suppose he's at his office so late tonight?"
"There's no crime in that," replied Mr. Parker. "He may be guilty as Ben
says, but I'll not believe it until I have the proof."
Letting themselves into the newspaper building, the three went up the
back stairs to the photography studio. Salt immediately set about
developing the plates.
"Something is coming up all right!" he declared jubilantly, as he rocked
the developer tray back and forth.
In a few minutes, Salt had washed the plates and was able to examine them
beneath the red light. One was blurred and revealed little. But the other
plainly showed a man fleeing toward a waiting car.
"Why, the man is Webb Nelson!" Penny exclaimed, recognizing him.
"But notice the driver of the car," Salt said. "It's Jason Cordell! Ben
was right."
"Then the man is guilty!" Penny cried. "Oh, Dad, I was certain of it!"
Mr. Parker scanned the plate carefully to ascertain there was no possible
mistake.
"Yes, it's Jason Cordell," he agreed. "The truth is hard to believe. Why,
I lunched with him only yesterday--"
"Dad, he's a criminal no matter how respectable he has acted."
"You're right," acknowledged Mr. Parker. "I'll notify the police at once
and have him picked up for questioning."
Transmitting the important information to police headquarters, Mr. Parker
talked with Captain Bricker who promised to take personal charge of the
matter. As the publisher hung up the receiver, he was startled to have
Penny grasp his arm. Excitedly, she pointed out the window.
"Now what?" he asked, failing to understand.
"The light just went off in Mr. Cordell's office! He's leaving!"
"Then we'll stop him," her father decided. "Salt, you stay here and rush
that plate through! I'll detain Cordell by one means or another until the
police arrive!"
With Penny close beside him, he ran down the back stairs to the street.
Breathlessly they arrived at the next building. The elevator was not
running, but they could hear someone coming down the stairway. Then Jason
Cordell, a brief case tucked under his arm, came into view. He stopped
short upon seeing Mr. Parker and his daughter.
"Working late?" Mr. Parker inquired pleasantly.
"That's right," agreed the other. He would have walked on, but the
publisher barred the exit.
"By the way, I met a friend of yours tonight," Mr. Parker said, stalling
for time.
"That so? Who was he?"
"Webb Nelson."
Mr. Cordell's face did not change expression, but his eyes narrowed
guardedly.
"Not a friend of mine," he corrected carelessly.
"But I've seen him in your office," Penny said.
Mr. Cordell looked her straight in the eyes and smiled as if in
amusement. "That may be," he admitted, "but all who come to my office are
not my friends."
He tried to pass again, but Mr. Parker stood his ground. "Say, what is
this?" Mr. Cordell demanded, suddenly suspicious.
"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you a few questions about your friend Webb
Nelson. Suppose we go back to your office."
"Suppose we don't," Cordell retorted. "I'm tired and I'm going home. If
you want to see me, come around tomorrow during business hours."
"Which may be too late."
"I don't know what you're talking about," the _Mirror_ editor blustered.
"Furthermore, I'm not interested. Get out of my way."
Instead, Mr. Parker grasped him firmly by the arm. Cordell tried to jerk
free, and in so doing, dropped his brief case, which Penny promptly
seized.
"Give that to me!" the man shouted furiously.
Penny smiled, for through the plate glass window she had observed the
approach of a police car. Another moment and uniformed men were swarming
about Mr. Cordell.
"What is the meaning of this?" the man demanded angrily. "I'll report you
all to the Safety Director who is my friend!"
"You'll report to him all right," agreed Captain Bricker. "Now come along
quietly. If you can answer a few questions satisfactorily, you'll be
allowed to return home."
"What do you want to know?" Cordell asked sullenly.
"Where were you on the night of the 16th?"
"Now how should I know?" the man retorted sarcastically. "I can't
remember that far back. But probably I was home in bed."
"You're wanted in connection with the Conway dynamiting," the officer
informed him.
Mr. Cordell snorted with anger. "Of all the ridiculous charges! I know
nothing about the affair."
Out of the door burst Salt Sommers. He was without a hat, but he carried
a picture, still wet, in the palm of his hand.
"So you know nothing about the dynamiting," he mimicked. "Well,
gentlemen, take a look at this!"
Mr. Cordell and the policemen gathered about him, studying the
photograph. Plainly it showed Webb Nelson fleeing toward a car driven by
the _Mirror_ editor.
"What does this prove?" the man blustered. "I admit the car is mine. I
was driving past the plant at the time of the explosion. This fellow,
Nelson, leaped into my auto and ordered me to drive on."
"A moment ago you claimed you weren't even near the Conway Plant," Penny
tripped him. "You knew Webb Nelson very well. Furthermore, you entered
the _Star_ offices several times trying to get your hands on this
picture!"
"Ridiculous!"
"At least once when you found the stairway door locked, you went in
through the skylight," Penny accused.
"Of all the crazy ideas!" The editor laughed jeeringly. "Imagine me
crawling through a skylight!"
"I notice your coat has a torn place," Penny said, taking a scrap of blue
wool from her purse. "This, I believe, is a perfect match."
Mr. Cordell gazed at the wool and shrugged. "All right," he admitted
coolly. "I did crawl through the skylight twice to see if I could find
the picture. I knew this fool photographer had snapped a picture of me,
and I feared I might be falsely accused."
"Then you knew Nelson was mixed up in the dynamiting?" Captain Bricker
questioned.
"I wasn't certain," Mr. Cordell said in confusion. "The reason I didn't
report to the police was that I was afraid of being involved. After that
night, Webb Nelson tried to blackmail me. Because of my position, I dared
have no publicity."
The _Mirror_ editor's explanation carried a certain amount of conviction,
and Penny was dismayed to hear Captain Bricker assure him that if a
mistake had been made he would be granted freedom immediately after he
had talked to the police chief.
"I shall accompany you without protest," the _Mirror_ editor returned
stiffly. "Later I shall file charges against those who have tried to
damage my character."
Captain Bricker asked Salt for the picture which he intended to take to
police headquarters.
"May I see it a moment?" Penny requested.
He gave the picture to her. She studied it and her face brightened.
"Captain Bricker, look at this!" she exclaimed, pointing to an object in
the car which barely was noticeable.
Everyone gathered about Penny, peering at the photograph. On the rear
seat of the car driven by Mr. Cordell was a box which plainly bore the
printing: "Salvage Company--Explosives."
"Ed McClusky who works for the Salvage Company, told me that dynamite had
been stolen from his firm," Penny declared. "And here it is in Mr.
Cordell's automobile! Apparently, he wasn't just driving by the plant at
the time of the explosion! This picture proves why he was there!"
"Right you are, young lady," chuckled Captain Bricker. "You've pinned the
goods on him for fair." Prodding the _Mirror_ editor with his stick, he
ordered curtly: "Get along, you! This puts a different face on it. You'll
be spending the rest of the night in the Safety building."
After Mr. Cordell, still protesting his innocence, had been taken away,
Penny, her father, and Salt returned to the deserted newspaper building.
"Will Cordell manage to get free?" she asked anxiously.
"Not a chance of it," Mr. Parker answered. "That picture tags him right.
With Ed McClusky and Ben to testify against him, he's the same as
convicted now."
"Speaking of Ben, what's to be done about him, Dad?"
"We'll give him a job here. He's had unfair treatment, but we'll make it
up to him. However, we'll have to let one employee go."
"Not me?" Penny asked anxiously.
"No," her father laughed. "It's your friend, Elda Hunt. Her attitude
isn't right. We've tried to give her a chance, but over and over she has
demonstrated that she isn't cut out to be a newspaper woman."
"She'll probably blame me for her discharge," Penny sighed. "Not that it
matters. I ceased worrying about Elda a long while ago."
"She'll have no difficulty getting work elsewhere, and I hope she'll be
better adjusted."
"How about the story of Mr. Cordell's arrest? And the picture?" Penny
inquired. "Will the _Star_ print them tomorrow?"
"On the front page of our first edition," Mr. Parker chuckled. "Salt
didn't turn over the plate to the police, so we're all set. By morning,
the story should be bigger and better than ever. By then, the guilt will
be well pinned on Cordell, and some of the _Snark_ gang may have been
rounded up."
Curious to learn the very latest details, Salt called the police station.
He was told that Ben Bartell had identified several of the _Snark's_ crew
from police pictures, and it was expected all would be arrested within
twenty-four hours.
"Not a bad night's work," Mr. Parker chuckled, as he snapped off the
photography room lights. "Everything locked?"
"How about the skylight?" asked Penny.
"Open again," reported Salt as he checked it. "It's just no use trying to
get folks to cooperate around here. Too many fresh air fiends."
"Let it stay unlocked," Mr. Parker directed carelessly. "With our prowler
safely behind bars, we've no further cause for worry." He looked at his
watch. "Now, even though it is late, suppose we go and celebrate?"
"Oh, fine!" cried Penny. "And why not stop at the Safety building and ask
Ben Bartell to go with us? I want to tell him about his new job."
"So do I," agreed her father heartily. "Where shall we go?"
Penny linked arms with Salt and her father, skipping as she piloted them
down the dark hall.
"Just a quiet place where they serve big juicy steaks," she decided. "If
I know Ben, that's what he would like best of all."
Transcriber's Notes
--Replaced the list of books in the series by the complete list, as in
the final book, "The Cry at Midnight".
--Silently corrected a handful of palpable typos.
End of Project Gutenberg's Signal in the Dark, by Mildred A. Wirt