replied. “Franklin expects to make the sale and probably will. The museum people have put themselves on record as saying that the stones bear authentic writing.”
“Then it appears that your original hunch was incorrect,” Penny observed. “Too bad you played down the story in theStar.”
“I may have made a mistake. All the same, I am pinning my hopes on the expert from Brimwell College.”
“What expert, Dad?”
“I guess I neglected to tell you. TheStarhired Professor Anjus from Brimwell to inspect the stones. His opinion doesn’t coincide with that of the museum experts. He has pronounced them fakes.”
“If the experts can’t agree, then how can one prove anything?”
“It is something of a tangle,” Mr. Parker smiled. “I turned that tool you obtained from Crocker over to Professor Anjus. He expects to make exhaustive tests and to report to me within a few days.”
The car had reached the outskirts of Riverview. As it passed along streets which were sparsely dotted with houses, Penny called attention to several large billboards which disfigured the landscape.
“Look, Dad!” she directed, pointing to a particularly colorful poster. “An Indian show is coming to town next week!”
Mr. Parker turned his head to gaze at the billboard. To Penny’s amazement, he suddenly slammed on the brake, bringing the car to a lurching halt at the side of the road.
“That’s it!” he cried, his eyes on the huge sign. “The motive! I couldn’t figure it out, but now I have the clue I need! Penny, we’ll put a crimp in Jay Franklin’s little game, or my name isn’t Anthony Parker!”
Completely mystified by her father’s remarks, Penny waited for him to explain.
“Don’t you get it?” he asked, waving his hand toward the big signboard. “The finding of those stones bearing Elizabethan and Indian writing was perfectly timed! It’s all a publicity stunt for the coming show!”
“How could it be?” Penny questioned, scarcely able to accept her father’s theory. “I found one of the rocks myself. I know I wasn’t hired by any Indian show!”
“It was pure luck that you stumbled into the stone, Penny. If you hadn’t, someone hired by the Indian show would have brought it to light.”
“But where does Jay Franklin figure in, Dad? You don’t think he’s connected with the publicity scheme as you call it!”
“Franklin wouldn’t have sufficient imagination to pull off a stunt like that,” Mr. Parker declared. “No, he may actually believe in the authenticity of the stones. At any rate, he saw an opportunity to make a little money for himself and seized it.”
“Why should an Indian show go to the trouble of having stones carved and planted in various fields? It doesn’t make sense.”
“The resulting publicity should draw state-wide attention to the show, Penny. It’s just the sort of idea which would appeal to a clever publicity agent. Every newspaper in Riverview except theStarhas fallen for it, giving columns of space to the story.”
“I still don’t see how the show will gain. Its name never has been mentioned in connection with the finding of the stones.”
“Of course not, Penny. That would be too crude. But at the proper time, the publicity agent will twist all of the stories to his own purpose.”
“Dad,” said Penny sadly, “in the past you have accused me of having wild ideas. I think the score is even now.”
“I’ll have that show traced,” Mr. Parker declared, paying no heed to his daughter. “Since it is coming to Riverview next week it can’t be far away now. I may find it worth while to call on the publicity agent and have a little chat with him.”
Penny was gazing at the billboard again, reading the dates.
“Dad, the show will play here during Pilgrimage Week,” she declared. “What a shame! It’s certain to take away customers from a much more worthwhile event.”
“There may not be an Indian show,” responded Mr. Parker grimly. “Not when I get through with the outfit!”
Immediately upon arriving at home, the publisher called the newspaper office, delegating City Editor DeWitt to obtain complete information about the Indian Show and to report to him. All evening he talked of his theory until both Penny and Mrs. Weems confessed that they were a bit weary of redskins.
“I shall write an editorial for tomorrow’sStar,” Mr. Parker announced. “Even if I haven’t absolute facts, I’ll drop a few broad hints about those fake stones!”
The editorial, cleverly worded but with very definite implications, was composed that night, and telephoned to the newspaper office. Penny had the pleasure of reading it at breakfast the next morning.
“You certainly did yourself proud, Dad,” she praised. “However, I imagine the museum people aren’t going to be too pleased. Nor certain other folks in this town.”
“Let me take a look at it,” Mr. Parker requested, reaching for the paper.
As Penny offered it to him, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Weems was busy in the kitchen so the girl arose and went to answer it. Jay Franklin stood on the porch.
“Good morning,” he said in a hard voice. “Is your father here?”