toward the circular stairway. For a moment Penny believed that he must be
one of the reporters, then she saw that the man wore a hood over his
face.
"The Master!" she thought, chills racing down her spine. "He's trying to
get away, and I've got to stop him!"
CHAPTER
24
_TIMELY HELP_
As the black-robed man started up the stairway, Penny attempted to block
his path. Failing to trip him, she seized his arms and held fast.
"Out of my way!" the man cried, giving her a hard push.
Penny clung tightly and struggled to reach the hood which covered his
face.
Suddenly, the man jerked free and darted on up the steep, circular
stairway. Pursuing him, Penny was able to seize the long flowing black
robe, only to have it tear loose in her hands.
Gaining the first landing, midway to the belfry, the man did not
hesitate. Swinging his legs through an open window, he leaped to the
ground twenty feet below.
"He'll be killed!" Penny thought.
Reaching the window she saw the man lying in a heap at the base of the
tower. For a moment he remained motionless, but as she watched, he slowly
scrambled to his feet and staggered off.
Until the man ducked behind the high hedge, Penny saw him plainly
silhouetted in the moonlight. Although his black hood remained in place,
his body no longer was covered by the dark robe.
"I know him!" she thought. "Even with his mask on, I'm sure I can't be
wrong!"
Fearing to attempt the hazardous leap, Penny ran down the iron stairway,
shouting that the Master of the Hoods had escaped. By this time, Mr.
Parker's crew of reporters had gained the upperhand of the remaining
members of the organization.
"Which way did the fellow go?" the editor demanded, running to the door.
"Along the hedge toward the street!" Penny directed.
Leaving Jerry, Salt, and the others to guard the prisoners, Mr. Parker
and his daughter hastened outdoors. There was no sign of anyone in the
vicinity of the Tower.
"He can't be far away," Penny maintained. "Anyway, I know his identity!"
"You saw his face?"
"No, but as he ran across the yard I noticed that one arm was much
shorter than the other."
"Clyde Blake!"
"That's what I think. Maybe we can catch him at his home!"
"If Blake is our man, we'll get him!" Mr. Parker said tersely. "We may
need help though."
Reentering the Tower building, he telephoned police headquarters, asking
that a patrol wagon be sent for Hank Holloway, Charley Phelps, and the
other prisoners.
"Send a squad to Clyde Blake's home," he added crisply. "I'll meet your
men there and provide all the evidence they'll need to make the arrests."
Jerry, Salt, and the two reporters were instructed to remain at the Tower
pending the arrival of the patrol wagon. There was slight danger that any
of the prisoners could escape for all the captives had been locked into
the machinery room.
Delaying only long enough to obtain the case of sound equipment hidden
beneath the daybed, Mr. Parker and Penny hastened to the waiting press
car.
"Dad," she marveled as they passed near a street light, "you should see
your eye! It's turning black. Someone must have pasted you hard."
"Never mind that now," he returned indifferently. "We're out for a big
story, and we're going to get it too!"
The police cruiser which had been summoned was not in sight by the time
Mr. Parker and Penny reached the Blake home. At first glance, the house
seemed to be dark. However, a dim light glowed from the windows of one of
the upstairs, rear bedrooms.
"We'll not wait for the police," Mr. Parker said, starting up the walk.
His knock at the door went unanswered. Even when the editor pounded with
his fist, no one came to admit him.
"Someone is inside," Penny declared, peering up at the lighted window.
"It must be Blake."
Mr. Parker tried the door and finding it unlocked, stepped boldly into
the living room.
"Blake!" he shouted.
On the floor above Mr. Parker and Penny heard the soft pad of slippered
feet. The real estate man, garbed in a black silk dressing gown, gazed
down over the balustrade.
"Who is there?" he called.
"Anthony Parker from the _Star_. I want to talk with you."
Slowly Clyde Blake descended the stairway. His gait was stiff and
deliberate.
"You seem to have injured your leg," Mr. Parker said significantly.
"I stumbled on the stairway not fifteen minutes ago," Blake answered.
"Twisted my ankle. May I ask why I am honored with a visit at this hour?"
"You know why I am here!" Mr. Parker retorted, reaching to switch on a
living room light.
"Indeed, I don't." Deliberately Blake moved away from the bridge lamp
into the shadow, but not before both Penny and her father had noted a
long, ugly scratch across his cheek.
"It's no use to pretend," Mr. Parker said sharply. "I have all the
evidence I need to convict you of being a ringleader of the Hoods."
"You are quite mad," the real estate man sneered. "Parker, I've put up
with you and your methods quite long enough. You queered my deal with the
Orphans' Camp Board. Now you accuse me of being a member of a
disreputable organization. You must be out of your mind."
"You've always been a good talker, Blake, but this time it will get you
nowhere. My reporters were at the Hubell Tower. I have a complete sound
record of what transpired there. Either give yourself up, or the police
will take you by force."
"So you've notified the police?"
"I have."
"In that case--" Blake's smile was tight. With a dextrousness which
caught Penny and her father completely off guard, he whipped a revolver
from beneath his dressing robe. "In that case," he completed, "we'll
handle it this way. Raise your hands, if you please."
"Your politeness quite overpowers me," the editor said sarcastically, as
he obeyed.
"Now turn your back and walk to the telephone," Blake went on. "Call the
police station and tell the chief that you made a mistake in asking for
my arrest."
"This will get you nowhere, Blake."
"Do as I say!"
Mr. Parker went to the telephone, stalling for time by pretending that he
did not know the police station number.
"Garfield 4508," Blake supplied. "Say exactly what I tell you or you'll
taste one of my little bullets!"
The real estate man stood with his back to the darkened dining room, in
such position that he could cover both Mr. Parker and Penny. As the
editor began to dial the phone, he backed a step nearer the archway.
Behind him, the dark velvet curtains moved slightly.
Penny noted the movement but gave no indication of it. The next instant a
muscular arm reached through the velvet folds, seizing Blake from the
rear. The revolver was torn from his hand.
Dropping the telephone, Mr. Parker snatched up the weapon and covered
Blake.
"All right, it's your turn to reach," he said.
As Blake slowly raised his hands, another man stepped into the circle of
light. He wore rough garments and had not shaved in many days.
"Clem Davis!" Penny exclaimed.
"I came here to get Blake," the man said briefly. "I've thought for a
long time he was the person responsible for all my trouble. Tonight when
the clock struck thirteen, I watched the Hubell Tower. I saw Blake put on
his hood and robe and then enter the building, so I knew he was the
Master."
"You're willing to testify to that?" Mr. Parker asked.
"Yes," Clem Davis nodded, "I've been thinking things over. I'm ready to
give myself up and tell what I know."
"You'll have a very difficult time of it proving your absurd charges,"
Blake said scathingly.
"I think not," Mr. Parker corrected. "Ben Bowman was captured tonight,
and he's already confessed his part in the real estate swindle. Even if
you weren't mixed up with the Hoods, you'd go to jail for that."
Blake sagged into a chair, for the first time looking shaken.
"I'll make a deal with you, Parker," he began, but the editor cut him
short.
"You'll face the music! No, Blake, you can't squeeze out of it this
time."
A car had drawn up in front of the house. Running to the window, Penny
saw three policemen crossing the street. She hurried to the door to open
it for them.
"Here's your man," Mr. Parker said as the policemen tramped into the
living room.
Turning the revolver over to one of the officers, he disclosed exactly
what had occurred. Blake was immediately placed under arrest. He was
granted ten minutes to change into street clothing and prepare for his
long sojourn in jail.
"I am being persecuted," he whined as he was led away. "This is all a
trick to build up circulation for the _Star_. If there is such an
organization as the Black Hoods, Clem Davis is the man who heads it!"
Penny and Mr. Parker felt very grateful to the fugitive who had come to
their aid at such a timely moment. They wished to help him if they could,
but they knew he could not escape arrest. Clem Davis realized it too, for
he made no protest when told that Sheriff Daniels must be called.
"I'm ready to give myself up," he repeated. "I was a member of the Hoods,
but I never went along with them once I learned that they meant to
defraud the truck farmers. I hope I can prove my innocence."
Within a few minutes Sheriff Daniels arrived to assume charge of his
prisoner. Entertaining no sympathy for the man, he told Penny and her
father that in all likelihood Davis must serve a long sentence.
"He's wanted for setting fire to the Preston barn," the sheriff insisted.
"Unless he can prove an alibi for himself, he hasn't a chance."
"Can't you tell where you were at the time of the fire?" Mr. Parker asked
the man.
"I was at a place called Toni's."
"Why, that's right, Dad!" Penny cried. "Don't you remember? We saw Davis
leave the place, and he was followed by two men--probably members of the
Hood organization."
"We saw a man leave there shortly after midnight," Mr. Parker agreed.
"You wouldn't swear he was Clem Davis?" the sheriff asked.
"I'm not sure," Mr. Parker admitted truthfully. "However, it's obvious
that a man scarcely could have gone from Toni's at that time and still
set fire to the barn. My daughter and I drove directly there, and when we
arrived the building had been burning for some time."
"All of which proves nothing unless you can show that Clem Davis actually
was at Toni's after midnight."
"Could the owner of the place identify you?" Penny thoughtfully inquired.
"I doubt it," Davis answered. "It might be worth a try, though."
"Perhaps I can prove that you weren't near the Preston farm at midnight!"
Penny exclaimed as a sudden idea came to her. "Clem, you heard the Hubell
clock strike the hour?"
"Yes, I did."
"How many strokes were there?"
"Thirteen," Davis answered without hesitation. "I counted them and
figured the Hoods were having one of their get-togethers."
"What is this?" the sheriff demanded in bewilderment.
"We can prove that the Hubell clock did strike thirteen on that
particular night," Penny resumed. "It was a signal used by the Hoods, but
that's not the point."
"What are you getting at?"
"Just this. The Hubell clock can't be heard at the Preston farm."
"True."
"One can still hear the clock at Toni's but not a quarter of a mile
beyond it. You see, if Mr. Davis heard the thirteenth stroke, he couldn't
have had time to reach the Preston farm and set the fire."
"That's an interesting argument," the sheriff said, smiling. "And you
plead Clem's case very earnestly. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll
investigate all these angles you've brought up, and if the evidence
supports your theory, I promise he'll go free."
"That's fair enough," declared Mr. Parker.
The sheriff did not handcuff his prisoner. As they were leaving the
house, Clem Davis turned to thank Penny for her interest in his behalf.
"Oh, I almost forgot," he said, taking a rectangular metal object from
beneath his baggy coat. "Here's something for you."
"A rusty automobile license plate!" Penny exclaimed, staring at it.
"Found it in the swamp not far from that abandoned car I told you about."
"Then it must have been thrown away by the driver of the hit-skip car!"
"That's how I figure," Clem Davis drawled. "If you can learn the owner of
this license plate, you'll know who killed that orphan's folks!"
CHAPTER
25
_SPECIAL EDITION_
Lights blazed on every floor of the _Riverview Star_ building,
proclaiming to all who passed that another special edition was in the
process of birth. Pressmen industriously oiled the big rotaries ready for
a big run of papers; linotype men, compositors, reporters, all were at
their posts, having been hastily summoned from comfortable beds.
In the editor's office, Penny sat at a typewriter hammering out copy.
Jerking a long sheet of paper from beneath the roller, she offered it to
her father.
"My contribution on the Hubell Clock angle," she said with a flourish.
Mr. Parker rapidly scanned the story, making a number of corrections with
a blue pencil.
"I should slug this 'editorial material,'" he remarked with a grin.
"Quite a plug you've put in for Seth McGuire--suggesting that he be given
back his old job as caretaker of the Tower."
"Well, don't you think it's a good idea?"
"The old man will get his job back--I'll see to that," Mr. Parker
promised. "But the front page of the _Star_ is not the place to express
wishful thinking. We'll reserve it for news if you don't mind."
Crossing out several lines, Mr. Parker placed the copy in a pneumatic
tube, and shot it directly to the composing room. He glanced at his
watch, noting aloud that in exactly seven minutes the giant presses would
start rolling.
"Everything certainly has turned out grand," Penny sighed happily. "Hank
Holloway and Clyde Blake are sure to be given long prison sentences for
their Black Hood activities. You've promised to see that Old Seth gets
his job back, so that part will end beautifully. He'll adopt Adelle and I
won't need to worry about her any more."
"What makes you think Seth will adopt the orphan?" Mr. Parker asked
curiously.
"Why, he's wanted to do it from the first. He hesitated because he had no
steady work, and not enough money. By the way, Dad, how long will it take
to learn the owner of that automobile license plate that Clem Davis gave
us?"
"Jerry is trying to get the information now, Penny. All the registry
offices are closed, but if he can pull some official out of bed, there's
a chance he may obtain the data tonight. I'm not counting on it,
however."
The door of the office swung back and City Editor DeWitt hurried into the
room.
"Everything set?" Mr. Parker inquired.
"We need a picture of Clyde Blake. There's nothing in the morgue."
"Salt Sommers has one you might use!" Penny cried. "It was taken when
Blake came here the other day. He objected to it because it showed that
one arm was shorter than the other."
"Just what we need!" DeWitt approved. "I'll rush it right out. Except for
the picture, the front page is all made up."
The door closed behind the city editor, but before Mr. Parker could
settle comfortably into his chair, it burst open again. Jerry Livingston,
breathless from running up several flights of stairs, faced his chief.
"I've got all the dope!" he announced.
"You learned who drove the hit-run car?" Penny demanded eagerly.
"The license was issued in Clyde Blake's name!"
"Then Adelle's identification at the picnic was correct!" Penny
exclaimed.
"Write your story, Jerry, but make it brief," Mr. Parker said tersely.
"We'll make over the front page."
Calling DeWitt, he gave the new order. In the composing room, headlines
were jerked and a story of minor importance was pulled from the form to
make room for the new material.
"We'll roll three minutes late," Mr. Parker said, glancing at his watch
again. "Even so, our papers will make all the trains, and we'll scoop
every other sheet in town."
Jerry wrote his story which was sent paragraph by paragraph to the
composing room. Barely had he typed "30," signifying the end, when the
lights of the room dimmed for an instant.
"There go the presses!" Mr. Parker declared, ceasing his restless pacing.
Within a few minutes, the first paper, still fresh with ink, was laid
upon the editor's desk. Penny peered over his shoulder to read the
headlines announcing the arrest of Blake and his followers.
"There's not much here about Ben Bowman," she commented after a moment.
"What do you think will happen to him, Dad?"
"That remains to be seen," answered the editor. "He's already wanted for
forgery, so it should be fairly easy to prove that he worked with Blake
to defraud the Camp Board."
"I'm worried about the orphans' camp. So much money has been spent
clearing the land and setting up equipment."
"Probably everything can be settled satisfactorily in the end," Mr.
Parker returned. "It may take time and litigation, but there's no reason
why a perfect title can't be obtained to the land."
Penny felt very well pleased at the way everything had turned out. Only
one small matter remained unexplained. She had been unable to learn the
significance of the watch fob found in Clem Davis' stable.
"Why, I can tell you about that," Jerry Livingston assured her. "The fob
belonged to Hank Holloway. He admitted it at the police station. The
little boy in the picture is his nephew."
Both Penny and her father were tired for it was very late. With the
_Star_ ready for early morning street sales, they thought longingly of
home and bed. Yet as their car sped down a dimly lighted street, Penny
revived sufficiently to say:
"How about a steak at Toni's, Dad?"
"Oh, I don't feel like eating at this late hour," Mr. Parker declined.
"That's not the idea, Dad. I'm suggesting a raw steak for that left eye
of yours. By morning it will be swollen shut."
"It is quite a shiner," the editor agreed, gazing at his reflection in
the car mirror. "But the story was well worth the cost."
"Thanks to whom?" Penny asked mischievously.
"If I say thanks to you, Penny, you will be expecting an increase in your
allowance or something of the sort."
"Maybe I'll ask for it anyhow," Penny chuckled. "And don't forget that
you owe me a hundred dollars for getting that crack-pot, Ben Bowman, out
of your hair!"
"So I do," Mr. Parker conceded with a laugh. "That also will be worth the
price."
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Typographical errors were corrected without comment.
Replaced the list of books in the series by the complete list, as in
the final book, _The Cry at Midnight_.