Chapter I: Part 1

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Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Brenda Lewis and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

The Secret
Pact

_By_
MILDRED A. WIRT

_Author of_
MILDRED A. WIRT MYSTERY STORIES
TRAILER STORIES FOR GIRLS

_Illustrated_

CUPPLES AND LEON COMPANY
_Publishers_
NEW YORK

_PENNY PARKER_
MYSTERY STORIES

_Large 12 mo. Cloth Illustrated_

TALE OF THE WITCH DOLL
THE VANISHING HOUSEBOAT
DANGER AT THE DRAWBRIDGE
BEHIND THE GREEN DOOR
CLUE OF THE SILKEN LADDER
THE SECRET PACT
THE CLOCK STRIKES THIRTEEN
THE WISHING WELL
SABOTEURS ON THE RIVER
GHOST BEYOND THE GATE
HOOFBEATS ON THE TURNPIKE
VOICE FROM THE CAVE
GUILT OF THE BRASS THIEVES
SIGNAL IN THE DARK
WHISPERING WALLS
SWAMP ISLAND
THE CRY AT MIDNIGHT

COPYRIGHT, 1941, BY CUPPLES AND LEON CO.

The Secret Pact

PRINTED IN U. S. A.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE
1 ABOARD THE GOODTIME _1_
2 THE RIVER'S VICTIM _11_
3 THE OCTOPUS TATTOO _19_
4 A PROSPECTIVE TENANT _27_
5 COBWEBS AND RUST _36_
6 HEADLINES AND HEADACHES _45_
7 PETER FENESTRA _54_
8 THE STORM CAVE _62_
9 A FALLEN TREE _70_
10 A WORD TO THE WISE _77_
11 MR. JUDSON'S DAUGHTER _85_
12 OLD HORNEY _91_
13 PAPER PROBLEMS _101_
14 AN EMPTY BEDROOM _109_
15 INFORMATION FROM TILLIE _116_
16 BEHIND THE LILACS _123_
17 THE ART OF TATTOO _131_
18 PAULETTA'S EXPLANATION _138_
19 MRS. WEEMS' REPORT _150_
20 PICNIC BY MOONLIGHT _159_
21 ELLIS SAAL'S CUSTOMER _167_
22 GHOSTS OF THE PAST _176_
23 PENNY'S PLIGHT _185_
24 A BARRIER OF FLAMES _193_
25 SAILORS' REVENGE _201_

CHAPTER
1
_ABOARD THE GOODTIME_

A blanket of fog, thick and damp, swirled about the decks of the excursion steamer, _Goodtime_, cautiously plying its course down the river. At intervals, above the steady throb of the ship's engines, a fog horn sounded its mournful warning to small craft.

"I hope we don't collide with another boat before we make the dock," remarked Louise Sidell who stood at the railing with her chum, Penelope Parker.

"That would be a perfect ending for an imperfect day," returned Penny, fitting her coat collar more snugly about her throat.

"An imperfect day! I call it a miserable one. Rain and fog! Rain and fog! It's made my hair as straight as the shortest distance between two points."

"Mine's as kinky as wool." Impatiently Penny brushed a ringlet of golden hair from her eyes. "Well, shall we go inside again?"

"No, I'd rather freeze than be a wallflower," the dark-eyed girl responded gloomily. "We haven't been asked to dance once this evening."

"That's because we came without our own crowd, Lou. Except for that couple yonder, we're practically the only persons aboard unattached to a group."

Penny jerked her head in the direction of a young man and girl who slowly paced the deck. Earlier in the evening their peculiar actions had attracted her attention. They kept strictly to themselves, avoiding the salon, the dining room, and all contact with other excursionists.

"I wonder who they are?" mused Louise, turning to stare. "The girl wears a veil as if she were afraid someone might recognize her."

"Yes, I noticed that, and whenever anyone goes near her, she lowers her head. I wish we could see her face."

"Let's wander over that way," proposed Louise.

Arm in arm, they sauntered toward the couple. The young man saw them coming. He touched his companion's arm and, turning their backs, they walked away.

"They did that to avoid meeting us!" Louise declared in an excited undertone. "Now why, I wonder?"

The couple had reached the end of the deck. As the young woman turned to glance over her shoulder, a sudden gust of wind caught her hat. Before she could save it, the head-gear was swept dangerously close to the railing.

Not giving the young man an opportunity to act, Penny darted forward. Rescuing the hat, she carried it to the couple.

"Thank you," the girl mumbled, keeping her head lowered. "Thank you very much."

Quickly she jammed the felt hat on her head and replaced the veil, but not before Penny had seen her face clearly. The young woman was unusually pretty with large brown eyes and a long, smoothly brushed black bob.

"This is certainly a miserable night," Penny remarked, hoping to start a conversation.

"Sure is," replied the young man with discouraging brevity.

He tipped his hat and steered his companion away from the girl.

Ruefully Penny returned to Louise who had been an interested spectator.

"Did you get a good look at the pair?" she asked eagerly.

"Yes, but I've never seen either of them before."

"They wouldn't talk?"

"No, and the girl lowered her veil as soon as she could."

"Perhaps she's a movie actress traveling in disguise."

"Aboard a river excursion boat? I'm afraid not, Lou."

"Then maybe she's a criminal trying to elude the police."

"I fear the mystery of her identity must remain forever unsolved," chuckled Penny. "We'll dock in another five minutes."

Through the fog could be seen a dim glow of lights along the Riverview wharf. The _Goodtime_, its whistle tooting repeated signals, was proceeding more slowly than ever. Sailors stood ready to make the vessel fast to the dock posts when she touched.

Passengers began to pour from the salon, and Penny and Louise joined the throng. Many persons pushed and jostled each other, trying to obtain a position close to the gangplank.

Suddenly a girl who stood not far from Penny gave an alarmed cry.

"My pocketbook! It's gone!"

Those near her expressed polite concern and assisted in searching the deck. The missing purse was not found. Before the captain could be notified, the gangplank was lowered, and the passengers began to disembark from the steamer.

The girl, whose pocketbook had been lost, remained by the railing, quite forgotten. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Excuse me," said Penny, addressing her, "is there anything I can do to help?"

Disconsolately, the girl shook her head. She made a most unattractive picture, for her blouse was wrinkled and her skirt was spotted with an ugly coffee stain. Beneath a brown, misshapen roll-brim hat hung a tangle of brown hair.

"Someone stole my pocketbook," she said listlessly. "I had twelve dollars in it, too."

"You're sure you didn't leave it anywhere?" Louise inquired.

"No, I had it in my hand only a minute ago. I think someone lifted it in the crowd."

"A pickpocket, no doubt," Penny agreed. "I've been told they frequent these river boats."

"Nearly everyone has left the steamer now, so I suppose it would do no good to notify the captain," commented Louise.

She and Penny started to turn away, then paused as they noticed that the girl remained in the same dejected posture.

"You have friends meeting you at the boat?" Penny inquired kindly.

"I haven't any friends--not in Riverview."

"None?" Penny asked in surprise. "Don't you live here?"

"No," answered the girl. "I've been working as a waitress at Flintville, up-river. The job played out last week. Today I took this boat, thinking I might find work in Riverview. Now I've lost my purse and I don't know what to do or where to go."

"Haven't you any money?" inquired Penny.

"Not a cent. I--I guess I'll have to sleep in the park tonight."

"No, you won't," declared Penny. Impulsively, she opened her own purse and, removing a five dollar bill, thrust it into the girl's hand. "This isn't much, but it may tide you over until you can find work."

"Oh, you're kind to help me. I'll pay you back just as soon as I get a job."

"Don't worry about that," replied Penny. "However, I should like to know your name."

"Tillie Fellows."

"Mine is Penelope Parker and my friend is Louise Sidell. Well, good luck in finding that job."

Edging away from Tillie who would have detained them indefinitely, the girls crossed the gangplank to shore.

"You were generous to give a stranger five dollars, Penny," commented Louise when they were beyond hearing.

"Oh, she needed it."

"Your allowance money, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but I couldn't allow the girl to go hungry or sleep in the park."

"No, I suppose not," replied Louise.

Penny paused, scanning the crowd on the dock. Her father, Anthony Parker, had promised to meet the excursion boat, but there was no sign of him or his car.

"Dad must have been detained at the newspaper office," she remarked. "I suppose we must wait here until he comes."

Removing themselves from the stream of traffic, the girls walked a short distance along the dock, halting beside a warehouse. The throng rapidly dispersed, and still Mr. Parker did not arrive.

"I hope we haven't missed him," Penny remarked anxiously. "In this fog one can't see many yards."

They had waited only a few minutes longer when Louise suddenly touched her chum's arm.

"Penny, there she is! Alone, too!"

"Who, Louise?"

"Why, that girl whose hat you recovered on the _Goodtime_. See her coming this way?"

Penny turned to stare at the young woman who was walking hurriedly along the dock. At first glance she was inclined to agree with Louise that it was the same girl, then she was uncertain. The one who approached wore an expensive fur and carried a distinctive beaded bag.

"I don't believe I ever saw her before," she commented.

"I guess I was mistaken," admitted Louise. "She's too well dressed."

Apparently the girl did not observe Penny and her chum, for she passed them without a glance. Hurriedly she walked a short distance down the wharf. Then, with a deft movement, she took a package from beneath her smart-fitting coat, and tossed it into the water.

Turning, she retraced her steps to the gangplank of the _Goodtime_. A moment later the girls saw her meet a young man in topcoat and derby who had emerged from the crowd on the dock. Entering a gray sedan, they drove away.

"I wonder what she threw into the river?" mused Penny. "Didn't you think she acted as if she were afraid someone would see her, Lou?"

"Yes, I did. Whatever it was, it's gone to the bottom of the river."

Curiously the girls walked to the edge of the dock. Penny glanced over the side and gave an excited cry. Instead of falling into the water, the package had caught fast on a jagged dock post.

"It's hanging by the string!" she exclaimed.

Eagerly Louise peered down. "You're right!" she agreed. "But we can't get it."

"I'm going to try."

"Please don't," pleaded Louise. "It's too far down. You'll tumble into the water."

"Not if you sit on my heels."

Undisturbed by what anyone who saw her might think, Penny stretched flat on the dock. With Louise holding to her, she jack-knifed over the edge, clutching at the bundle which dangled an inch above the water.

"Got it!" she chuckled. "Haul away, Lou."

Louise pulled her friend to safety. Eagerly they examined the package which was wrapped in ordinary newspaper.

"I'll venture it contains nothing more than the remains of a lunch," declared Louise. "This is going to be a good joke on you, Penny."

"A joke?" quavered Penny.

Her gaze had focused upon a hole in the paper. Through the opening protruded a long strand of dark hair.

Louise saw it at the same instant and uttered a choked, horrified scream.

"Human hair--" she gasped. "Oh, Penny! Turn it over to the police!"

"It can't be that," said Penny in a calmer voice.

With trembling fingers she untied the string. The paper fell away and several objects dropped at Penny's feet. Stooping, she picked up a girl's long black wig. In addition, there was a dark veil, a crushed felt hat, and a cheap cloth jacket.

"A disguise!" exclaimed Louise.

"Yes, the girl who tossed this bundle into the river was the same one we saw aboard the steamer! But why did she wear these things and then try to get rid of them?"

"Why, Penny, don't you understand?" Louise demanded impressively. "She was a crook just as I thought. And she must have been the one who robbed Tillie Fellows!"

CHAPTER
2
_THE RIVER'S VICTIM_

Penny stared at the curious array of objects found in the discarded bundle. Unquestionably, they had been worn by the mysterious young woman observed aboard the _Goodtime_. However, she was not certain she agreed with Louise that the girl or her escort had robbed Tillie Fellows.

"I never heard of a professional pickpocket bothering with a disguise," she said doubtfully.

"Why else would the girl wear one?"

"I haven't an idea," admitted Penny. "Everything about it is queer. For instance, what became of her escort after the steamer docked? And who was that other young man in the gray car?"

"He appeared to be fairly well-to-do."

"Yes, he did. For that matter, the girl was elegantly dressed."

Louise kicked at the bundle with her foot. "What shall we do with these things? Toss them away?"

"Indeed, not!" Penny carefully rewrapped the wig, jacket, and other articles in the crumpled newspaper. "I shall take them home with me. One never knows what may develop."

Before Louise could inquire the meaning of her chum's remark, a taxi drew up nearby. The door swung open and out leaped a lean young man in a well-tailored blue suit and snap-brim hat.

"Why, it's Jerry Livingston!" exclaimed Penny, recognizing one of her father's reporters.

The young man saw the girls and came toward them. "Hello," he greeted cheerily. "Swell night for a murder."

"I hope you're not carrying concealed weapons," laughed Penny. "Where's Dad?"

"Delayed at the _Star_ office. He sent me to meet the boat in his place. The fog made traffic slow. That's why I'm late."

Taking each of the girls by an elbow, he steered them to the waiting taxi.

"_Riverview Star_," he instructed the driver, and slammed the car door.

The fog was not so dense after the cab left the docks, but the entire river valley was blanketed, making it necessary for automobiles to proceed with headlights turned on.

"Have a nice time?" Jerry inquired as the cab crept along the waterfront streets.

"Not very," answered Penny, "but we ran into a little adventure."

"Trust you for that," chuckled the reporter. "City Editor DeWitt was telling the boys at the office that he'd bet you would come home dragging a mystery by its tail!"

"Here it is," Penny laughed, thrusting the newspaper bundle into his hands. "Lou and I did a little fishing from the dock and this is what we hooked."

While Jerry examined the contents of the strange package, the girls competed with each other in relating their experiences aboard the steamer. Although the reporter was deeply interested, he could offer no theory to explain why the young woman had discarded the bundle of clothing.

"Louise's guess seems as good as any," he commented. "The girl may have been the one who robbed Tillie Fellows."

"Pickpockets usually frequent crowds," said Penny. "During the entire trip both the girl and her escort kept strictly to themselves."

Jerry retied the bundle, tossing it into her lap.

"Your mystery is too much for me," he said lightly. "Afraid you'll have to solve it yourself."

Penny lapsed into meditative silence, yet oddly her thoughts centered upon nothing in particular. For a reason she never tried to explain, the waterfront seldom failed to cast its magical spell over her. She loved the medley of sounds, deep-throated blasts of coal boats mingling with the staccato toots of the tugboats, the rumble and clank of bridges being raised and lowered.

Always Penny had felt an intimate connection with the river, for her home overlooked the Big Bear. Not many miles away flowed the Kobalt, so closely associated with Mud-Cat Joe and the Vanishing Houseboat. It was the Kobalt which very nearly had claimed Jerry's life, yet had brought the _Star_ one of its greatest news stories.

Ever since she was a little girl, Penny had loved newspaper work. Her entire life seemed bound up with printer's ink and all that it connoted. She had learned to write well and Mrs. Weems, who had served as the Parker housekeeper for many years, predicted that one day the girl would become a celebrated journalist.

The taxi came to a sudden halt and with a start Penny emerged from her reverie. Jerry leaned forward to ask the driver why they had stopped.

"I can't see the road very well," the man replied. "And there's a bridge ahead."

As the car crept forward again, Penny peered from the window. Through the swirling gray mist the indistinct lights which marked the arching steel bridge were faintly visible. A pillar gradually emerged, and beside it the shadowy, slouching figure of a man. His burning cigarette made a pin point of light as he tossed it into the river.

Suddenly Penny's blood ran cold, for a second man appeared on the bridge. Stealthily he approached the one who gazed with such absorption into the inky waters. His purpose was shockingly clear to those who watched.

Penny screamed a warning; the taxi driver halted his cab, shouting huskily. Their cries came too late.

They saw the attacker leap upon his victim. There was a brief, intense struggle, then a body went hurtling from the bridge, fifty feet to the water below.

"You saw that?" cried Penny. "That man was pushed off the bridge! He'll drown!"

"We've got to save him," said Jerry.

As the cab came to a standstill, Jerry, the driver, and the two girls, sprang to the pavement. In the murky darkness the bridge appeared deserted, but they could hear the pounding footsteps of the attacker who sought to escape.

"Leave that guy to me!" exclaimed the cab driver. "I'll get him!"

Abandoning his taxi, he darted across the bridge in pursuit.

Jerry and the girls ran to the river bank. Below they could see a man struggling in the water and hear his choked cry for help.

Jerry kicked off his shoes.

"Wait!" commanded Penny. "You may not need to jump in after him. That boat will be there in a minute."

She indicated a tugboat which had passed beneath the bridge and was swerving toward the struggling man. As the young people anxiously watched, they saw it lay to while the captain fished the victim from the water with a boat-hook.

"Thank goodness for that," murmured Penny. "I hope the poor fellow is all right."

"And I hope our driver catches the man who did the pushing," declared Louise feelingly. "I never witnessed a more vicious attack in my entire life!"

As she spoke, the cabman recrossed the bridge, scrambling down to the river bank.

"The fellow got away," he reported. "He had a car waiting."

"You didn't see the license number?" Jerry inquired.

"Not a chance."

"Too bad."

Penny was watching the tugboat which had been tied up only a short distance from the bridge.

"Jerry, let's go down there," she proposed. "I want to be certain that man is all right."

The reporter hesitated, then consented. Leaving Louise with the cab driver, he and Penny descended the steep, muddy slope.

The boat had been made fast to a piling. Face downward on the long leather seat of the pilot-house, lay the rescued man. Working over him was the captain, a short, stocky man with grease-smeared hands and clothing saturated with coal dust.

"Anything we can do?" called Jerry from shore.

"Don't know yet if he'll need a doctor," answered the tugboat captain, barely glancing up. "It was a nasty fall."

Jerry leaped on deck, leaving Penny behind, for the space was too wide to be easily spanned.

Inside the cabin Captain Dubbins was expertly applying artificial resuscitation, but he paused as the man on the seat showed signs of reviving.

"Struck the water flat on his back," he commented briefly. "Lucky I saw him fall or I never could have fished him out. Not on a night like this."

"The fellow didn't fall," corrected Jerry. "He was pushed."

Captain Dubbins glanced up, meeting the reporter's gaze steadily. He offered no comment for the man on the seat groaned and rolled over.

"Steady," said the captain. "Take it easy. You'll tumble off the seat if you don't stay quiet."

"My back," mumbled the man.

In the glare of the swinging electric light his face was ghastly white and contorted with pain. Jerry judged him to be perhaps thirty-two. He wore tight-fitting blue trousers and a coarse flannel shirt.

"My back," he moaned again, pressing his hand to it.

"You took a hard wrench when you hit the water," commented the captain. "Here, let's see."

He unbuttoned the shirt, and rolling the man over, started to strip it off.

"No!" snarled the other with surprising spirit. "Leave me alone! Get away!"

Jerry stepped forward to assist the captain. Ignoring the man's feeble struggles, they pulled off his shirt.

Immediately they understood why he had tried to prevent its removal. Across his bruised, battered back had been tattooed in blue and black, the repulsive figure of an octopus.

CHAPTER
3
_THE OCTOPUS TATTOO_

Jerry bent closer to examine the strange tattoo. Between the two foremost arms of the octopus was sketched a single word: ALL.

"'All,'" he read aloud. "What does that signify?"

His question angered the man on the couch. Snatching the shirt from Captain Dubbins, he made a feeble, ineffectual effort to get his arms into it.

"I want out o' here," he muttered. "Quit starin', you two, and give me a hand!"

"Take it easy," advised the tugboat captain soothingly. "We was just tryin' to see if your back was badly hurt."

"Sorry," the man muttered. Relaxing, he leaned weakly against the leather cushions. "I ain't myself."

"You swallowed a little water," remarked the captain.

"A little?" growled the other. "Half the river went down my gullet." As an afterthought he added: "Thanks for pullin' me out."

"You're welcome," responded the captain dryly. "Ex-sailor, aren't you?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"I can usually tell 'em. Out of work?"

"No." The man's curt answers made it clear that he resented questions.

"You haven't told us your name."

"John Munn," the man replied after a slight hesitation.

"We tried to catch the man who pushed you off the bridge," contributed Jerry. "He got away."

The sailor gazed steadily, almost defiantly at the reporter.

"No one pushed me off the bridge," he said. "I fell."

"You fell?" echoed Jerry. "Why, I thought I saw you and another man struggling--"

"You thought wrong," the sailor interrupted. "I was leaning over, lookin' into the water an' I lost my balance. That was how it happened."

"As you please, Mr. Munn," said Jerry with exaggerated politeness. "Oh, by the way, what's the significance of that octopus thing on your back?"

"Leave me alone, will you?" the sailor muttered. "Ain't a man got any right to privacy?"

"Better not bother him while he's feeling so low," said the tugboat captain significantly. "I'll get him into some dry clothes."

"Nothing I can do?"

"No, thanks, he'll be all right."

"Well, so long," Jerry said carelessly. With another curious glance directed at the sailor, he left the pilot-house, leaping from the deck to shore. Penny stood waiting.

"Jerry, what was the matter with that fellow?" she demanded in a whisper. "What did he have on his back? And why did he lie about being pushed off the bridge?"

"You heard us talking?"

"I couldn't help it. You were fairly shouting at each other for awhile."

"Mr. John Munn wasn't very grateful to the captain for being saved. He took offense when we tried to look at his back."

"I thought I heard you say something about an octopus. Was it a tattoo, Jerry?"

"Yes, and as strange a one as I've ever seen. The picture of an octopus. Between its forearms was the word: 'All.'"

"What could that mean?"

"I tried to learn, but Mr. John Munn wasn't in a talkative mood."

"It seems rather mysterious, doesn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know." Jerry took Penny's arm to aid her in making the steep climb. "Sailors have some funny ideas regarding self-decoration. This Munn was a peculiar fellow."

"It was odd that he would lie about being pushed off the bridge. Jerry, will you write it for the paper?"

"The story isn't worth more than a few lines, Penny. We can't say that Munn was pushed off the bridge."

"Why not? It's true."

"Munn would deny it, and then the _Star_ would appear ridiculous."

"If I owned a paper, I certainly would use the story," declared Penny. "Why, it has wonderful possibilities."

"I fear your father never would agree. You talk him into printing the yarn and I'll be glad to write it."

"Oh, I suppose we must forget about it," Penny grumbled. "All the same, I'd like nothing better than to work on the story myself."

Reaching the pavement, they cleaned mud from their shoes before walking on to the waiting taxi. Louise immediately plied them with questions, displaying particular interest in the octopus tattoo.

"Do you suppose the man knew who pushed him off the bridge?" she inquired thoughtfully.

"I'll venture he did," replied Penny. "Probably that was the reason he wouldn't tell."

The taxi crossed the bridge and made slow progress away from the river. As the road gradually wound toward higher ground, the fog became lighter and the driver was able to make faster time. A clock chimed the hour of eleven.

"How about stopping somewhere for a bite to eat?" Jerry suddenly proposed.

"Won't Dad be waiting at the _Star_ office?" Penny asked.

"He suggested that I keep you girls entertained until around eleven-thirty if I could."

"That being the case, we'll accept your invitation with alacrity," laughed Penny. "How about the Golden Pheasant?"

"Oh, no, you don't! Phillip's Bean Pot is nearer my speed."

A block farther down the street Jerry paid the driver and escorted the girls into a clean but low-priced restaurant.

"No item on the menu over ten cents," he chuckled. "Do your worst. I can take it."

Penny and Louise ordered sandwiches, while the reporter fortified himself with a plate of scrambled eggs, two doughnuts, and a cup of coffee. Returning to the front counter for a forgotten napkin, he nodded carelessly at an elderly man who sat alone, sipping a glass of orange juice.

The man acknowledged the greeting in an embarrassed way, quickly lowering his head. Within a few minutes he left the cafe.

"Jerry, who was he?" Penny inquired curiously. "I am sure I've seen him before, yet I can't remember where."

"That was old man Judson. Matthew Judson."

"Not the former publisher of the _Morning Press_!"

"Yes, the old man's been going to pieces fast since he closed his newspaper plant. Looks seedy, doesn't he?"

"His clothes were a bit shiny. I thought he seemed rather embarrassed because you spoke to him."

"Old Judson feels his come-down I guess. In the flush days he wouldn't be caught dead in a beanery."

"Is he really poor, Jerry?"

"Probably down to his last hundred thousand," the reporter grinned.

"What you say is conflicting," declared Penny impatiently. "First you imply that Mr. Judson is poor, and then that he's rich. I wish you would make up your mind."

"Frankly, I don't know. Judson owns a fine home on Drexell Boulevard which he's allowed to run down. I've been told he sold the _Morning Press_ building several months ago. Some say he has plenty of cash salted away, others that he's broke."

"How did he lose so much of his money, Jerry?"

"No one seems to know for certain. According to rumor he plays the stock market heavily."

"It's strange he closed down the _Morning Press_," Penny remarked thoughtfully. "I always thought it was a profitable paper."

"So did everyone else. The _Press_ had a large circulation. But one bright Monday morning Judson posted a notice, closed the plant, and threw over a thousand employes out of work."

"That was nearly a year ago, wasn't it, Jerry?"

"Thirteen months to be exact. Why this sudden interest in Judson?"

"Oh, I don't know," Penny replied vaguely. "His case seems rather pathetic. Then, too, he reminds me of someone I've seen recently. I wish I could recall--"

Jerry glanced at the wall clock, swallowing his coffee with a gulp.

"Time to move along," he announced. "We mustn't keep your father waiting, Penny."

They left the cafe and Jerry hailed a passing taxicab.

"It's only four blocks to the _Star_ building," protested Penny. "Aren't you being too lavish with your money, Jerry?"

"Oh, I'll add this item to my expense account," he laughed. "Jump in."

The taxi turned left at Adams street, rolling slowly through the downtown business section. Jerry peered from the car window at a large, four-story stone building which occupied a corner.

"That place sure looks like a morgue these days," he commented. "_The Morning Press._"

Penny and Louise likewise twisted sideways to stare at the dark, deserted building. Windows were plastered with disfiguring posters and the white stone blocks, once so beautiful, were streaked with city grime.

"When the _Press_ closed, machinery, furniture and everything else was left exactly as it stood," remarked Jerry. "Too bad an enterprising newspaper man doesn't take over the place before it's a complete loss. The present owner doesn't even employ a watchman to protect the property."

"It does seem a shame--" Penny began, only to break off. "Why, that's funny!"

"What is?" inquired Jerry.

Penny had turned to glance back at the _Morning Press_ plant.

"The building isn't deserted!" she exclaimed. "There's a light in one of the upstairs rooms!"

CHAPTER
4
_A PROSPECTIVE TENANT_

Jerry rolled down the window beside him and, thrusting his head through it, glanced back at the _Morning Press_ building.

"Where do you see a light?" he demanded.

"It was on the third floor," declared Penny. "I can't see it myself now."

Jerry grinned as he settled back into his place between the two girls. "You certainly get a kick out of playing jokes," he accused.

"But it wasn't a joke, Jerry. Honestly, I saw a light. Didn't you, Louise?"

"Sorry, but I didn't. I'm afraid your imagination works overtime, Pet."

"I know what I saw," insisted Penny.

As Jerry and Louise smiled, she lapsed into injured silence. However, she was certain she had not been mistaken. Distinctly she had observed a light on the third floor, a moving light which had been extinguished before her companions had noticed it.

The car presently drew up at the curb in front of the _Star_ building. Anthony Parker, a newspaper tucked beneath his arm, stepped from the vestibule where he had been waiting. He was a tall, slender man, alert and courageous in following his convictions. Under his management the _Riverview Star_ had grown to be one of the most influential papers in the state.

"Hope we haven't kept you waiting, Mr. Parker," Jerry greeted him, swinging open the cab door.

"Only a minute or two. Thanks, Jerry, for bringing the girls from the boat. May we offer you a ride home?"

"No, thanks, Chief. I'll walk from here. Good evening."

Jerry tipped his hat politely to Penny and Louise as the cab drove away. Mr. Parker asked the girls if they had enjoyed their trip aboard the _Goodtime_.

"The boat wasn't very well named, I'm afraid," answered Penny. "The trip proved to be rather terrible but we met some interesting people."

During the drive to the Sidell home, she and Louise talked as fast as they could, telling Mr. Parker about Tillie Fellows, the mysterious young woman who had dropped a bundle of clothing into the water, and particularly the man with the strange octopus tattoo.

"You'll have to tell the rest of it, Penny," laughed Louise as she bade her chum good-bye. "Thanks for bringing me home."

The cab rolled on, and Penny glanced questioningly at her father.

"What do you think of the tattoo story?" she asked hopefully. "Won't it make a dandy feature for the _Star_?"

"I regret to say it sounds like first-grade fiction."

"Why, Dad! Louise and Jerry will confirm everything I've said."

"Oh, I don't doubt your word, Penny. I am sure everything occurred as you report. Nevertheless, were we to use the story our readers might question its veracity."

"Don't crush me with such big words, Dad."

"Veracity means truth, Penny. Now your story is very interesting, but I think you may have placed your own interpretation upon certain facts."

"For instance?"

"Well, according to John Munn's statement, he fell from the bridge and was not pushed."

"But I saw it with my own two eyes, Dad."

"The night is foggy. You easily could have been mistaken. As for the octopus tattoo, what is so strange about it? Sailors compete in striving for startling decorative effects."

"Dad, you could rationalize the national debt," accused Penny. "Very well, since you scorn my story I'll give it to the High School paper!"

"An excellent idea. That is, if your editor favors highly colored journalism."

Penny made a grimace, knowing that her father was deliberately teasing her. It was a constant source of irritation that a boy named Fred Clousky had been elected editor of the Riverview High School Chatter instead of Penny by the margin of one vote. She disapproved of Fred, his pimples, and particularly the way he blue-penciled the occasional stories which she submitted.

"The Riverview High Chatter is just as silly as its name," she announced. "If I had that sheet I'd make it into a real paper."

"Sour grapes?" inquired her father softly.

"Maybe," grinned Penny. "But Fred is such an egg, even more conservative than you."

The cab drew up before the Parker home. A light still burned in the living room where Mrs. Weems, the housekeeper, sat reading a magazine.

"I am glad you have come, Penny," she remarked, switching on another light. "I was beginning to worry."

Since the death of Mrs. Parker many years before Mrs. Weems had taken complete charge of the household, caring for Penny and loving her as her own daughter. There were occasions when she found the impulsive girl difficult to restrain, but certainly never dull or uninteresting.

Mrs. Weems soon went to bed, leaving Penny and her father to explore the refrigerator. As they helped themselves to cold ham, potato salad, and celery, Penny spoke of the light which she had seen in the abandoned _Morning Press_ building.

"It may have been a watchman making his usual rounds," commented her father.

"Jerry tells me the building has no watchman."

"Could it have been a reflection from a car headlight?"

"I don't think so, Dad."

"Well, I shouldn't lose sleep over it," remarked Mr. Parker lightly. "Better run along to bed now."

Penny arose at six-thirty the next morning, and before breakfast had written a two-page story about John Munn for the Riverview High School Chatter. She read it twice and was very well pleased with her work.

"Editor Fred is lucky to get this," she thought. "He should make it the lead story."

Off to school at a quarter to nine, Penny deposited her literary treasure in a box provided for journalistic contributions. All that day she went from class to class, warmed by the knowledge that she had accomplished an excellent piece of writing. To Louise she confided that she thought the work might improve her grade in English Composition.

"I'm glad you've decided to contribute to the paper again," declared her chum. "It's time you and Fred buried the hatchet."

"Oh, I don't bear him any grudge," returned Penny. "Of course, everyone knows he campaigned for the editorship with free candy and soda pop."

At three-thirty, a minute before the closing bell rang, Fred Clousky sauntered down the aisle. With a flourish he dropped two pages of copy on Penny's desk, face upward. Across one of the pages in huge blue letters had been written: "Too imaginative for _Chatter_. Language too flowery. Spelling bad. Try us again sometime."

A red stain crept over Penny's cheeks. Her blue eyes began to snap.

"The poisonous little mushroom!" she muttered. "If he thinks he can do this to me--"

The closing bell rang, and immediately a group of sympathetic friends gathered about Penny. They all tried to soothe her feelings.

"Don't let it bother you," Louise advised her chum. "Of course, he did it just to make you peeved."

"'Spelling bad,'" Penny read aloud. "Look at this word he underlined! Anyone could tell I merely struck a wrong letter on my typewriter!"

Crumpling the page, she tossed it into the waste paper basket.

"'Too imaginative,'" she muttered. "'Language too flowery'!"

"Oh, forget it, Penny," laughed Louise, leading her toward the locker room. "Fred always has been jealous of you because you've had stories published in the _Star_. Don't let him know that you're annoyed."

"I guess I am acting silly," admitted Penny, relaxing. "What I must do is to give this problem a good, hard think. Editor Fred will hear from me yet!"

Declining an invitation to play tennis, she went directly home. For an hour she lay on the davenport, staring at the ceiling.

"Penny, are you ill?" inquired Mrs. Weems anxiously.

"No, I'm in conference with myself," answered Penny. "I am trying to arrive at a momentous decision."

Presently, she began to scribble figures on a sheet of paper. When her father came home at five o'clock he found her engaged in that occupation.

"Well, Penny," he remarked, hanging up his hat, "how did it go today? The editor of _Chatter_ accepted your contribution I hope."

Penny grinned ruefully. "If you don't mind, let's discuss a less painful subject," she replied. "Suppose you tell me what you know about Matthew Judson and the _Morning Press_."

"Why this sudden display of interest?"

"Oh, I saw Mr. Judson last night at the Bean Pot. He looked rather depressed."

Mr. Parker sat down on the arm of the davenport. "It's too bad about Judson," he remarked. "I always admired him because he was a clever newspaper man."

"Clever? Didn't he mis-manage the paper so that it had to close?"

"Not that anyone ever learned. No, I never could figure out why Judson quit. The _Press_ had a large circulation and plenty of advertisers."

"What became of the building?"

"It's still there."

"No, I mean who owns it," Penny explained. "Not Mr. Judson?"

"The building was taken over a few months ago by a man named George Veeley. Come to think of it, I once brought him home with me. You should remember him, Penny."

"I do. He was rather nice. I wonder what he plans to do with the _Press_ building and its equipment."

"Hold it for speculation, I assume. In my opinion he'll have it empty for a long while."

"I rather doubt it," said Penny. "He has a prospective tenant now, only he doesn't know it."

"Indeed? Who?"

"You're looking at her."

"You!" Mr. Parker smiled broadly.

"I have it all planned," announced Penny with quiet finality. "What this town needs is a good, live newspaper, and an imaginative editor to run it."

"Oh, I see." With difficulty Mr. Parker kept his face composed. "And where do you propose to start your newspaper? In the old _Press_ building?"

"You took the words out of my mouth, Dad. Everything is there, awaiting the touch of my magic wand."

"There's a little matter of rent. Several thousand a month."

"I have a solution for that problem."

"Your staff?"

"I'll gather it as I prosper."

"The necessary capital?"

"A mere detail," said Penny grandly. "I meet only one obstacle at a time. Tomorrow I shall accost Mr. Veeley with an attractive proposition. If he falls into my net, Riverview's newest paper, _The Weekly Times_, makes its bow to the public."

CHAPTER
5
_COBWEBS AND RUST_

"My dear young lady, do I understand you correctly? You are asking for the use of the _Morning Press_ building without the payment of rent."

Mr. Veeley, slightly bald and with a bulging waistline, regarded Penny across the polished mahogany desk. Upon arriving at his office that Saturday morning, he had found the girl awaiting him. For the past ten minutes she had stunned him with her remarkable figures and plans.

"Yes, that's about the size of it," Penny acknowledged. "What Riverview needs is a newspaper unhampered by the conservatism of over-aged minds. Now you have a fine building and equipment which is standing idle, fast falling into decay--"

"Decay?" Mr. Veeley inquired mildly.

"Expensive machinery soon rusts and becomes practically worthless unless kept in use," declared Penny with authority. "If you'll agree to my proposition, I'll publish a weekly paper there, see that your property is kept in good condition, and turn the plant back to you whenever you can find a prosperous renter."

"Your father sent you here?"

"Oh, goodness, no! Dad thinks it's all a great joke. But it isn't! I _know_ I can make a success of the paper if only I have a chance to test my ideas."

Mr. Veeley could not fail to be impressed by Penny's earnest, appealing manner. The novelty of her plan both amused and intrigued him.

"I wish I could help you start your paper," he said. "However, I doubt if you comprehend the cost of such a venture. Even should I permit the use of my building rent free, how would you meet such expenses as light, water and heat?"

"Oh, I have a plan for everything," insisted Penny grandly. "All I need is a building. I'll have the windows washed for you and do a good job of house cleaning. With me in charge you'll be able to dismiss your watchman."

"I haven't one."

"No watchman?" Penny inquired innocently. "Last night when I drove past the building I saw a light on the third floor. Evidently someone is prowling about there, Mr. Veeley."

"You're certain you saw a light?" the man inquired, disturbed by the information.

"Oh, yes, indeed. Excuse me for advising you, Mr. Veeley, but you really should have someone to guard your property."

Mr. Veeley smiled broadly. "You are a very convincing young lady. While I realize it is a foolish thing to do, I am tempted to let you have the key."

"Oh, Mr. Veeley, that's wonderful! You'll never regret it!"

"I'll allow you the use of the building for a month," resumed Mr. Veeley. "At the end of that time we'll discuss the future."

Penny was thrown into such a frenzy of excitement that she scarcely could remain outwardly serene until she had left the office. Once on the street she ran the entire distance to the _Star_ building, dashing into her father's suite with all the sound effects of a laboring steam engine.

"Dad!" she cried dramatically. "I have it! The key to the _Morning Press_ plant! Now I'm on my way to draw my savings from the bank."

"What's that?" demanded Mr. Parker. "Don't tell me Mr. Veeley listened to your crazy scheme!"

"He's heartily in favor of it, Dad. Now I must rush off to the bank."

"Come back here," her father commanded as she started for the door. "I can't allow you to withdraw your savings."

"How can I launch the _Weekly Times_ without capital?"

"You're really determined to try it?"

"Of course."

Mr. Parker reached for a cheque book. "How much will you need?"

"Oh, just sign your name at the bottom and leave the amount blank."

"Sorry, I prefer not to financially cripple myself for life. One hundred dollars is my limit. I'm throwing it down a sink-hole, but the lessons you'll learn may be worth the cost."

"I can do a lot with a hundred dollars," said Penny. "Thanks, Dad."

She picked up the cheque before the ink was dry and, dropping a kiss lightly on her father's cheek, was gone.

From the corner drugstore Penny telephoned Louise, telling her the news and asking her to come downtown at once. Fifteen minutes later her chum met her at the entrance to the _Morning Press_ building.

"Just think, Lou!" she murmured, unlocking the front door. "This huge plant all mine! I'm a publisher at last!"

"You're completely insane if you ask me," retorted Louise. "This place is a dreadful mess. You'll never be able to clean it up, let alone get out an issue of the paper!"

The girls had passed through the vestibule to the lower floor room which once had served as the _Press_' circulation department. Behind the high service counter, desks and chairs remained untouched, covered by a thick layer of dust. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling light fixtures and festooned the walls.

Climbing the stairs, the girls glanced briefly into the newsroom, and then wandered on to the composing room. Penny's gaze roved over long rows of linotype machines and steel trucks which were used to hold page forms. There were bins of type, Cheltenham, Goudy, Century--more varieties than she had ever seen before.

Passing the stereotyping department, the girls entered the press room where slumbered ten giant double-decked rotary presses. Lying on the roller of one was a torn strip of newspaper, the last issue of the _Morning Press_ ever printed.

"It gives one a queer feeling to see all this," said Louise. "Why do you suppose Judson closed the plant when it was prosperous?"

"No one seems to know the answer," Penny replied, stooping to peer into an empty ink pot. "But it doesn't seem possible a man would give up his business, throw so many persons out of work, without a good reason."

"His bad luck seems to be yours," Louise remarked gloomily. "Well, since you've fallen heir to all this, what will you do with it? It will take a sizeable chunk of your hundred dollars just to get the place cleaned."

"Not according to my calculations," chuckled Penny. "Let's choose our offices and then we'll discuss business."

"Our offices?" echoed Louise. "I'm not in on this brain-storm of yours."

"Oh, yes, you are. You'll be the editor."

"But I thought you were that!"

"I'll be the managing editor," said Penny gently. "You'll have your office, and oodles of authority. Of course, you'll have to work hard keeping our staff in line."

"What staff?"

"We'll recruit from Riverview High, concentrating on the journalism majors. Now I think Jack Malone will be our new advertising manager."

"Jack Malone! Why, Penny, he hasn't an ounce of push."

"I know, Lou. But his father is president of the Malone Glass Company. I figure if his son is in charge of advertising--"

"I get the idea," interrupted Louise. "Penny, with a head like yours, we should land all the important accounts in town."

"I aim to win several fat ones away from the _Star_," Penny said with quiet confidence. "If we don't, it will be bankruptcy before the first issue of the paper is off the press."

Louise glanced dubiously at the dusty machinery.

"There's no denying you're a genius, Penny. Even so, I don't see how you expect to get these presses running."

"We'll only need one."

"True, but you can't recruit pressmen or linotype operators from Riverview High."

"Unfortunately, no," sighed Penny. "The first issue of the _Times_ will be printed at the _Star_ plant. Dad doesn't know it yet. After that--well, I'll think of something."

"How do you propose to get this place cleaned?"

"Every person who works on our paper must wield a broom, Lou. After we've chosen our offices, we'll scamper forth and gather our staff together."

Returning to the second floor, the girls inspected the offices adjoining the newsroom. Penny selected for hers the one which previously had been occupied by Matthew Judson. His name remained on the frosted-glass door, and the walls bore etchings and paintings of considerable value.

In the top drawer of the flat-top desk there remained an assortment of pens, erasers, thumbtacks, and small articles. All letters and papers had been removed.

"Mr. Judson apparently left here in a great hurry," she remarked. "For some reason he never returned for the paintings and personal trifles."

Louise chose an office adjoining Penny's new quarters. They both were admiring the view from the window when her chum suddenly drew herself into an attitude of attention.

"What's wrong?" inquired Louise, mystified.

"I thought I heard someone moving about," whispered Penny. "Quiet!"

They remained motionless; listening. A board creaked.

Darting to the door, Penny flung it open. The newsroom was deserted, but she was almost certain she heard footsteps retreating swiftly down the hall.

"Lou, we're not alone in this building!"

"I thought I heard someone, too."

The girls ran through the newsroom to the hall, and down the stairway. Three steps from the bottom, Penny suddenly halted. On the service counter of the advertising department lay a man's grimy felt hat.

"Look at that," she whispered. "Someone _was_ upstairs!"

"He may still be here, too. Penny, did you leave the entrance door unlocked?"

"I guess so. I don't remember."

"A loiterer may have wandered into the building, and then left when we gave chase."

"Without his hat?"

"It probably was forgotten."

"Anyhow, I intend to look carefully about," declared Penny. "After all, I am responsible for this place now."

Both girls were uneasy as they wandered from room to room. Penny even ventured into the basement where a number of rats had taken refuge. The building seemed deserted.

"We're only wasting precious time," she said at last. "Whoever the intruder was, he's gone now."

Retracing their way to the advertising department, the girls stopped short, staring at the counter. The hat, observed there only a few minutes before, had vanished.

CHAPTER
6
_HEADLINES AND HEADACHES_

Penny and Louise stared at the counter, unable to believe their eyesight. They knew that they had not touched the hat. Obviously it had been removed by the man who had left it there.

"The hat's gone," whispered Louise nervously. "That means someone is still inside the building!"

"He could have slipped out the front door while we were in the basement."

Once more the girls made a complete tour of the building, entering every room. Unable to find an intruder they finally decided to give up the futile search.

"After this I'll take care to lock the door," declared Penny as they prepared to leave the building. "Now let's get busy and gather our staff."

During the next hour she and Louise motored from house to house, recruiting school friends. Early afternoon found the old _Press_ building invaded by a crew of willing and enthusiastic young workers. A group of fifteen boys and girls, armed with mops, window cloths and brooms, fell to work with such vigor that by nightfall the main portion of the building had emerged from its cocoon of grime.

Weary but well satisfied with her first day as a newspaper publisher, Penny went home and to bed. At breakfast the next morning she ate with such a preoccupied air that her father commented upon her sober countenance.

"I hope you haven't encountered knotty problems so soon in your journalistic venture," he remarked teasingly.

"None which you can't solve for me," said Penny. "I've decided to run the octopus tattoo story on the front page of our first issue."

"Indeed? And when does the first issue appear?"

"I'll print one week from today."

"A Sunday paper?"

"I thought probably your presses wouldn't be busy on that day."

"_My_ presses!"

"Yes, I haven't hired my pressroom force yet. I plan to make up the paper, set the type and lock it in the page forms. Then I'll haul it over to your plant for stereotyping and the press run."

"And if I object?"

"You won't, will you, Dad? I'm such a pathetic little competitor."

"I'll run off the first edition for you," Mr. Parker promised. "But mind, only the first. How many papers will you want? About five hundred?"

"Oh, roughly, six thousand. That should take care of my street sales."

Mr. Parker's fork clattered against his plate. "Your street sales?" he repeated. "Where, may I ask, did you acquire your distribution organization?"

"Oh, I have plans," Penny chuckled. "Running a paper is really very simple."

"Young lady, you're riding for a heartbreaking fall," warned her father severely. "Six thousand copies! Why, you'll be lucky to dispose of three hundred!"

"Wait and see," said Penny confidently.

During the week which followed there were no idle moments for the staff of the newly organized _Weekly Times_. Leaving Louise in charge of the news output, Penny concentrated most of her attention on the problem of winning advertisers. Starting with a page taken by the Malone Glass Company, she and Jack Malone toured the city, selling a total of forty-two full columns.

The novelty of the enterprise intrigued many business men, while others took space because they were friends of Mr. Malone or Mr. Parker. Money continued to pour into the till of the _Weekly Times_.

Yet, when everything should have been sailing along smoothly, Louise complained that it was becoming difficult to keep her staff of writers satisfied. One by one they were falling away.

"We must expect that," declared Penny. "Always the weak drop by the wayside. If only we can get on a paying basis, we'll be able to offer small salaries. Then we'll have more workers than we can use."

"You certainly look to the future," laughed Louise. "Personally I have grave doubts we'll ever get the first issue set up."