I guess it would be better to wait until tomorrow. But in the meantime, I
wish you would search the car carefully. Get the engine number--anything
which might help to identify the owner."
"The engine number has been filed off," Clem answered. "I'll give the car
a good going over though to see what I can learn. Thanks for the food."
Raising his hand in a semi salute, the man started into the woods.
"Don't forget to meet Dad and me tomorrow night," Penny called after him.
"We'll be waiting here about this same time."
The interview with the fugitive had more than fulfilled Penny's
expectations. Driving straight home, she made a full report of the talk
to her father. Breathlessly, she revealed that the Hoods held monthly
meetings at the Hubell Tower, and that both Hank Holloway and Charley
Phelps were members of the order.
"You weren't able to learn the name of the head man?" Mr. Parker
questioned.
"No, Clem didn't know it himself. He says the Master never shows himself
to anyone, but always appears in mask."
Mr. Parker began to pace the floor, a habit of his when under mental
stress. The information Penny had acquired was of utmost importance. He
believed it to be authentic, but he dared not overlook the possibility
that Clem Davis had deliberately lied.
"We must move cautiously on this story," he said aloud. "Should we make
false accusations against innocent persons, the _Star_ would face
disastrous lawsuits."
"You're not going to withhold the information from the public?" Penny
demanded in disappointment.
"For the present, I must. The thing for us to do is to try to learn the
identity of the head man. Any news published in the _Star_ would only
serve as a tip-off to him."
"You're right, of course," Penny agreed after a moment of silence.
"Now that we have such a splendid start, it should be easy to gain
additional information," the editor resumed. "You say the meetings
usually are held on the thirteenth of the month?"
"That's what Clem Davis told me."
"Then we'll arrange to have the Tower watched on that night. In the
meantime, I'll see Davis and learn what I can from him. Jerry is working
on the County Cooperative angle of the story, and should have some
interesting facts soon."
Penny knew that her father was adopting a wise policy, but she could not
help feeling slightly disappointed. Always eager for action, she had
hoped that Clem Davis' disclosures would lead to the immediate arrest of
both Hank Holloway and Charley Phelps. However, she brightened at the
thought that at least additional revelations might follow her father's
meeting with the fugitive.
The following night, shortly after six-thirty, Penny and Mr. Parker
presented themselves at the Orphans' Camp site. They had brought a basket
of food, coffee, and a generous supply of cigarettes.
"What time did Davis promise to meet you?" Mr. Parker asked impatiently.
"He should be here now," Penny returned. "I can't imagine why he's late."
Another half hour elapsed, and still the fugitive did not appear. Mr.
Parker paced restlessly beside the picnic table, becoming increasingly
impatient.
"He's probably waiting until after dark," Penny declared optimistically.
Another hour elapsed. The shadows deepened and a chill wind blew from the
river. Hungry mosquitoes kept Mr. Parker more than occupied as he sought
to protect himself.
"Well, I've had enough of this!" he announced at last. "The man isn't
coming."
"Oh, Dad, let's wait just a little longer," Penny coaxed. "I'm sure he
meant to keep his promise."
"Perhaps he did, although I'm inclined to think otherwise. At any rate, I
am going home!"
Penny had no choice but to follow her father to the car. She could not
understand Clem Davis' failure to appear unless he had feared that he
would be placed under arrest. While it was quite possible that the man
might come to the picnic grounds the following night, she was afraid she
would never see him again.
"I half expected this to happen," Mr. Parker remarked as he drove toward
Riverview. "Unless we can get Davis to swear to his story, we haven't a
scrap of real evidence against the Hoods."
"We may learn something on the night of the thirteenth," Penny said
hopefully.
"Possibly, but I'm beginning to wonder if everything Davis told you may
not have been for the purpose of deception."
"He seemed sincere. I can't believe he deliberately lied to me."
Submerged in gloom, Penny had little to say during the swift ride into
Riverview. She could not blame her father for feeling annoyed, because
the trip had cost him two hours of valuable time. Clem Davis' failure to
appear undoubtedly might deprive the _Star_ of a spectacular scoop.
"Never mind," Mr. Parker said to comfort her. "It wasn't your fault.
We'll find another way to get our information."
The car proceeded slowly through the downtown section of Riverview.
Turning her head to read an electric sign, Penny's attention was drawn to
a man in a gray suit who was walking close to the curb.
"Dad, stop the car!" she cried, seizing his arm. "There he is now!"
"Clem Davis?" Mr. Parker demanded, swerving the automobile toward a
vacant space near the sidewalk.
"No! No! Ben Bowman! I'm sure it is he!"
Springing from the car, Penny glanced up the street. She had alighted
just in time to see the man in gray enter a telegraph office.
"What nonsense is this?" Mr. Parker inquired impatiently. "Why do you
think the fellow is Bowman?"
"I'm sure he's the same man I saw at Claymore. The one who tried to pass
a forged cheque! Oh, please Dad, we can't let him get away!"
Switching off the car ignition, Mr. Parker stepped to the curb.
"If it should prove to be Ben Bowman, nothing would please me better than
to nab him," he announced grimly. "But if you've made a mistake--"
"Come on," Penny urged, seizing his hand. "We can talk about it later."
Through the huge plate glass window of the telegraph office, the man in
gray could be seen standing at one of the counters. His back was to the
street and he appeared to be writing a message.
"I'm sure it's Ben Bowman," Penny said again. "Why not go inside and ask
him if that's his name?"
"I shall. But I'm warning you again, if you've made one of your little
mistakes--"
"Go ahead, faint heart!" Penny chuckled, giving him a tiny push. "I'll
stay here by the door ready to stop him if he gets by you."
With no appearance of haste, Mr. Parker sauntered into the telegraph
office. Deliberately taking a place at the counter close beside the man
in gray, he pretended to write a message. Actually, he studied his
companion, and attempted to read the lengthy telegram which the other had
composed. Before he could do so, the man handed the paper to a girl
clerk.
"Get this off right away," he instructed. "Send it collect."
The clerk examined the message, having difficulty in reading the writing.
"This night letter is to be sent to Anthony Parker?" she inquired.
"That's right," the man agreed.
Mr. Parker waited for no more. Touching the man on the arm, he said
distinctly:
"I'll save you the trouble of sending that message. I am Anthony Parker."
The man whirled around, his face plainly showing consternation.
"You are Ben Bowman I assume," Mr. Parker said coolly. "I've long looked
forward to meeting you."
"You've got me mixed up with someone else," the man mumbled, edging away.
"My name's Clark Edgewater. See, I signed it to this telegram."
As proof of his contention, he pointed to the lengthy communication which
lay on the counter. One glance satisfied Mr. Parker that it was another
"crank" message.
"I don't care how you sign your name," he retorted. "You are Ben Bowman.
We have a few matters to talk over."
The man gazed uncertainly at Mr. Parker. He started to speak, then
changed his mind. Turning, he made a sudden break for the exit.
"Stop him!" Mr. Parker shouted. "Don't let him get away!"
Penny stood close to the door. As the man rushed toward her, she shot a
bolt into place.
"Not quite so fast, Mr. Bowman," she said, smiling. "We really must have
a chat with you."
CHAPTER
22
_THE MAN IN GRAY_
With the door locked, the man saw that he could not hope to escape.
Accepting the situation, he regarded Mr. Parker and Penny with cold
disdain.
"All right, my name is Ben Bowman," he acknowledged, shrugging. "So
what?"
"You're the man who has been sending me collect messages for the past
three months!" Mr. Parker accused.
"And what if I have? Is there any law against it? You run a lousy paper,
and as a reader I have a right to complain!"
"But not at my expense. Another thing, I want to know what connection
you've had with Clyde Blake."
"Never heard of him."
"Then you don't own property in this city?"
"Nor anywhere else. Now if you're through giving me the third degree,
I'll move on."
"Not so fast," interposed Penny, refusing to unbar the door, "if I'm not
mistaken you're the same man who is wanted at Claymore for forging a
cheque."
"Really, this is too much!" Ben Bowman exclaimed angrily. "Unless you
permit me to pass, I shall protest to the police."
"I see an officer just across the street," Mr. Parker declared. "Penny,
will you call him over?"
"Just a minute," Ben Bowman interposed in an altered tone. "We can settle
this ourselves. I'll admit I was hasty in sending those messages--just a
way to let off steam, I guess. If you're willing to forget about it I'll
repay you for every dollar you spent."
"I'm afraid I can't forget that easily," Mr. Parker retorted. "No, unless
you're willing to come clean about your connection with Clyde Blake I'll
have to call the police."
"What do you want to know about him?"
"Is he acting as your real estate agent?"
"Certainly not."
"You do know the man?"
"I've done a little work for him."
"Didn't he pay you to allow him to use your name on a deed?"
"He gave me twenty-five dollars to make out some papers for him. I only
copied what he told me to write."
"That's all I want to know," Mr. Parker said grimly. "Penny, call the
policeman!"
"See here," Bowman protested furiously, "you intimated that if I told
what I knew about Blake you'd let me off. Why, you're as yellow as that
paper you run!"
"I make no deals with men of your stamp!" Mr. Parker retorted.
As Penny unlocked the door, Ben Bowman made a break for freedom. However,
the editor was entirely prepared. Seizing the man, he held him until
Penny could summon the policeman. Still struggling, Bowman was loaded
into a patrol wagon and taken to police headquarters.
"I guess that earns me a nice little one hundred dollars!" Penny remarked
as she and her father went to their own car. "Thanks, Dad."
"You're entirely welcome," Mr. Parker grinned. "I never took greater
pleasure in acknowledging a debt."
"What's your next move, Dad? Will you expose Clyde Blake in tomorrow's
_Star_?"
"I'm tempted to do it, Penny. The evidence still is rather flimsy, but
even if Ben Bowman denies his story, I think we can prove our charges."
"It's a pity you can't break the Hood yarn in the same edition," Penny
said musingly. "What a front page that would make!"
"It certainly would be a good three pennies worth," Mr. Parker agreed.
"Unfortunately, it will be many days before the Hoods are supposed to
hold their meeting at the Tower."
"But why wait? We could call that gathering ourselves!"
"Just how?"
"Simple as pie. All we would need to do would be to have the clock strike
thirteen instead of twelve." Penny glanced at her wrist watch and added
persuasively: "We have several hours in which to work!"
"You're completely crazy!" accused Mr. Parker. "Just how would you
arrange to have the clock strike thirteen?"
"I'll take care of that part, Dad. All I'll need is a hammer."
"To use on the caretaker, Charley Phelps, I suppose," Mr. Parker remarked
ironically.
"Oh, no," Penny corrected, "I propose to turn all the strong-arm work
over to you and your gang of reporters. Naturally, Phelps will have to be
removed from the scene."
"What you propose is absolutely impossible," the editor declared. "Even
so, I'll admit that I find your idea rather fascinating."
"This is no time for being conservative, Dad. Why, the Hoods must know
you are out to break up their organization. Every day you wait lessens
your chance of getting the story."
"I realize that only too well, Penny. I pinned quite a bit of hope on
Clem Davis. His failure to appear puts everything in a different light."
"Why not test what he told us?" Penny argued. "It will be easy to learn
if the striking of the clock is a signal to call the Hood meeting. If the
men should come, we'll have them arrested, and run a big story tomorrow
morning!"
"Coming from your lips it sounds so very simple," Mr. Parker smiled. "Has
it occurred to you that if we fail, we'll probably breakfast at the
police station?"
"Why worry about that?" grinned Penny. "You have influence."
Mr. Parker sat for several minutes lost in thought.
"You know, I've ALWAYS been lucky," Penny coaxed. "I feel a double dose
of it coming on tonight!"
"I believe in hunches myself," Mr. Parker chuckled. "No doubt I'm making
the biggest mistake of my life, but I'm going to try your wild scheme.
Crazy as it is, it may work!"
"Then let's go!" laughed Penny.
At the _Star_ office, Mr. Parker hastily summoned a special staff of
newspaper men, warning them to hold themselves in readiness to get out a
special edition on short notice. From the group he chose Salt Sommers,
Jerry Livingston, and two reporters known for their pugilistic prowess.
"Now this is the line up, boys," he revealed. "We're going to kidnap
Charley Phelps from the Tower. It's risky business unless things break
right for us, so if any of you want to drop out now, this is your
chance."
"We're with you, chief!" declared Salt Sommers, tossing a pack of
photographic supplies over his shoulder.
"Sure, what are we waiting for?" chimed in Jerry.
It was well after eleven o'clock by the time the over-loaded press car
drew up not far from the Hubell Tower. Penny parked on a dark side
street, and Jerry was sent to look over the situation. Soon he returned
with his report.
"Charley Phelps is alone in the Tower," he assured the editor. "We
shouldn't have any trouble handling him."
"Okay, then let's do the job," Mr. Parker returned. "Remember, if we muff
it, we'll do our explaining to a judge."
Separating into groups so that they would not attract attention, Penny
and the five men approached the Tower. A light glowed from within, and
the caretaker could be seen moving about in the tiny living room.
Tying handkerchiefs over their faces, Salt and Jerry rapped on the back
door. Charley Phelps opened it to find himself gazing into the blinding
light of two flashlights.
"Say, what--" he began but did not finish.
Jerry and Salt had seized his arms. Before he could make another sound,
they shoved a gag into his mouth, and dragging him into the Tower, closed
the door. Working swiftly, they trussed his hands and feet and pushed him
into a machinery room.
"Nice work, boys," Mr. Parker praised.
"Listen!" whispered Penny, who had followed the men into the Tower.
The clock had begun to strike the hour of midnight.
"Get up there quickly and do your stuff!" her father commanded. "You've
not much time!"
Two steps at a time, Penny raced up the steep iron stairway which led to
the belfry of the Tower. Anxiously, she counted the strokes as they
pealed forth loud and clearly. Eight--nine--ten. The clock had never
seemed to strike so fast before. Desperately she wondered if she could
reach the belfry in time.
The stairway was dark, the footing uncertain. In her nervousness, Penny
stumbled. Clutching the handrail, she clung to it a moment until she had
recovered balance. But in that interval the clock had kept striking, and
she was no longer sure of the count.
"It must be eleven," she thought, running up the remaining steps. "The
next stroke will be the last."
Penny reached the great bell just as the clapper struck against the
metal. The sound was deafening.
"Now!" she thought excitedly. "This is the moment, and I dare not fail!"
Balancing herself precariously, Penny raised a hammer high above her
head. With all her strength she brought it down hard against the bell.
CHAPTER
23
_A TRAP SET_
To Penny's sensitive ears, the sound which resulted from the hammer blow,
seemed weak and lacking in resonance. She sagged back against the iron
railing, feeling that she had failed.
"That was swell!" a low voice said in her ear. "A perfect thirteenth
stroke!"
Turning around, Penny saw that Jerry Livingston had followed her into the
belfry.
"Did it really sound all right?" she inquired anxiously.
"It was good enough to fool anyone. But the question is, will it bring
the Hoods here?"
In the room far below, Mr. Parker had lowered the blinds of the circular
windows. Making certain that Charley Phelps was securely bound and gagged
so that he could make no sound, he opened the front door a tiny crack and
left it that way.
"How about the lights?" Salt Sommers asked.
"Leave them on. Shove that sound apparatus under the daybed. Now I guess
everything's set. Upstairs, everyone."
Mr. Parker, Salt, and the two reporters, joined Penny and Jerry on the
iron stairway.
"We may have a long vigil," the editor warned. "In fact, this whole
scheme is likely to turn out a bust."
Few words were spoken during the next twenty minutes. Penny stirred
restlessly, and finally went to join Jerry who was maintaining a watch
from the belfry.
"See anyone?" she whispered, scanning the street below.
"No sign of anyone yet."
At intervals automobiles whizzed past the tower, and presently one drew
up not far from the building. Immediately, Jerry and Penny focused their
attention upon it. The headlights were turned to parking, then a man
alighted and came toward the Hubell Tower.
"Who is he?" Jerry whispered. "Can you tell?"
"I'm not sure," Penny said uncertainly. "It may be Hank Holloway."
As the man stepped into the light, they both saw that her identification
had been correct. The man rapped on the door several times. Receiving no
answer, he finally entered.
"Charley!" those on the iron stairway heard him call. "Where are you?"
The brilliantly lighted living room combined with the absence of the
caretaker, seemed to mystify the newcomer. Muttering to himself, he moved
restlessly about for a few minutes. Finally seating himself, he picked up
a newspaper and began to read.
From their post in the belfry, Penny and Jerry soon observed two other
men approaching the tower. One they recognized as a workman who had
sorted melons at the Davis farm, but his companion was unknown to them.
Without rapping, they too entered the building.
"Where's Charley?" inquired one of the men.
"That's what I was wondering," Hank Holloway replied, tossing aside his
paper. "For that matter, I can't figure out why this special meeting was
called. Something important must have come up."
Within ten minutes, three other men had arrived. Jerry was able to
identify two of them by name, but he dared not risk whispering the
information to Mr. Parker who crouched on the stairway.
"There's something mighty queer about this meeting," Hank Holloway
growled. "Where is the Master? And what's become of Charley?"
From the machinery room in which the caretaker had been imprisoned came a
slight thumping sound.
"What was that?" Hank demanded suspiciously.
"I didn't hear anything," answered one of the other men. "Maybe it was
someone at the door."
Hank tramped across the room to peer out into the night. As the door
swung back, a dark figure moved swiftly along the hedge, crouching low.
"Who's there?" Hank called sharply.
"Quiet, you fool!" was the harsh response.
A man wearing a dark robe and a black hood which completely hid his face,
brushed past Holloway, and entered the Tower living room.
"Close the door!" he ordered.
Holloway hastened to obey. An expectant and rather tense silence had
fallen upon the men gathered in the room.
"Now what is the meaning of this?" the Master demanded, facing the group.
"Who called this meeting?"
"Why, didn't you?" Holloway asked blankly.
"I did not."
"All I know is that I heard the clock strike an extra stroke," Holloway
explained. "I thought it was queer to be having another meeting so soon.
Then I found Charley wasn't here--"
"Charley not here!" the Master exclaimed.
"He must have stepped out somewhere. The lights were on, and the door
partly open."
"I don't like this," the Master said, his voice harsh. "Charley has no
right to call a meeting without a special order from me. It is becoming
increasingly dangerous for us to gather here."
"Now you're talking!" Holloway nodded. "Anthony Parker of the _Star_ is
on the warpath again. One of his reporters has been prying into the books
of the County Cooperative."
"He'll learn nothing from that source, I trust."
"Not enough to do any harm."
"You act as though you had a grievance, Holloway. Any complaints?"
"Why, no, the Cooperative has made a lot of money since you've taken
over. We want to go along with you, if your flare for the dramatic
doesn't get us in too deep."
"What do you mean by that, Holloway?"
"This night riding business is getting risky. Why, if Clem Davis should
talk--"
"We're not through with him yet."
"Another thing, most of us never did approve of holding meetings here at
the Tower," Hank Holloway went on. "It's too public a place, and sooner
or later someone will start asking questions about what goes on."
"Anything else?"
"Well, we think you ought to show yourself--let us know who you are.
We're all in this together, and we ought to take the same risks. I've
been carrying the heavy end."
"That settles it!" the masked man said with finality. "We're through."
"How do you mean?" Holloway asked.
"We're breaking up the organization--now--tonight."
"There's no call to do that."
"Holloway, you do a lot of talking and not much thinking," the other
snapped. "This will be our last meeting. We'll divide the profits, and
for a time at least, remain inactive."
"That's all very well for you," Holloway complained. "You step out of it
without anyone even knowing who you are. But some of us are tied up with
the County Cooperative. If there's any investigation, we'll take the
rap."
"There will be no investigation."
"That's easy to say," Holloway argued. "I don't like the way things have
been going lately. If we're breaking up, we have a right to know who you
are."
"Sure," chimed in another. "Remove your mask, and let's have a look. We
think we have your number but we ain't positive."
"You never will be," the masked man returned coolly, backing toward the
door. "And now, goodnight."
"Oh, no, you don't!" Holloway cried, trying to head him off.
"Stand back!" ordered the Master harshly.
From beneath his robe he whipped a revolver.
"All right," Holloway sneered. "I never argue when I'm looking into a
muzzle."
Before the Master could retreat, there was another disturbance from
inside the machinery room. Unmistakably, the door rattled.
"Someone is in there!" Holloway exclaimed.
Startled, the Master postponed his flight. Still holding the revolver, he
tried to open the door, but found it locked.
For those hiding on the stairway, the situation had become a tense one.
In another moment, the members of the Black Hoods unquestionably would
break the door lock and find Charley Phelps.
"Let's take 'em, Chief!" whispered Jerry, who was eager for action. "Now
is our only chance."
"All set!" Mr. Parker gave the signal.
With a concerted rush, the four young men leaped down the stairway,
hurling themselves on Holloway and the masked man. Catching the latter
unaware, Jerry knocked the revolver from his hand and it went spinning
over the floor.
Penny started down the stairway, but Mr. Parker pushed her back.
"Stay where you are!" he ordered as he too joined the fray.
Penny huddled against the wall, watching fearfully. Her father and the
reporters outnumbered their opponents by one man, but the Hoods were all
strong, powerful fellows who fought desperately. A chair crashed against
the lamp, shattering it. In the resulting darkness, she no longer could
see what was happening.