"Of course."
"Then I'll tell you this in confidence. For weeks Jerry Livingston, our
star reporter, has been working on the case. He's rounded up a lot of
evidence against the outfit."
"Then we have a chance to get those tires back!"
"I'm not thinking about that," Mr. Parker said impatiently. "Jerry's
gathered enough evidence to smash the entire gang. It will be as big a
story as the _Star_ ever published."
"When are you breaking it, Dad?"
"Perhaps tomorrow. Depends on the state prosecutor."
"John Gilmore? What does he have to do with it?"
"This story is loaded with dynamite, Penny. If we spread it over our
front page before police have a chance to act, the guilty parties are apt
to make a getaway."
"That's so," nodded Penny.
"There's another reason I want to consult the Prosecutor before I use the
story," Mr. Parker resumed. "Some of the men involved--"
A tap sounded on the door. Without completing what he had started to say,
the editor called, "Come in."
Jerry Livingston entered the office. He was a good-looking young man,
alert and clean-cut. Smiling at Penny, he slapped a folded paper on Mr.
Parker's desk.
"Here's my story on the tire thefts, Chief," he said. "As far as I'm
concerned, this winds up the case."
"You've done fine work, Jerry," Mr. Parker praised. "Thanks to your work,
we ought to clean out the gang."
"I hope so, Chief. Guess you have all the proofs needed to back up the
story."
"All the evidence is locked in my safe. I have an appointment scheduled
with the Prosecutor. If he Okays the story, we'll publish it tomorrow. By
the way, Jerry, what are your plans?"
"Well, I have a couple of weeks before I go into the Army Air Corps."
"Then treat yourself to a vacation, starting right now," said Mr. Parker.
"Can you use it?"
"Can I?" grinned Jerry. "Know what I'll do? I'll hop the noon train and
head for the Canadian wilds on a hunting trip."
Mr. Parker wrote out a check which he presented to the young man.
"We'll be sorry to lose you, Jerry," he said regretfully. "But remember,
a job always will be waiting when you return."
The reporter shook hands with Mr. Parker and Penny, then left the office.
"We'll miss Jerry around here," the editor remarked.
Penny nodded. She and Jerry had shared many an adventure together, and he
was one of her truest friends. The office would not seem the same without
him.
"My appointment with the Prosecutor is at ten-thirty," said Mr. Parker
briskly. "I'll gather my papers and be on my way."
The editor placed Jerry's signed story in a leather portfolio. Next he
went to the safe and fumbled with the dial.
"Want me to open it for you?" Penny asked, after he had tried several
times.
Without waiting for a reply, she stooped down, twisted the dial a few
times, and opened the heavy door.
"Young lady, how did you learn the combination?" Mr. Parker demanded in
chagrin.
"Oh, the numbers are written on the under side of your desk," Penny
grinned. "Not a very good place either! You must trust your office help."
"Fortunately my reporters aren't quite as observing as a certain
daughter," Mr. Parker retorted grimly.
The editor removed a fat brown envelope from one of the drawers of the
safe. Glancing at the papers it contained, he added them to the contents
of the portfolio. He then locked the safe.
"How about letting me see that story?" Penny asked.
Mr. Parker smiled but shook his head. "Only two persons know the facts of
the case--Jerry and myself."
"Let's make it a trio."
"It will be after I've talked to the Prosecutor. I've got to step right
along, too, or I'll be late."
"But Dad--"
"You'll read the story in tomorrow's _Star_--I hope," her father laughed.
Picking up the portfolio, he started for the door. "Just contain your
impatience until I get back. And please keep those slippery little
fingers away from my safe!"
CHAPTER
5
_AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW_
After her father had gone, Penny remained in the private office. Eager to
be off, Mr. Parker had neglected to make any arrangements concerning the
stripped car at the Riverview Yacht Club.
"Oh, bother!" she thought impatiently. "Now I must wait here until he
comes back to learn what I'm to do. The car should be hauled home."
Penny wrote a letter on the typewriter. As she searched for a stamp, the
door swung open. A slightly bald, angular man with hard brown eyes,
paused on the threshold. The man was Harley Schirr, an assistant editor,
next in authority to Mr. DeWitt. Of the entire _Star_ staff, he was the
only person Penny actively disliked.
"Oh, good morning, Miss Parker," he said with elaborate courtesy. "Your
father isn't here?"
"No, he went away a few minutes ago."
"And you are taking care of the office in his absence?" Mr. Schirr
smiled. Even so, to Penny's sensitive ears, the words had an insolent
ring.
"I'm merely waiting for him to return," she answered briefly. "I came to
find out what to do about the car."
"Oh, yes, I heard that all of your tires were stolen last night." Mr.
Schirr's lips twitched. "Too bad."
"I may get them back again. Dad says--" Penny checked herself,
remembering that the information given her by her father was to be kept
secret.
"Yes?" encouraged the assistant editor.
"Perhaps police will catch the thieves," she completed.
"I shouldn't count on it if I were you, Miss Parker. Black Markets have
flourished in this city for months. Nothing's been done to stop it."
"Just what do you mean by a Black Market, Mr. Schirr?"
"Illegal trading in various scarce commodities. Tires either stolen or
hijacked, are sold by the crooks to so-called honest dealers who serve
the public. It's now a big-time business."
"What does Dad think about it?"
"Well, now, I really couldn't tell you. Your father doesn't discuss his
editorial policy with me. If he did, I'd warn him to lay off all those
tire-theft stories."
Penny gazed quickly at the assistant editor, wondering how much he knew
of her father's plan.
"Dad usually prints all the news," she said. "Why should he soft-pedal
the tire stories?"
"For his health's sake."
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Mr. Schirr."
The assistant editor had closed the door behind him. Warming to his
subject, he replied: "The men who have muscled into the tire theft racket
are ugly lads without scruples. If your father stupidly insists upon
trying to smash the outfit, he may not wake up some morning."
The suggestion that her father might ruthlessly be done away with shocked
Penny. And a canny corner of her mind demanded to know how Mr. Schirr
could be so well informed. She was quite certain her father had not taken
him into his confidence.
"Dad is no coward," she said proudly.
"Oh, no one ever questioned his bravery, Miss Parker. Your father is
courageous to the point of rashness. But if he prints an expose story
about the tire theft gang, it's apt to prove the most foolish act of his
life."
"How do you know he intends to do such a thing?"
The question, sharply put, surprised Mr. Schirr.
"Oh, I don't," he denied hastily. "I merely heard the rumor around the
office."
Penny made no reply. As the silence became noticeable, the assistant
editor murmured that he would return to see Mr. Parker later and left the
office.
Penny glared at the man's retreating back. Even more intensely than
before, she disliked Harley Schirr.
"The old sneak cat!" she thought. "I'll bet a cent he's been listening at
the door or prying in Dad's papers! I'm sure no rumors have been
circulating around the office."
The telephone rang. Automatically Penny took down the receiver.
"Mr. Parker?" inquired a masculine voice.
"He's not here now. This is his daughter speaking. May I take a message?"
"No message," said the purring voice. "Mr. Parker may hear from me
later."
"Who is this, please?" asked Penny quickly.
There was no answer, only the click of a receiver being hung on its hook.
The incident, although trifling, annoyed Penny. Getting up from the desk,
she walked to the window. Mr. Schirr's intimation had alarmed her, and
now the telephone call added to her uneasiness.
"Probably the man who telephoned is well known to Dad," she tried to
assure herself. "I'm just imagining that his voice sounded sinister."
Feeling the need of an occupation, Penny wandered out into the editorial
room. She chatted with the society editor and for a time watched the
world news reports coming in on the noisy teletype machines.
"Need a job?" inquired Editor DeWitt at the slot of the circular copy
desk. "How about writing a few headlines for me?"
"No, thanks," Penny declined. "I'm just waiting for Dad. He should be
back any minute now."
It was eleven-forty by the office clock. Never had time seemed to pass so
slowly. As Penny debated whether or not to wait any longer, there was a
sudden stir in the room. Glancing toward the outside door, she saw that
Jerry Livingston, suitcase in hand, had entered.
Immediately reporters and editors left their desks to shake his hand.
"Jerry, you're the best reporter this paper ever had," Mr. DeWitt told
him warmly. "We surely hate to see you go."
"Oh, I'll be back," the reporter answered. "You can bet on that!"
Penny crossed the room to say goodbye. Jerry surprisingly tucked her arm
through his.
"Come along and see me off on the train," he invited, pulling her along.
"Not doing anything special, are you?"
"Just waiting for Dad."
"Then come on," Jerry grinned. "I've got a lot to say to you."
However, once in the taxi, speeding toward the railroad station, the
reporter scarcely spoke. He reached out and captured her hand.
"I'm going to miss you, little twirp," he sighed. "No telling when I'll
get back to the _Star_. Maybe--"
"Now don't try to work on my sympathies," laughed Penny, though a lump
came in her throat. "Oh, Jerry--"
"At your command. Just break down and confess how desolate you'll be
without me."
The railroad station was close by and Penny had only a moment to talk.
"Riverview will be a blank without you," she admitted. "But it's that
tire-theft story I want to ask you about. Did you ever tell anyone that
Dad is planning to expose the gang?"
"Of course not!"
"I knew you wouldn't give out any information," Penny said in relief.
"But somehow Harley Schirr has learned about it."
"Schirr! That egg? How could he have found out?"
"I'd like to know myself. He hinted that something dreadful might happen
to Dad if the story is printed."
Jerry patted Penny's hand. "Don't give it a thought, kid," he said.
"Schirr does a lot of wild talking. Probably whatever he said to you was
pure bluff. He doesn't know a thing."
The arrival of the cab at the station put an end to the conversation.
Jerry paid the driver and hustled Penny inside. He barely had time to
purchase a ticket before the train was called.
"Well, goodbye," Jerry said, squeezing her hand.
"Have a good time in Canada," Penny replied. "And bring me a nice bear
rug!"
"Sure, I'll catch him with my bare hands," Jerry rejoined, making a
feeble attempt at a joke.
The train began to move. The reporter swung himself aboard the last
Pullman. As he waved from the steps, Penny realized that she had
forgotten to ask for his Canadian address.
Soon the train was only a blur down the frosty tracks. Penny climbed a
steep ramp to the street. She felt lonesome, and for some reason,
discouraged.
"First I lose my car wheels, and now it's Jerry," she reflected sadly.
"What a week!"
Penny scarcely knew whether to go home or to the _Star_ office. As she
debated the matter, her ears were assaulted by the shrill scream of a
siren.
"A fire," thought Penny.
An ambulance rushed past. It raced to the end of the short street and
pulled up.
"Probably an accident," amended Penny.
Curious to learn what had happened, she began to run. At the end of the
street a large crowd had gathered. A car with a smashed fender and
damaged front grillwork, had piled against a street lamp.
"What happened?" Penny asked a man who stood beside her.
"Two cars in a smash-up," he answered. "Didn't see the accident myself."
"But what became of the other automobile?" asked Penny.
She pushed through the gathering crowd to the curb. Broken glass was
scattered over the pavement. Ambulance men were searching the wreckage of
the car which had struck the lamp post. The other automobile, apparently,
had driven away.
Suddenly, Penny's gaze riveted on the rear license plate of the smashed
car. In horror she read the number--P-619-10.
"Dad's car!" she whispered. "He's been hurt!"
CHAPTER
6
_FRONT PAGE NEWS_
Never in her life had Penny been more frightened. Breaking away from the
group of people at the curb, she ran to the parked ambulance. A glance
into the interior assured her that Mr. Parker had not been placed inside
on a stretcher.
"Where is he?" she asked wildly. "Where's my father?"
A white-garbed ambulance attendant turned to stare at her.
"That's my father's car!" Penny cried, pointing to the battered sedan.
"Tell me, was he badly hurt?"
The attendant tried to be kind. "We don't know, Miss. Someone put in a
call for us. Said we were to pick up an injured man. Evidently he was
taken to a hospital before we could get here."
"That's what happened," contributed a small boy who stood close by. "A
woman drove by in an auto. She offered to take the man to the hospital
and he went with her."
"A tall, lean man in a gray suit?" Penny asked quickly.
"Yes. He had a leather case in his hand."
"Then it was my father!" Penny cried. "How badly was he hurt?"
"Oh, he could walk all right," the boy replied. "He seemed kinda dazed
though."
Greatly relieved to learn that her father had escaped serious injury,
Penny sought more information. The boy who had witnessed the accident,
told her that the car which had caused the smash-up, was a blue sedan.
"Two men were in it," he revealed. "They started to go around your
father's car and crowded him toward the curb. Next thing I saw, he'd
plowed into the lamp post."
"The other car didn't stop?"
"I'll say it didn't! You should have seen 'em go!"
"Didn't you notice the license number?" Penny asked hopefully.
The boy shook his head.
Having learned all she could from him, Penny questioned other persons.
Only one woman in the crowd was able to provide additional information.
Her eye-witness account differed slightly from the boy's, but she
confirmed that a middle-aged woman in a black coupe had taken the
accident victim to a hospital.
"Which hospital?" asked Penny.
The woman could not tell her. She did say, however, that the accident
victim seemingly had suffered only minor scratches.
A police car drove up. Penny, frantic to find her father, did not wish to
be delayed by questions. Without revealing who she was to members of the
investigation squad, she hailed a taxi. Mercy Hospital was only a few
blocks away. It seemed reasonable that her father would be taken there
for treatment.
A few minutes later, standing anxiously at the information desk of that
institution, she learned that Mr. Parker had not been admitted as a
patient. The nurse in charge, noting the girl's agitation, kindly offered
to telephone other hospitals. After six calls, she reported that she was
unable to trace the accident victim.
"Are you sure that your father sought hospital treatment?" she asked
Penny.
"Perhaps not. Dad wasn't badly hurt according to witnesses. He may have
gone elsewhere."
Thanking the nurse for her help, Penny taxied swiftly home. Mrs. Weems,
in an old coat and a turban, was pouring salt on the icy sidewalk in
front of the house. From the look on her face it was evident she had not
heard the news.
"Mrs. Weems, Dad's been hurt!" Penny cried, leaping from the cab. "In an
auto accident!"
"My land!" the housekeeper gasped and allowed the bag of salt to fall
from her gloved hand. "How bad is it?"
"I think he was more stunned than anything else. But I've not been able
to learn where he was taken. He didn't telephone here?"
"Not unless it was since I've been outdoors."
Picking up the bag of salt, Mrs. Weems followed Penny into the house.
Without removing coat or hat, the girl dialed the _Star_ office. Editor
DeWitt answered.
"Has Dad arrived there?" Penny asked abruptly.
"No, he hasn't returned. Anything wrong?"
Tersely Penny revealed what had occurred. The news shocked the editor for
he bore Mr. Parker a genuine affection.
"Now don't you worry," he tried to cheer her. "Your father can't be badly
hurt or he never would have walked away from that accident. Just sit
tight and our reporters will locate him for you."
During the next hour Penny and Mrs. Weems remained near the telephone.
Each moment they waited, their anxiety increased. Mr. DeWitt did not
phone. There was no word from the police station. They refused to believe
that Mr. Parker had been seriously injured, yet it seemed strange he
could not be found.
"It's not like him to allow anyone to worry," declared the housekeeper.
"I simply can't understand why he doesn't call to relieve our minds."
Just then the telephone bell jingled. Penny snatched the receiver from
its hook.
"DeWitt speaking," said the familiar voice of the editor.
"Any news?" Penny asked quickly. "Did you find Dad?"
"So far we haven't," the editor confessed. "I've personally called the
police station, every hospital and private nursing home in Riverview."
"Dad may have gone to a doctor's office for treatment."
"I thought of that," replied DeWitt. "We've checked all the likely ones."
"What could have become of him?" Penny asked desperately. "Mrs. Weems and
I are dreadfully worried."
"Oh, he'll show up any minute," comforted Mr. DeWitt. "Probably he
doesn't realize anyone is looking for him."
Penny asked the editor if he had learned the identity of the hit-skip
driver.
"No one took down the license number of the car," Mr. DeWitt returned
regretfully. "Our reporters are still working on the story though."
"The story," murmured Penny faintly. For the first time it occurred to
her that her father's accident and subsequent disappearance would be
regarded as front page news.
"I don't expect to run an account of the accident until I've talked to
your father," DeWitt said hastily. "Now don't worry about anything. I'll
let you know the minute I have any news."
Penny hung up the receiver and reported the conversation to Mrs. Weems. A
clock on the mantel chimed one-thirty, reminding the housekeeper that
lunch had not been prepared.
"No food for me," pleaded Penny. "I don't feel like eating."
"I've rather lost my own appetite," confessed the housekeeper. "However,
it's foolish of us to worry. Your father must be safe. No doubt he had an
appointment."
Penny's face brightened. "Why, of course!" she exclaimed. "Don't know why
I've been so dumb! Dad may still be in conference with Prosecutor
Gilmore! I'll call there."
Darting to the telephone, she waited patiently until she was connected
with the State prosecutor's office. The lawyer himself talked to her.
"Why, no, Mr. Parker hasn't been here," he replied to her eager inquiry.
"I expected him at ten-thirty. Then he telephoned that he had been
delayed and would see me at eleven-thirty. He failed to keep that
appointment also."
The information sent Penny's hopes glimmering. She explained about the
accident and listened to the Prosecutor's expression of sympathy.
Replacing the receiver, she turned once more to Mrs. Weems.
"I'm more worried than ever now," she quavered. "Dad didn't keep his
appointment with Prosecutor Gilmore, and it was a vitally important one."
"We'll hear from him soon--"
"Perhaps we won't." Penny took a quick turn across the room.
"Why, such a thing to say! What do you mean, Penny?"
"Dad has enemies. Harley Schirr told me today that if any attempt was
made to expose a certain gang of thieves, it would mean real trouble."
"But your father has had no connection with such persons."
"He and Jerry worked on a case together," Penny explained. "Today at the
time of the accident, Dad carried a brief case with all the evidence in
it!"
"Even so, I fail to see--"
"According to the report, Dad's car was practically forced off the road,"
Penny added excitedly. "I think that auto crash was deliberately
engineered! Don't you understand, Mrs. Weems? He's fallen into the
clutches of his enemies!"
"Now, Penny," soothed the housekeeper. "I'm sure we're making far too
much of the accident. We'll soon hear from your father."
"You're saying that to comfort me, Mrs. Weems. Something dreadful has
happened! I can _feel_ it."
Penny ceased pacing the floor and went to the hall closet for her hat and
coat.
"Where are you going?" asked the housekeeper, her eyes troubled.
"To the newspaper office. If word comes, I want to be there to get it the
very first minute."
Mrs. Weems started to protest, then changed her mind. She merely said:
"Telephone me the moment you have any news."
A brisk walk to the _Star_ office did much to restore Penny's sagging
courage. As she entered the newsroom, brushing snow from her coat, she
saw a group of reporters gathered about Mr. DeWitt's desk.
"News of Dad!" she thought, her pulse pounding.
Glimpsing Penny, the men at the desk began to scatter. They gazed at her
in such a kind, sympathetic manner that she became frightened again.
"What is it, Mr. DeWitt?" she asked the editor. "Has Dad been found?"
He shook his head.
"But you must have had some news," she insisted, her gaze on a folded
paper which he held. "Please don't hide anything from me."
"Very well," DeWitt responded quietly. "We found this letter in your
father's waste-basket."
Penny took the paper. Silently she read the message which had been typed
in capital letters.
"MR. PARKER," it warned, "THIS IS TO ADVISE YOU TO LAY OFF ON TIRE THEFT
STORIES IN YOUR PAPER. UNLESS YOU CHANGE YOUR POLICY YOU MAY WAKE UP IN A
DITCH."
CHAPTER
7
_QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS_
"I'd rather not have shown that note to you," Mr. DeWitt said quietly.
"We found it only a moment ago."
"How did it get in Dad's waste-basket?" Penny asked. "Do you suppose he
threw it there himself?"
"That's my guess. Your father never paid any attention to unsigned
letters."
Penny reread the threatening note, trying not to show how much it
disturbed her. "I wonder if this came by mail?" she remarked.
"We don't know," DeWitt replied. "There was no envelope in the basket."
"Dad never mentioned such a note to me," Penny resumed, frowning.
"Probably thought I'd worry about it. This makes the situation look bad,
doesn't it, Mr. DeWitt?"
The editor weighed his words carefully before he spoke. "It doesn't prove
that your father was waylaid by enemies, Penny. Not at all. According to
reports, Mr. Parker was involved in an ordinary automobile accident, and
left the scene of his own free will."
"With a woman who drove a black car."
"Yes, according to eye-witnesses she offered to take him to a hospital
for treatment."
"What became of that woman?" demanded Penny. "Can't the police find her?"
"Not so far."
Before Penny could say more, Harley Schirr came to the desk, spreading a
dummy sheet for the editor to inspect.
"Here's the front-page layout," he explained. "For the banner we'll give
'em, 'Anthony Parker Mysteriously Disappears,' and beneath it, a double
column story. I dug a good picture out of the morgue--the one with Parker
dedicating the Riverview Orphans' Home."
DeWitt frowned as he studied the layout. "Parker wouldn't like this,
Schirr. It's too sensational. Bust that banner and cut the story down to
the bare facts."
"But this is a big story--"
"I'm expecting Mr. Parker to walk in here any minute," retorted DeWitt.
"A 'disappearance' spread would make the _Star_ look silly."
"Mr. Parker's not going to show up!" Schirr refuted, his eyes blazing. "I
say we should play the story for all it's worth."
"I'm sure Dad would hate sensationalism," Penny said, siding with Mr.
DeWitt.
The assistant editor turned to glare at her. Although he made no reply,
she read anger and dislike in his flashing eyes.
"Cut the story down," DeWitt ordered curtly. "And try to find a more
suitable picture of Mr. Parker."
Schirr swept the dummy sheet from the desk, crumpling it in his hand. As
he started for the morgue where pictures were filed, he muttered to
himself.
"Don't know what's got into that fellow lately," DeWitt sighed.
The editor sat down rather heavily and Penny noticed that he looked tired
and pale. For fifteen years he had been closely associated with Mr.
Parker, regarding his chief with deep affection.
"Do you feel well, Mr. DeWitt?" she inquired.
"Not so hot," he admitted, reaching for a pencil. "Lately I've been
having a little pain in my side--it's nothing though. Just getting old,
that's all."
"Why not take the day off, Mr. DeWitt? You've been working too hard."
"Now wouldn't this be a fine time to go home?" the editor barked. "Hard
work agrees with me."
Reminded that she was keeping Mr. DeWitt from his duties, Penny soon left
the _Star_ office. Debating a moment, she walked to the nearby police
station. There she was courteously received by Chief Jalman, a personal
friend of her father's.
"We'll find Mr. Parker," he assured her confidently. "His description has
been broadcast over the radio. We've instructed all our men to be on the
watch for him."
Penny broached the possibility that her father had been waylaid by
enemies.
"Facts fail to support such a theory," replied Chief Jalman. "It's my
opinion your father will show up any hour, wondering what the fuss is all
about."
Penny left the police station rather cheered. Almost without thinking,
she chose a route which led toward the scene of the accident. Reaching
the familiar street, she noted that her father's battered car had been
towed away. All broken glass had been swept from the pavement.
"When I was here before I should have questioned more people," she
thought. "It never occurred to me then that Dad would fail to show up."
Noticing a candy store which fronted the street close to the bent lamp
post, Penny went inside. A friendly looking woman with gray hair came to
serve her.
"I'm not a customer," Penny explained. She added that her father had been
injured in the car accident, and that she was seeking information.
"I've already been questioned by police detectives," replied the owner of
the candy shop. "I'm afraid I can't tell you very much."
"Did you witness the accident?"
"Oh, yes, I saw it, but it happened so fast I wasn't sure whose fault it
was."
"You didn't take down the license number of the blue hit-skip car?"
"Was it blue?" the woman inquired. "Now I told the police, maroon."
"My information came from a small boy, so he may have been mistaken. Did
you notice the woman who offered my father a ride?"
"Oh, yes, she was about my age--around forty."
"Well dressed?"
"Rather plainly, I would say. But she drove a fine, late-model car."
"Would you consider her a woman of means?"
"Judging from the car--yes."
Penny asked many more questions, trying to gain an accurate picture of
the woman who had aided her father. She was somewhat reassured when the
candy shop owner insisted that Mr. Parker had entered the car of his own
free will.
"Did he seem dazed by the accident?" she asked thoughtfully.
"Well, yes, he did. I saw your father get into the car sort of holding
his head. Then he asked the woman to stop at the curb."
"Why was that?"
"He'd forgotten something--a leather carrying case. At any rate, he
returned to his own auto for it. Then he drove away with the woman."
As puzzled as ever, Penny went out on the street once more. The weather
had turned colder, but she scarcely felt the icy blast which whipped her
face.
It was silly to worry, she told herself sternly. Why, all the facts
supported Police Chief Jalman's belief that her father soon would return
home. Mrs. Weems was confident he would be found safe--so was Mr. DeWitt.
After all, only five hours had elapsed since the accident. A
disappearance couldn't be considered serious in such a short period.
But try as she might, Penny could not free her mind of grave misgivings.
She could not forget the mysterious telephone call, the threatening
letter, and Harley Schirr's cocksure opinion that her father would not be
found.
She stood disconsolate, gazing into the whirling snow storm. At the end
of the street the railroad station loomed as a dark blur, reminding her
of Jerry. If only he hadn't gone away! Jerry was the one person who might
help her, and she knew of no way to reach him.
CHAPTER
8
_A FEW CHANGES_
Next morning, Penny, red-eyed because she had slept little, walked slowly
toward the _Star_ office. Throughout the long night there had been no
word from Mr. Parker.
At every street corner newsboys shouted the latest headlines--that the
publisher had been missing nearly twenty-four hours. Even the _Star_
carried a black, ugly banner across its front page.
Penny bought a copy, reading with displeasure the story of Mr. Parker's
disappearance.
"I can't understand why Mr. DeWitt let this go through," she thought. "If
Dad were here, he'd certainly hate it."
Entering the lobby of the _Star_ building, Penny pressed the elevator
button. A long time elapsed before the cage descended. To her surprise
she saw that it was operated, not by Mose Johnson, the colored man, but
by the janitor.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Penny," the man apologized. "I'm not
much good at operating this contraption."
"Where is Mose this morning, Charley?"
"Fired."
Penny could not hide her amazement. The old colored man had been employed
ten years at the _Star_ plant. Although not strictly efficient, Mose's
habits were good, and Mr. Parker had taken an affectionate interest in
him.
"It's a shame, if you ask me," the janitor added.
"What happened, Charley? Who discharged him?"
"That guy Schirr."
"Harley Schirr? But he has no authority."
"An editor can fire and hire. I think he was just tryin' out his stuff on
poor old Mose."
"During my father's absence, Mr. DeWitt is in full charge here," Penny
said emphatically.
"DeWitt _was_ in charge. But they hauled him off to the hospital last
night with a bad pain in his tummy. Seems he had an appendicitis attack.
The doctor rushed him off and didn't even wait until morning to operate."
The news stunned Penny. She murmured that she hoped Mr. DeWitt was doing
well.
"Reckon he is," agreed the janitor. "We all chipped in and sent him some
flowers--roses. Mose gave fifty cents, too."
Penny's mind came back to the problem of the colored man.
"So Mr. Schirr discharged him," she commented. "I wonder why?"
The janitor pressed a button and the cage moved slowly upward.
"Mose was due on at midnight," he explained. "He didn't get here until
after two o'clock."
"Didn't he have a reason for being so late?"
The cage stopped with a jerk. "Sure, Mose had a pip this time! Something
about being detained by a ghost! Schirr didn't go for it at all. Swelled
up like a poisoned pup and fired Mose on the spot."
"I'm sorry," Penny replied. "Dad liked Mose a lot."
"Any news from your father?"
Penny shook her head. As far as possible she was determined to keep her
troubles to herself. Turning to leave the cage, she inquired:
"Where is Mose now? At home?"
"He's down in the boiler room, sittin' by the furnace. Says he's afraid
to go home for fear his old lady will give him the works."
"Will you please ask Mose to wait there for me?" Penny requested. "I want
to talk to him before he leaves the building."
"I'll be glad to tell him," the janitor said. Hesitating, he added: "If
you've got any influence with Schirr, you might speak a good word for
me."
"Why for you?" smiled Penny. "Surely your job is safe."
"I don't know about that," the janitor responded gloomily. "This morning
when Schirr was comin' up in the elevator he said to me: 'Charley,
there's going to be a few changes made around here. I'm going to cut out
all the old, useless timber.' He looked at me kinda funny-like too. You
know, I passed my sixty-eighth birthday last August."
"Now don't start worrying, Charley," Penny cheered him. "We couldn't run
this building without you."
Deeply troubled, she tramped down the hall to the newsroom. Reporters
were in a fever of activity, pounding out their stories. Copy boys had a
nervous, tense expression as they ran to and fro on their errands. Harley
Schirr, however, was not in evidence.
"The Big Shot has sealed himself in your father's office!" informed one
of the copy desk men in a muted voice. "Guess you heard about DeWitt?"
Penny nodded.
"The Great Genius has taken over, and how! This place is operating on an
efficiency-plus basis now. Why, he's got me so cockeyed, I compose
poetry."
Penny crossed to her father's office, tapping on the frosted glass door.
"Who is it?" demanded Schirr, his voice loud and unpleasant.
Penny spoke her name. In a moment the door opened, and the editor bowed
and smiled. As if she were a guest of honor, he motioned her to a seat.
"We're doing everything we can to trace your father," he said. "So far,
we've had no luck and the police admit they are baffled. I can't express
to you how sorry I am."
To Penny's ears the words were words only, lacking sincerity. Determining
to waste no time, she spoke of DeWitt's sudden illness.
"Oh yes, he'll be off duty for at least a month," replied Mr. Schirr.
"Naturally in his absence I have assumed charge. We put out a real paper
this morning."
"I saw the front page."
Penny longed to say that the story about her father had displeased her.
However, she knew it would do no good. The account, once printed, could
not be recalled. Far better, she reasoned, to let the matter pass.
"I hear Mose Johnson has been discharged," she remarked.
"Yes, we had to let him go." Mr. Schirr opened a desk drawer, helping
himself to one of Mr. Parker's cigars. "Mose is indolent,
irresponsible--a drag on the payroll."
"My father always liked him."
"Yes, he did seem to favor the old coot," agreed Schirr with a shrug.
"Well, thank you for dropping in, Miss Parker. If we have any encouraging
news, I'll see that you are notified at once."
Well aware that she had been dismissed, Penny left the office. Schirr's
attitude angered her. He had made her feel unwelcome in her own father's
newspaper plant.
As she closed the door behind her, she realized that nearly every eye in
the apparently-busy newsroom, had focused upon her. Deliberately, she
composed herself. Acting undisturbed, she swept past the rows of desks to
a rear stairway leading to the basement.
The janitor had delivered her message to Mose Johnson. She found the old
colored man curled up fast asleep on a crate by the warm stove.
Penny touched Mose on the arm. He straightened up as suddenly as if
someone had set off a fire-cracker.
"Oh, Miss Penny!" he beamed. "I'se suah su'prised at seein' you down heah
in dis dumpy fu'nace room. But I thanks you just the same fo' wakin' me
up out o' dat ghost dream."
"Were you having a ghost dream?" echoed Penny.
"Yes, Miss. Yo' see I was dreamin' about dat same ghost I saw last night
on de way to work."
Penny, fully aware that Mose was directing the conversation where he
wished it to go, hid a smile.
"I heard about that, Mose," she commented. "It must have been quite a
lively ghost to make you two hours late."
"It suah was a lively ghost," Mose confirmed, bobbing his woolly head.
"Why, it walked around jest like a live pu'son."
"Aren't you being a bit superstitious, Mose?"
"Deedy not, Miss. You is supe'stitious when you sees a ghost dat ain't
dar. But when you sees one dat is dar you ain't supe'stitious. You is
jest plain scared!"
"Suppose you tell me about it," Penny invited.
"Well, Miss Penny, it was like dis," began the old colored man. "At half
past eleven I starts off fo' work same as always. I picks up mah lunch
box de ole lady packed fo' me, an' scoots off toward de bus stop to get
de 11:45. But I nevah get dar. When I was goin' down dat road runnin'
past de old Harrison place, I seen de ghost."
"The Harrison place?" interrupted Penny. "Where is that?"
"You know de road that winds up Craig Hill? It's out towa'd de boat
club."
"You don't mean that big estate house with the fence surrounding it?"
"Dat's de place! Well, I seed dis heah ghost a cavortin' around behind de
big iron gate dat goes in to de old Harrison place. De ghost nevah sees
me, but I gets a good close-up of him. He was dressed in white and he was
carryin' his own tombstone around in his arms jes' like it doan weigh
nothin'."
"Oh, Mose!" protested Penny. "And then what happened? Did the ghost
disappear?"
"No, Miss," grinned the colored man, "but I did! I turns tail an' runs as
fast as a man half mah age could go, an' I nevah stops fo' nuthin' till I
gits back to mah own place.
"When I tells mah ole lady what was goin' on she says, 'Mose, you sees
white ghosts 'cause you been a drinkin' some mo' o' dat white-eye. It's
twelve o'clock dis minute and you'se missed de last bus. Now you start
walkin'! And if you is fired, don't nevah da'ken dat do' no mo'.'"
Old Mose drew a deep sigh. "And dat's jest what happened, Miss Penny. I
ain't got no job an' no mo' home than a rabbit. I'se suah bubblin' oveh
with trouble. It all come from seein' dat ghost you says I didn't see."
"I'm sure you thought you saw one," replied Penny. "If you'll promise to
attend strictly to your duties hereafter, I'll ask Mr. Schirr to
reinstate you on the payroll."
Old Mose brightened. "I suah nuff will!" he said jubilantly. "I won't
have no mo' truck with dat ghost. No sir!"
To face Mr. Schirr once more, was a most unpleasant ordeal for Penny.
Nevertheless, she sought his office, apologizing for the intrusion.
"I _am_ busy," the editor said pointedly. "What is it you want?"
Penny explained that she had talked with Mose Johnson and was convinced
that his offense would not be repeated.
"I want you to put him back on his old job," she requested.
"Impossible!"
"Why do you take that attitude?" inquired Penny, stiffening for an
argument. "Dad always liked Mose."
"One can't mix sentiment with business. I have a job to do here and I
intend to do it efficiently."
"Dad probably will show up before another day."
"I don't like to dash your hopes," said Mr. Schirr. "We've tried to spare
your feelings. Perhaps your father will be found, but you know I tried to
warn him he was inviting trouble when he mixed with the tire-theft gang."
"So you believe Dad has fallen into the clutches of those men?"
"I do."
"What makes you think so? Have you any evidence?"
"Not a scrap."
"And how did you learn Dad intended to expose the higher-ups?"
"I don't mind telling you I heard him talking to Jerry Livingston about
it."
"Oh, I see."
"We're getting nowhere with this discussion," Mr. Schirr said
impatiently. "I really am busy--"
"Will you reinstate Mose?" Penny asked, reverting to the original
subject.
"I've already given my answer."
"After all, this is my father's paper," Penny said, trying to control her
voice. "It's not a corporation. Only Dad's money is invested here."
"So what?"
"As a personal favor I ask you to reinstate Mose."
"You're making an issue of it?"
"Call it that if you like."
Mr. Schirr's dark eyes blazed. He slammed a paper weight across the desk
and it dropped to the floor with a hard thud.
"Very well," he said stiffly, "we'll restore your pet to the payroll."
"Thank you, Mr. Schirr."
"But get this, Miss Parker," the editor completed. "We may as well have
an understanding. While your father is absent, I'm in full charge here.
In the future I'll have no interference from you or any other person."
CHAPTER
9
_AN OPEN SAFE_
Rather flattened by the interview with Mr. Schirr, Penny was glad to
leave the _Star_ plant. Going down in the elevator, she requested Charley
to tell Mose Johnson that he had been restored to his old job.
"That's fine!" the janitor beamed. "Mighty glad to hear it." Opening the
cage door, he inquired: "Will you be going to see Mr. DeWitt?"
"I thought I would."
"He's at City Hospital. You might tell him that we all miss him around
here."
"I'll certainly deliver the message," promised Penny.
City Hospital was only six blocks away. Penny bought flowers and then
presented herself at the institution. After a brief wait in the lobby,
she was allowed to see Mr. DeWitt for a few minutes.
"Good morning," she said cheerfully, handing the box of flowers to a
nurse.
Mr. DeWitt, pale and weak, stirred and turned his head so that he could
see her.
"What's good about it?" he muttered with a trace of his old spirit. "They
won't even let me sit up!"
"I should think not," smiled Penny. She sat down in a chair beside the
bed.
"Of all times to get laid up!" the editor went on. "Heard from your
father?"
Penny shook her head. A long silence followed, and then she said
brightly:
"But he'll be found--probably today."
Mr. DeWitt lay with his eyes closed. "I've been thinking--" he mumbled
drowsily.
"Yes?" Penny waited.
"Mind's still fogged with that blamed ether," DeWitt muttered. "About
your father--" His voice trailed off.
"Do you think he could have been waylaid by enemies?" Penny asked after a
moment. "Mr. Schirr believes his disappearance has a connection with the
tire-theft gang."
Mr. DeWitt's eyes opened again. "I don't know," he mumbled. "Your father
was planning to break a big story--didn't tell me much about it."
"You don't know what evidence he carried in the portfolio when he went to
see the State Prosecutor?"