The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels (76 page)

“All of the messages collect?”

“Every one. The nit-wit has criticised everything from the
Star
’s comic strips to the advertising columns. I’ve had enough of it!”

“Then why not do something about it?” Penny asked soothingly. “Refuse the telegrams.”

“It’s not that easy,” the editor growled. “Each day the
Star
receives a large number of ‘collect’ messages, hot news tips from out-of-town correspondents and from reporters who try to sell free lance stories. We’re glad to pay for these telegrams. This fellow who keeps bombarding us is just smart enough to use different names and send his wires from various places. Sometimes he addresses the telegrams to me, and then perhaps to City Editor DeWitt or one of the other staff members.”

“In that case, I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” Penny said teasingly. “How about drowning your troubles in a little sleep?”

“It is late,” Mr. Parker admitted, glancing at his watch. “Almost midnight. Time we’re starting home.”

Reaching for his hat, Mr. Parker switched off the light, locked the door, and followed Penny down the stairway to the street. At the parking lot opposite the
Star
building, he tramped about restlessly while waiting for an attendant to bring the car.

“I’ll drive,” Penny said, sliding behind the steering wheel. “In your present mood you might inadvertently pick off a few pedestrians!”

“It makes my blood boil,” Mr. Parker muttered, his thoughts reverting to the telegram. “Call my paper yellow, eh? And that crack about the cash register!”

“Oh, everyone knows the
Star
is the best paper in the state,” Penny said, trying to coax him into a better mood. “You’re a good editor too, and a pretty fair father.”

“Thanks,” Mr. Parker responded with a mock bow. “Since we’re passing out compliments, you’re not so bad yourself.”

Suddenly relaxing, he reached out to touch Penny’s hand in a rare expression of affection. Tall and lean, a newspaper man with a reputation for courage and fight, he had only two interests in life—his paper and his daughter. Penny’s mother had been dead many years, but at times he saw his wife again in the girl’s sparkling blue eyes, golden hair, and especially in the way she smiled.

“Hungry, Dad?” Penny asked unexpectedly, intruding upon his thoughts. “I know a dandy new hamburger place not far from here. Wonderful coffee too.”

“Well, all right,” Mr. Parker consented. “It’s pretty late though. The big clock’s striking midnight.”

As the car halted for a traffic light, they both listened to the musical chimes which preceded the regularly spaced strokes of the giant clock. Penny turned her head to gaze at the Hubell Memorial Tower, a grim stone building which rose to the height of seventy-five feet. Erected ten years before as a monument to one of Riverview’s wealthy citizens, its chimes could be heard for nearly a mile on a still night. On one side, its high, narrow windows overlooked the city, while on the other, the cultivated lands of truck farmers.

“How strange!” Penny murmured as the last stroke of the clock died away.

“What is strange?” Mr. Parker asked gruffly.

“Why, that clock struck thirteen times instead of twelve!”

“Bunk and bosh!”

“Oh, but it did!” Penny earnestly insisted. “I counted each stroke distinctly.”

“And one of them twice,” scoffed her father. “Or are you spoofing your old Dad?”

“Oh, I’m not,” Penny maintained. As the car moved ahead, she craned her neck to stare up at the stone tower. “I know I counted thirteen. Why, Dad, there’s a green light burning in one of the windows! I never saw that before. What can it mean?”

“It means we’ll have a wreck unless you watch the road!” Mr. Parker cried, giving the steering wheel a quick turn. “Where are you taking me anyhow?”

“Out to Toni’s.” Reluctantly Penny centered her full attention upon the highway. “It’s only a mile into the country.”

“We won’t be home before one o’clock,” Mr. Parker complained. “But since we’re this far, I suppose we may as well keep on.”

“Dad, about that light,” Penny said thoughtfully. “Did you ever notice it before?”

Mr. Parker turned to gaze back toward the stone tower.

“There’s no green light,” he answered grimly. “Every window is dark.”

“But I saw it only an instant ago! And I did hear the clock strike thirteen. Cross my heart and hope to die—”

“Never mind the dramatics,” Mr. Parker cut in. “If the clock struck an extra time—which it didn’t—something could have gone wrong with the mechanism. Don’t try to build up a mystery out of your imagination.”

The car rattled over a bridge and passed a deserted farm house that formerly had belonged to a queer old man named Peter Fenestra. Penny’s gaze fastened momentarily upon an old fashioned storm cellar which marred the appearance of the front yard.

“I suppose I imagined all that too,” she said, waving her hand toward the disfiguring cement hump. “Old Peter never had any hidden gold, he never had a SECRET PACT with tattooed sailors, and he never tried to burn your newspaper plant!”

“I’ll admit you did a nice piece of detective work when you uncovered that story,” her father acknowledged. “Likewise, you brought the
Star
one of its best scoops by outwitting slippery Al Gepper and entangling him in his own
Silken Ladder
.”

“Don’t forget the
Tale of the Witch Doll
either,”Penny reminded him. “You laughed at me then, just as you’re doing now.”

“I’m not laughing,” denied the editor. “I merely say that no light was burning in the tower window, and I very much doubt that the clock struck more than twelve times.”

“Tomorrow I shall go to the tower and talk with the caretaker, Seth McGuire. I’ll prove to you that I was right!”

“If you do, I’ll treat to a dish of ice cream decorated with nuts.”

“Make it five gallons of gasoline and I’ll be really interested,” she countered.

Due to an unusual set of circumstances, Penny had fallen heir to two automobiles, one a second-hand contraption whose battered sides bore the signature of nearly every young person in Riverview. The other, a handsome maroon sedan, had been the gift of her father, presented in gratitude because of her excellent reporting of a case known to many as
Behind the Green Door
. Always hard pressed for funds, she found it all but impossible to keep two automobiles in operation, and her financial difficulties were a constant source of amusement to everyone but herself.

Soon, an electric sign proclaiming “Toni’s” in huge block letters loomed up. Penny swung into the parking area, tooting the horn for service. Immediately a white-coated waiter brought out a menu.

“Coffee and two hamburgers,” Penny ordered with a flourish. “Everything on one, and everything but, on the other.”

“No onions for the little lady?” the waiter grinned. “Okay. I’ll have ’em right out.”

While waiting, Penny noticed that another car, a gray sedan, had drawn up close to the building. Although the two men who occupied the front seat had ordered food, they were not eating it. Instead they conversed in low tones as they appeared to watch someone inside the cafe.

“Dad, notice those two men,” she whispered, touching his arm.

“What about them?” he asked, but before she could reply, the waiter came with a tray of sandwiches which he hooked over the car door.

“Not bad,” Mr. Parker praised as he bit into a giant-size hamburger. “First decent cup of coffee I’ve had in a week too.”

“Dad, watch!” Penny reminded him.

The restaurant door had opened, and a man of early middle age came outside. Immediately the couple in the gray sedan stiffened to alert attention. As the man passed their car they lowered their heads, but the instant he had gone on, they turned to peer after him.

The man who was being observed so closely seemed unaware of the scrutiny. Crossing the parking lot, he chose a trail which led into a dense grove of trees.

“Now’s our chance!” cried one of the men in the gray sedan. “Come on, we’ll get him!” Both alighted and likewise disappeared into the woods.

“Dad, did you hear what they said?” asked Penny.

“I did,” he answered grimly. “Tough looking customers too.”

“I’m afraid they mean to rob that first man. Isn’t there anything we can do?”

Mr. Parker barely hesitated. “I may make a chump of myself,” he said, “but here goes! I’ll tag along and try to be on hand if anything happens.”

“Dad, don’t do it!” Penny pleaded, suddenly frightened lest her father face danger. “You might get hurt!”

Mr. Parker paid no heed. Swinging open the car door, he strode across the parking lot, and entered the dark woods.

CHAPTER 2

NIGHT RIDERS

Not to be left behind, Penny quickly followed her father, overtaking him before he had gone very far into the forest.

“Penny, you shouldn’t have come,” he said sternly. “There may be trouble, and I’ll not have you taking unnecessary risks.”

“I don’t want you to do it either,” she insisted. “Which way did the men go?”

“That’s what I wonder,” Mr. Parker responded, listening intently. “Hear anything?”

“Not a sound.”

“Queer that all three of them could disappear so quickly,” the editor muttered. “I’m sure there’s been no attack. Listen! What was that?”

“It sounded like a car being started!” Penny exclaimed.

Hastening to the edge of the woods, she gazed toward the parking lot. The Parker car stood where it had been abandoned, but the gray sedan was missing. A moving tail light could be seen far down the road.

“There go our friends,” Mr. Parker commented rather irritably. “Their sudden departure probably saved me from making a chump of myself.”

“How could we tell they didn’t mean to rob that other man?” Penny asked in an injured tone. “You thought yourself that they intended to harm him.”

“Oh, I’m not blaming you,” the editor answered, starting toward the parking lot. “I’m annoyed at myself. This is a graphic example of what we were talking about awhile ago—imagination!”

Decidedly crestfallen, Penny followed her father to the car. They finished their hamburgers, which had grown cold, and after the tray was removed, started home.

“I could do with a little sleep,” Mr. Parker yawned. “After a hard day at the office, your brand of night life is a bit too strenuous for me.”

Selecting a short-cut route to Riverview, Penny paid strict attention to the road, for the narrow pavement had been patched in many places. On either side of the highway stretched truck farms with row upon row of neatly staked tomatoes and other crops.

Rounding a bend, Penny was startled to see tongues of flame brightening the horizon. A large wooden barn, situated in plain view, on a slight knoll, had caught fire and was burning rapidly. As she slammed on the brake, Mr. Parker aroused from light slumber.

“Now what?” he mumbled drowsily.

“Dad, unless I’m imagining things again, that barn is on fire!”

“Let ’er burn,” he mumbled, and then fully aroused, swung open the car door.

There were no fire fighters on the scene, in fact the only person visible was a woman in dark flannel night robe, who stood silhouetted in the red glare. As Penny and Mr. Parker reached her side, she stared at them almost stupidly.

“We’ll lose everything,” she said tonelessly. “Our entire crop of melons is inside the barn, packed for shipment. And my husband’s new truck!”

“Have you called a fire company?” the editor asked.

“I’ve called, but it won’t do any good,” she answered. “The barn will be gone before they can get here.”

With a high wind whipping the flames, Penny and her father knew that the woman spoke the truth. Already the fire had such a start that even had water been available, the barn could not have been saved.

“Maybe I can get out the truck for you!” Mr. Parker offered.

As he swung open the barn doors, a wave of heat rushed into his face. Coughing and choking, he forced his way into the smoke filled interior, unaware that Penny was at his side. Seeing her a moment later, he tried to send her back.

“You can’t get the truck out without me to help push,” she replied, refusing to retreat. “Come on, we can do it!”

The shiny red truck was a fairly light one and stood on an inclined cement floor which sloped toward the exit. Nevertheless, although Penny and her father exerted every iota of their combined strength, they could not start it moving.

“Maybe the brake is on!” Mr. Parker gasped, running around to the cab. “Yes, it is!”

Pushing once more, they were able to start the truck rolling. Once in motion its own momentum carried it down the runway into the open, a safe distance from the flames.

“How about the crated melons?” Penny asked, breathing hard from the strenuous exertion.