The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels (230 page)

“The ring may not be the same. Also, if Rhett had been the victim of violence, a bum might have stolen it from him.”

“I never thought of that. Should we report what we’ve learned to the police?”

“Not yet,” advised Jerry. “Our clue is pretty flimsy. Let’s watch and wait. The landlady may call us, and in any case I’ll keep my eye on this place.”

It now was so late that Penny decided to return home immediately. Bidding Jerry goodbye at the next corner, she boarded a bus and presently was slipping quietly into her own home.

If she had hoped to elude the watchful eye of Mrs. Maud Weems, the housekeeper, she was doomed to disappointment.

The plump, kindly lady who had looked after Penny since the death of Mrs. Parker many years before, had finished the dishes and was sweeping the kitchen. Fixing the girl with a stern eye, she observed:

“You’re later than ever tonight, Penny. When your father came home nearly two hours ago, he had no idea what had become of you.”

“Then Dad isn’t keeping tab on his employes,” chuckled Penny. “I’ve been working on a special story for the
Star
.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” sighed the housekeeper. “In fact, I suspect you charge a great many of your escapades to your work! If I had my wayyou would give it up.”

“Oh, Mrs. Weems, don’t be cross,” Penny pleaded, giving her a squeeze. “Newspaper work is wonderful! Next time I’ll telephone you if I know I’ll be late.”

“Have you had anything to eat?” the housekeeper asked in a softened tone. “Dinner was over an hour ago.”

“I’ll dig up something for myself from the refrigerator. Where’s Dad?”

Even as Penny asked the question, Anthony Parker, a tall, lean man with graying hair, came to the arched doorway of the kitchen. “Now what’s all this?” he inquired. “Penny off the reservation again?”

Mrs. Weems made no reply, knowing only too well that in almost any argument the publisher would support his daughter. Many times, and without success, she had told him she disapproved of his system of granting Penny almost unrestricted freedom.

No one doubted that Mr. Parker was an over-indulgent father, but the publisher had raised his daughter according to a strict code. He knew that she had writing talent and a flair for tracking down a story. Only because she had demonstrated that she could look after herself and think clearly in an emergency, did he allow her to make most of her own decisions.

Now, Penny eagerly poured out an account of her experiences in trying to get the Rhett story for the
Star
. Mr. Parker, who had read most of it in the Green Streak edition, listened attentively, offering little comment other than to say:

“I met Rhett once at a Chamber of Commerce luncheon. Not a bad fellow.”

“What was he like?” Penny inquired eagerly.

“Quiet and rather bored by the meeting. I don’t recall that he said a dozen words during the luncheon.”

“Did he look like a man who would walk off with $250,000 in bonds?”

“Not that I noticed,” commented the publisher dryly. “But then, nobody can judge character by external appearances.”

Hat in hand, Mr. Parker moved toward the kitchen exit.

“Are you going back to the
Star
office?” his daughter asked with alert interest.

“No.” Mr. Parker edged nearer the door, but Penny blocked the way.

“Then where are you going, Dad? You’re holding out!”

“Must I give you a schedule of my life?”

“You’re slipping off somewhere, and you don’t want me to go!”

“If you must know, I thought I would drop in at the Gay Nineties, a new night club that is opening tonight. The proprietor is one of our best advertisers and he extended a special invitation to attend.”

“Fine!” chuckled Penny. “I’ll be with you in five minutes. Just give me time to wash my face and pull the snarls out of my hair.”

“I was afraid of it,” groaned the publisher. “Haven’t you any school work to do?”

“Nary a bit. Besides, it’s Saturday night and I haven’t had any dinner. You can buy me a great big steak with all the trimmings. And perhaps you will dance with me.”

Mr. Parker gazed helplessly at Mrs. Weems, but the housekeeper did not come to his rescue. Her shrug indicated that the problem was entirely his.

“Well, all right,” he gave in. “But I’ll warn you now, this is no party. We’ll drop in for an hour or so, then come straight home.”

Penny was off like a shot, bounding upstairs to her room. There was no time to change her dress, but she freshened up, and was ready by the time her father had backed the car from the garage.

The Gay Nineties on Euclid Avenue twinkled with lights, and many persons in evening dress were entering beneath the bright red street canopy.

“Looks like all the socialites of the city are here,”Penny observed. “Maybe I should have worn my pearls.”

“Or washed behind your ears,” Mr. Parker chuckled, escorting her inside.

Penny and her father were given one of the best tables in the night club. Studying the menu, the girl was a trifle alarmed to note the prices.

“I’m dreadfully hungry too,” she declared. “Dad, I hope you’re not intending to charge this outing against my allowance.”

“I know I’d have no chance to collect,” he teased. “Just relax and select whatever you want. I can stand it this time.”

After the order had been given, Penny glanced about the dimly lighted room. The floor show had not yet started. Everywhere she saw well-to-do and prominent persons who had turned out for the gala opening.

Suddenly her attention centered upon a couple who had just entered the door. The woman wore an obviously new white evening gown, and behind her came a short, stubby little man.

“Dad!” she whispered, giving him a kick with the toe of her slipper. “See that man who just came in?”

“Where?” he asked, turning his head.

“He’s with the middle-aged woman in white.”

“Oh, yes, who are they?” Mr. Parker commented, only mildly interested. “No one I know.”

“The man is Albert Potts, secretary to Mr. Rhett at the First National Bank,” Penny replied impressively. “How do you suppose he can afford to come to such an expensive night club? If you ask me, Dad, it looks odd!”

CHAPTER 11

THE WOODEN DOLL

Mr. Parker studied the bank secretary and his wife with more interest. But he said mildly:

“I see nothing especially significant in Potts coming here, Penny. The club is public.”

“It’s expensive too. The cover charge is two dollars, and you can’t touch a dinner for less than another four! How can Potts afford to pay such prices?”

“He may earn a good salary working for Mr. Rhett—probably does. Anyway, folks don’t always spend their money wisely, even if they have very little of it.”

Potts and his wife swept past the Parker table without noticing Penny or her father. A trifle self-consciously, as if unaccustomed to appearing in such places, they sat down and studied the menu with concentrated interest.

Penny tried but could not keep her eyes from the pair.

“Dad, I wonder if Potts has any more information about Mr. Rhett’s disappearance,” she presently remarked. “I have a notion to go over there and ask him.”

Mr. Parker nodded absently, so Penny started across the room. She was only midway to Potts’ table, when the bank secretary raised his eyes and saw her approaching.

A startled, almost dismayed expression came upon his face. He spoke hurriedly to his wife. She looked puzzled, but both arose and walked quickly toward the exit.

Penny started to follow, then thought better of it.

“Mr. Potts knows I’m a reporter,” she reflected. “Probably he doesn’t care to be annoyed by having to answer questions. On the other hand, is it possible he doesn’t want to be recognized in this night club?”

Mr. and Mrs. Potts obtained their wraps at the checkroom and left the building. Somewhat crestfallen, Penny returned to her own table to find her father chatting with acquaintances.

Under the circumstance, she had no opportunity to speak of Mr. Potts’ queer behavior. Soon, dinners were brought and after that the floor show began.

Not wishing to keep his daughter out late, Mr. Parker insisted that they leave in the middle of the entertainment. However, the drive home gave Penny time to tell him about the bank secretary. The incident did not seem to impress her father greatly.

“If I were you I wouldn’t pester Potts too much,” he advised. “He probably doesn’t enjoy being the center of public attention.”

Penny slept late the next morning, and because it was Sunday, did not visit the
Star
office. The paper that day was voluminous. But in going through it she could find no new facts about the Rhett case. No word had been received from the missing banker; there had been no ransom demand received; and neither had Albert Potts nor Mrs. Rhett shed the slightest light on what might have become of him.

After breakfast, Penny telephoned Jerry Livingston to inquire if he had heard from the Cherry Street landlady.

“Not a word,” he reported. “I dropped back there late last night, but the man we’re looking for apparently never returned.”

Disappointed that the case had reached a dead end, Penny next telephoned the Rhett home. No one answered.

“I’m certain someone is there,” she thought. “Mrs. Rhett probably has given orders not to answer the phone.”

At a loss to know what to do, Penny spent the morning at home, had dinner, then went down the street to see Louise Sidell. However, her chum had gone to visit an aunt for the day.

“What miserable luck!” Penny muttered. “No one with whom I can talk over the Rhett case! Nothing to do!”

Suddenly it dawned upon her, that she might call on Albert Potts at his home, and perhaps induce him to reveal a few helpful facts about the missing banker.

From a telephone book she obtained the secretary’s address. Thirty minutes later found her standing before a modest cottage on Berdan Avenue. In response to her knock, the same woman Penny had seen the previous night at the Gay Nineties, came to the door. Now she looked very plain and frowsy in a messy housedress, and her hair hung in untidy streamers.

The woman stared at Penny without recognition.

“Is Mr. Potts here?” the girl inquired.

“No, he’s not,” Mrs. Potts answered without cordiality, her voice coarse and unattractive. “Anything I can do?”

“I wanted to talk to him. Will he return soon?”Penny moved inside the door.

“When he goes off, I never know when he’ll get back. He went to the bank, I guess.”

“On Sunday?”

“Al’s had a lot of work lately. I tell him he ought to let up. He’s getting so jumpy he doesn’t sleep at nights. Just tosses and keeps me awake.”

Before Penny could ask another question, a boy of ten, who had Albert Potts’ sharp features, came racing across the yard up to the door.

“Has the bicycle come yet, Ma?” he shouted.

“No, it hasn’t, and I wish you’d quit pestering me!” she snapped. “There won’t be any deliveries today.”

To Penny, the woman explained: “My husband bought Eddie a new bicycle and he won’t give us any peace until it comes. Deliveries take such a long time these days. None of the things we bought have come yet.”

Penny did not mean to be inquisitive, but instantly it struck her as unusual that the Potts’ family should be indulging in a sudden orgy of spending. Nor had she forgotten the couple’s hasty departure from the Gay Nineties club.

“Eddie is getting quite a few new things, I take it,” she observed casually.

The woman became more friendly. “Oh, yes, my husband ordered a trapeze set for him, and an electric train. But he bought me a lot too! A new piano and a living room rug. We have a new refrigerator on order, a vacuum cleaner and a bedroom suite!”

“Imagine!” exclaimed Penny. “Your husband must have come into a small fortune.”

“He was given a raise last week at the bank. I don’t know exactly how much, but it must have been a big one, because Al says we’ll have enough now for everything we need.”

“I think I’ve seen you before, Mrs. Potts,” Penny remarked, seeking additional information. “Weren’t you at the Gay Nineties last night?”

“Yes, we were! But we didn’t stay long. Before we had ordered our dinner, my husband remembered an important appointment he had made. We had to leave suddenly. It was awfully disappointing. I never went to a night club before and I wanted to see the show!”

Mrs. Potts paused, obviously waiting for Penny to leave. “I’ll tell my husband you called,” she said. “You didn’t give me your name.”

Edging out of the door, Penny pretended not to hear the latter remark. Calling over her shoulder that she would try to see Mr. Potts at the bank next day, she retreated before the woman could learn her identity.

Walking toward the bus stop, the girl reflected upon what she had learned. The financial good fortune of the Potts’ family was very puzzling. Apparently the bank secretary’s salary had been increased since the disappearance of his employer, Mr. Rhett.