funnel-shaped arm reached down from the boiling clouds, anchoring them to
earth. For a moment the entire mass seemed to settle and flatten out.
"Listen!" commanded Penny.
Plainly they both could hear a sullen, deep-throated roar as the storm
moved forward.
"A tornado!" gasped Louise. "It's coming this way!"
"Run!" urged Penny, seizing her hand. "We still have a chance to make
Fenestra's place."
In a clearing beyond a weed-grown field stood a white farmhouse, a red
barn and a silo. One side of the property was bounded by the
willow-rimmed river, the other by the road.
Crawling beneath a barbed-wire fence, the girls cut across the field. The
sky was darker now, the roar of the wind ominous. They could see the tail
of the funnel whipping along the ground, veering to the south, then
coming toward them again.
"We'll never make the house," Louise cried fearfully.
"Yes, we will," encouraged Penny.
She raised another wire strand for Louise to roll beneath. Her own
sweater caught on the sharp barbs, tearing a large hole as she jerked
free.
Dust had begun to blow. Trees and bushes bowed before the first gusts of
wind.
Glancing frantically about for a place of refuge, Penny saw a low,
circular cement hump rising from the ground not many yards distant.
Instantly she recognized it as an old fashioned storm cellar.
"We'll get in there, Lou!" she shouted. "Come on!"
Running across the yard, they reached the cave. Entrance was guarded by a
door built in the side of the cement dome. A brass padlock hung unsnapped
in the hasp.
"Thank goodness, we can get in," gasped Louise. "Hurry!"
Penny tugged at the heavy door. It would not raise, and then it gave so
suddenly that she nearly tumbled backwards.
The door clattered back against the cement dome. Through the rectangular
opening protruded the head and shoulders of Peter Fenestra. His face was
convulsed with rage.
"What are you trying to do?" he demanded harshly. "Speak up!"
CHAPTER
9
_A FALLEN TREE_
"Speak up!" Peter Fenestra commanded again as the girls stared at him in
blank astonishment. "Why are you trying to get into my cave?"
"Listen to that wind!" cried Penny, recovering the power of speech. She
pointed toward the sky.
"A tornado!" exclaimed Fenestra in a stunned voice.
"And it's coming this way," added Louise. "Let us down into the cave!"
Instead of stepping aside, the man came up the stone steps. Slamming the
door of the cave, he padlocked it.
"Quick! Into the house!" he ordered.
"We'll be much safer underground," argued Penny. "That twister easily can
lift a building from its foundation."
"Do as I say!" commanded Peter Fenestra harshly. "The cave is half filled
with water. You can't go down there."
Deserting the girls, he ran toward the house. Mystified by the old man's
actions, Penny and Louise followed, overtaking him as he reached the
porch.
"Get inside!" he ordered.
The girls scurried through the door and he closed it behind them. Barely
had they reached shelter when the wind struck the house in full force,
fairly shaking it to its foundation. Windows rattled, a tree bough came
crashing down on the porch, the air was filled with flying debris.
As a hard object shattered a pane of glass, Penny and Louise heard a
terrified scream from the kitchen. A moment later a girl ran into the
room. She stopped short as she saw Penny and Louise. They also stared,
for it was Tillie Fellows.
"Stop that silly screeching!" Fenestra ordered sharply. "The center of
the storm is passing to the south. Now get back to your work!"
"Yes, sir," Tillie mumbled.
Still gazing at Penny and Louise, she slowly retreated. However, as Peter
Fenestra went to the window, turning his back, she made strange signs to
the girls which they were unable to understand. Obviously she did not
wish them to speak to her for she raised a finger to her lips, indicative
of silence.
A gate was wrenched from its hinges and carried across the yard. From
across the road came the crash of an uprooted tree. With a stifled scream
Tillie fled to the kitchen.
"That stupid girl drives me crazy," Fenestra muttered. "I don't know why
I ever hired her."
"You can't blame her for being frightened," declared Louise quickly.
"This is a dreadful storm."
"The worst is over now," said Fenestra. "You'll be able to go in a few
minutes."
Penny and Louise glanced at each other. Peter Fenestra's remark made it
very clear that he did not wish them to linger after the storm had
passed. Without inviting them to sit down, he nervously went from window
to window, watching the clouds.
Rain began to fall. At first it came in a heavy downpour, then slackened
somewhat. The wind no longer tore at the doors.
"You'll be able to go any time now," said Fenestra. "I can let you have
an umbrella."
"It's still rather bad," answered Penny. "If you don't mind, I believe
we'll wait a few minutes longer."
The decision displeased the man. Frowning, he turned to gaze at the girls
somewhat critically.
"Who sent you here?" he demanded. "Why did you come?"
His manner was so suspicious that Penny sensed it was no time to reveal
the real purpose of the visit. Instead she said:
"My father has a cottage along the river. We were returning from there
when the storm broke."
Her explanation seemed to satisfy the man. He shrugged and fell to pacing
the floor restlessly.
The rain presently ceased. Penny and Louise felt that they no longer
could delay their departure. Saying good-bye to Fenestra, they left the
house.
Rounding a corner of the building, they were startled to hear a light tap
on the window. Glancing up, they saw Tillie Fellow's face pressed against
the pane.
"She's signaling for us to wait," observed Penny. "I guess she wants to
talk with us."
The girls stepped into the doorway of a woodshed. In a moment Tillie
slipped from the house, a coat thrown over her head.
"I hope old Fenestra doesn't see me," she greeted the girls nervously.
"Let's get out of sight."
Penny and Louise followed her into the woodshed, closing the door.
"How long have you worked here?" the latter inquired curiously.
"Ever since I met you girls on the boat. I answered an advertisement the
next morning and got this job."
"Do you like it?" asked Penny. "I imagine farm work is hard."
"The work is easy enough. But I hate the place! That's why I wanted to
talk with you. Do you know of anyone who needs a girl? I'll work for very
small wages."
"I don't know of anyone at the moment," responded Penny.
"I can't stay here much longer," Tillie said, a note of desperation in
her voice. "Mr. Fenestra is so overbearing and mean! He can't bear noise
either. If I as much as rattle a dish he berates me."
"Does he pay you a decent wage?" inquired Louise.
"Ten dollars a week. I can't complain on that score. But there's
something about him--I can't explain--it gives me the creeps."
"Fenestra is a peculiar type," admitted Penny. "He didn't act very
friendly toward Louise and me. By the way, why does he keep the storm
cellar padlocked?"
"That's something I wish you would tell _me_."
"He wouldn't allow us to enter it even when the storm was coming."
"Fenestra always keeps the cave padlocked," revealed Tillie. "He goes
there every day, too. Sometimes he spends hours beneath ground. It rather
frightens me."
"What do you think he does there?"
"I don't know. Once I asked him about the cave and he flew into a violent
rage. He said if he ever caught me near it he would discharge me."
"He told us that the cave was half filled with water."
"I don't believe that," said Tillie. "He has something hidden down
there."
"Haven't you any idea what it is?"
"No, and I don't care very much," returned Tillie. "All I want to do is
get away from this place. If you hear of a job anywhere will you let me
know?"
"Of course," promised Penny. "Mrs. Weems, our housekeeper, may know of a
vacancy. If she does, I'll telephone."
"We haven't a telephone. Mr. Fenestra had it taken out because the
ringing of the bell made him jumpy. He said the neighbors always listened
to his conversations, too. He's very suspicious of everyone."
"Then I can run out in the car," said Penny. "I don't blame you for not
liking this place. I shouldn't either."
"Thanks for everything," replied Tillie gratefully. "You've been awfully
good to me. I must run back now or old Fenestra will ask me a million
questions."
Hastily saying good-bye, she darted away. Walking slowly toward the road,
Penny and Louise discussed Peter Fenestra's strange actions. They were
inclined to agree with Tillie that he had hidden something of value
beneath ground.
Across the road from the farmhouse a giant elm tree had been uprooted.
They saw overturned chicken houses, fences laid flat, tangles of
telephone and electric wires.
"Even more damage must have been done farther down the river," remarked
Penny anxiously. "I hope our new cottage hasn't blown away."
"Shall we go there and see?"
"I wish we could."
For several hundred yards the girls followed the road, then once more
they cut across the fields toward the winding river. As they approached
the Parker property their misgivings increased. All along the water
front, trees had been toppled and split. In sections there were wide
paths cut as if by a scythe.
"The cottage is still there!" Penny cried as they presently ascended to
higher ground. "I can see it."
"Several trees are down," observed Louise. "One has fallen across the
porch."
"A beautiful birch, too," murmured Penny. "Anchor Joe will have a job
clearing it away."
Approaching the cottage, the girls saw no glimpse of the workman. Penny
called his name several times.
"I wonder where he went?" she murmured.
The girls rounded the corner of the cottage. As their eyes fell upon the
giant birch which had demolished the porch railing, they were startled to
see a slight movement among the leaves. A hand lay limp against the
trunk.
"Anchor Joe!" gasped Penny in horror. "He's pinned beneath the tree!"
CHAPTER
10
_A WORD TO THE WISE_
Penny and Louise stooped beside the groaning man who lay pinned on his
side beneath the tree. As they attempted to move him he writhed in pain
and pleaded with them not to touch him.
"The tree will have to be lifted," declared Penny. "I'll go for help."
Leaving Louise to encourage Anchor Joe, she ran the entire distance to
the main road. The nearest house was the one owned by Peter Fenestra.
However, as she hastened in that direction, she observed a truck filled
with telephone linemen coming toward her. Hailing the men, she told them
what had occurred.
"I am afraid Anchor Joe is badly hurt," she added. "I'll telephone for a
doctor while you go on to the cottage."
One of the linemen offered to make the call, leaving her free to guide
the other four men to the Parker camp. Reaching the spot, the men raised
the fallen tree. Carefully they lifted Anchor Joe who had lapsed into
unconsciousness.
"Bring him into the cottage," Penny directed, going ahead to open doors.
One of the rooms had been furnished as a bedroom with an old cot, a chest
of drawers and odd pieces brought from the Parker home. Penny spread a
blanket over the mattress and the injured man was stretched upon it.
"He's seriously hurt, isn't he?" she asked anxiously.
"Afraid he is," admitted one of the linemen. "Heat up some water and I'll
do what I can until the doctor gets here."
Penny and Louise hastened to the kitchen to struggle with the
wood-burning range. By the time they had the fire going well they heard
voices in the yard. Glancing out the window they saw a lineman coming
toward the cottage and walking beside a doctor who carried a light, black
bag.
"It's Doctor Griswold," observed Louise. "He made a quick trip from
town."
Penny ran to open the door for the two men. Then, at the doctor's
bidding, she went to the kitchen again for the boiling water.
"You carry it in," urged Louise. "I can't bear to see poor Anchor Joe."
The linemen had left by the time Penny reentered the bedroom. The doctor
was working over Anchor Joe, and she observed in relief that he had
recovered consciousness.
"Where do you feel pain?" the doctor inquired as he unfastened the man's
shirt.
"My back and chest, doc," the sailor mumbled. "Feels like all my insides
is crushed."
"Hardly that," said the doctor cheerfully, "or you wouldn't be telling me
about it. Now let's see."
He took Anchor Joe's pulse, then gently probed his chest and sponged a
break in the skin. Carefully he turned the man upon his back.
Penny drew in her breath, nearly dropping the pan of water. Across Anchor
Joe's back was tattooed the sprawling figure of an octopus. She bent
closer. Beneath the front arms of the repulsive sea creature appeared a
single word: _One_.
"John Munn's tattoo was exactly the same, save for the word!" thought
Penny. "It was 'All' while this is 'One.' What can be the significance?"
Even the doctor was startled by the strange tattoo for he glanced at it
curiously as he probed.
"You are a sailor?" he inquired.
"That's right," muttered Anchor Joe. "Ouch, doc! Take it easy, will you?"
Penny could not remain silent. "Joe, do you know a man named John Munn?"
she asked.
"Sure I know him," the sailor mumbled. "We shipped together on the
_Dorasky_."
"Your tattoo is very similar to his."
Anchor Joe's pain-glazed eyes turned upon Penny as if he were seeing her
for the first time. He made an effort to pull the blanket over his back.
"We had 'em put on together," he muttered. "Jack an' John, and that rat,
Otto--"
"Please don't talk to the patient," said the doctor significantly. "He
should be kept quiet."
"I'm sorry," apologized Penny.
She did not speak again until the doctor had completed his examination
and had bandaged Anchor Joe's cuts and bruises.
"What do you advise, doctor?" she asked. "Will it be necessary to remove
Joe to a hospital?"
"Neither advisable nor desirable for at least twenty-four hours," he
replied. "I find no indication of internal injury, but it is best to be
safe. The patient should be kept quiet, in bed, for at least a day or
two."
"It's something of a problem to care for him here," said Penny frowning.
"Do you suggest a nurse?"
"Any woman who has had practical experience in caring for the sick would
do."
"Mrs. Weems may be willing to come," said Penny. "I'll telephone home at
once and learn what arrangements can be made."
When the doctor left, Penny accompanied him as far as the first house.
From there she telephoned her father, who promised to get Mrs. Weems and
come at once to the cottage.
Louise was uneasily waiting by the time Penny returned. Outside the
bedroom they held whispered consultation.
"Has Anchor Joe talked?" Penny questioned. "You know what I mean. Has he
said anything about John Munn or the tattoo?"
"Not a word. But every so often he mutters that he'll get even with
someone by the name of Otto--a fellow sailor who 'ratted.'"
"He mentioned Otto when I was in the room," nodded Penny. "I wish we
dared question Joe, but the doctor advised against it."
"I don't think we should annoy him now. Perhaps later on he'll tell us
about the tattoo and its meaning."
"Perhaps," echoed Penny. "However, if I am any judge of character, Anchor
Joe isn't the talkative type. As soon as he gets over the shock of this
accident, he'll lock those lips of his. We'll learn nothing."
"Why are you so convinced there's a deep mystery connected with the
tattoo?"
"I can't explain it, Lou. I just _know_ there is. I'll never rest until I
learn the significance of those words, _All_ and _One_."
Within a half hour Mrs. Weems and Mr. Parker arrived at the cottage,
bringing a supply of linen, food, and comforts for the injured man. The
housekeeper agreed to assume charge until Anchor Joe could be safely
removed to a hospital.
When Mr. Parker drove to Riverview the girls accompanied him. During the
ride Penny questioned her father regarding Anchor Joe.
"I know almost nothing about him," he replied. "He was sent to me by the
Acme Employment Agency, and I didn't bother to ask for a recommendation."
"I've learned that he's a friend of John Munn," revealed Penny. "As soon
as he's able to get about again, I mean to ask him a number of things."
Mr. Parker drove Louise to her home, and at Penny's request dropped her
off at the _Weekly Times_ office.
"By the way, what about dinner tonight?" he inquired. "Shall we dine at
the Commodore Hotel?"
"Oh, Dad, I wish I could," Penny sighed wistfully. "Work is stacked a
mile high on my desk. I'll just grab a sandwich somewhere and work late."
"I am afraid you are taking the newspaper business too seriously,"
replied her father. "Shall I leave the car for you?"
"It would be a help."
"All right, Penny."
Mr. Parker gave her the car keys, and walked on to his own newspaper.
Entering the _Times_ building, Penny spoke to several high school boys
who were working in the advertising office, and climbed the stairs to her
own office.
For the next half hour she checked over galley proofs, marking
corrections on the margins.
"I never imagined there could be so many things to do on a weekly," she
sighed. "One never gets through."
A board creaked in the newsroom. Penny heard it and glanced up. A shadow
passed slowly across the frosted glass of the office door.
"Come in," she called.
No one answered, and the shadow disappeared. Penny waited a moment, then
impatiently arose and went to the door. The newsroom was deserted.
"Queer," she thought. "Someone walked past my office door."
Thinking that it might have been one of the high school boys, Penny went
to the head of the stairs and called:
"Did anyone come up here a moment ago?"
"Not unless it was by way of the back entrance," was the reply.
Decidedly puzzled, Penny returned to her desk. As she sat down a sheet of
paper lying on the blotter pad drew her attention. She was certain it had
not been there a few minutes earlier.
Reaching for it, she gasped in astonishment. The paper bore a message
scrawled in black ink and read:
"To the Editor of the _Weekly Times_:
You are hereby warned to give up your newspaper which offends public
taste. We give you three days to wind up your business and close doors. A
word to the wise is sufficient."
CHAPTER
11
_MR. JUDSON'S DAUGHTER_
Penny read the message three times. Obviously, it had been placed on her
desk during the few minutes she had been absent. Yet she reasoned that it
would be useless to search for the cowardly person who undoubtedly had
slipped from the building.
"So I am warned to close shop!" she muttered angrily. "And the _Weekly
Times_ offends public taste!"
Penny crumpled the paper into a ball, hurling it toward the wire basket.
Reconsidering her action, she recovered the note and, carefully smoothing
the wrinkles, placed it in her purse.
"I'll show this to Dad," she told herself. "But no one else."
When Penny's anger had cooled she was left with a vague sensation of
misgiving. Resolutely she reflected that it was not unusual for editors
to receive threatening notes. Often her father had shown her such
communications sent to the _Star_ by cranks.
"It doesn't mean a thing," she assured herself. "Not a thing. I'll keep
on publishing the _Weekly_ as long as I please."
One fact contributed to Penny's uneasiness. Often she worked late in the
building, and a single light burning from an upper story window
proclaimed to any street watcher that she was alone. In the future she
must use far more caution.
Try as she would, Penny could not forget the warning. After the boys who
comprised the advertising staff had gone home for dinner, she caught
herself listening tensely to every unusual sound. At length she shut the
desk and arose.
"I'm doing no good here," she thought in disgust. "I may as well go
home."
Taking particular care to lock all doors and windows, Penny left the
building. Street lights were blinking on as she climbed into the parked
automobile.
Driving mechanically, she weaved through downtown traffic, now and then
halting for a red light. As she was starting ahead from an intersection,
an elderly man suddenly stepped from the curb. His gaze was upon the
pavement, and he did not see the car.
Penny swerved the wheel and slammed on the foot brake. The edge of the
fender brushed the man's overcoat. He gasped in astonishment and
staggered backwards.
Penny brought the car to a standstill at the curb.
"You're not hurt?" she called anxiously.
"No--no," the man murmured in a bewildered way.
As he turned his face toward her, Penny recognized Matthew Judson, the
former publisher of the _Morning Press_. Calling him by name, she invited
him into the car.
"Let me take you home, or wherever you are going," she urged. "You don't
look well, Mr. Judson. I am afraid I frightened you."
"It was my fault," admitted the old gentleman, staring at Penny. "I--I
was thinking about something when I stepped from the curb."
"This is a dangerous intersection. Please, Mr. Judson, can't I take you
home?"
"If you insist," he murmured, entering the car. "You seem to know my
name, but I haven't the pleasure of your acquaintance."
"I'm Penny Parker. My father publishes the _Star_."
"Oh, yes." Mr. Judson's voice became spiritless.
"Your home is on Drexel Boulevard, I believe?" Penny inquired.
Matthew Judson nodded and in the same dull, lifeless voice supplied the
address. He made no attempt at conversation.
As she stole occasional glimpses at the man, Penny thought that his face
bore lines of mental fatigue and discouragement. He stared straight ahead
with glazed, unseeing eyes.
Hoping to start a conversation, she presently remarked that she was the
managing editor of the _Weekly Times_. For the first time Matthew Judson
displayed interest.
"Oh, are you the girl who has taken over my building?" he asked.
"Yes, Mr. Veeley allows me the use of it rent free. I hope you don't
mind?"
"Mind?" repeated Mr. Judson, laughing mirthlessly. "Why should I?"
"Well, I thought--that is--" Penny began to stammer.
"You thought that because I gave up my own paper I might not wish to see
the building used by another?"
"Something like that," admitted Penny.
"I try not to think about the past," said Mr. Judson quietly. "Long ago I
made my decision, and now must abide by it. I realize that I never can
publish the _Press_ again. I'm broken, beaten!"
The old man spoke with such bitterness that Penny glanced quickly at him.
There was an expression in his dark eyes which startled her.
"Surely one can't be defeated as long as he's willing to fight," she
ventured. "Why, if you chose to make a come-back, I'm certain you would
succeed."
Mr. Judson shook his head impatiently. "You don't understand. I am
through--finished. All I can hope to do is to hold fast to what little I
have, and try to protect Pauletta."
"Pauletta is your wife?" Penny inquired kindly.
"My daughter. If it weren't for her--" Mr. Judson hesitated, then
finished in a voice quite casual: "If it weren't for her, I probably
would end it all."
Penny was shocked.
"Why, Mr. Judson!" she protested. "You can't mean that!"
"Don't be alarmed," he said, smiling faintly. "I have no intention of
taking the easy way out."
A dozen questions flashed through Penny's mind, but she was afraid to ask
any of them. From Mr. Judson's remarks it was fairly evident that he
never had relinquished the _Press_ voluntarily. Could financial
difficulties alone account for his state of mental depression?
In the darkening twilight the car approached a white-painted brick house,
set back some distance from the boulevard. Once an elegant dwelling,
peeling paint had made it an unsightly residence. Roof shingles were
curling, the front porch sagged, while an iron fence only partially hid a
wide expanse of untended lawn.
"This is my home," said Mr. Judson. "Turn into the driveway if you wish."
Penny stopped the car just inside the iron gate.
As Mr. Judson alighted, a girl who appeared to be in her early twenties,
arose from a bench. A white collie at her side, she came toward the car.
Midway across the lawn, she paused, staring. Then, she half turned as if
to retreat.
"Pauletta," called Mr. Judson. "Will you come here, please?"
Reluctantly the girl approached the car, her gaze meeting Penny's almost
defiantly. Pauletta was a beautiful girl with auburn hair and steel-blue
eyes.
"Pauletta, this is Miss Parker," said her father.
"How do you do," responded the girl coldly.