Chapter III: Part 3

Penny, her heart beating at a furious rate, remained motionless. She could see the squat, shadowy figure of a man moving toward her. Boards squeaked beneath his weight.

Midway across the room, the man paused, evidently listening to the steady clatter of Louise's typewriter. Satisfied, he went to the window where he stood for several minutes watching street traffic.

As he turned again, the beam of his flashlight swept across the front counter, focusing upon the package of food. The man gave a low exclamation of pleasure. With the swiftness of a cat he darted to it and tore off the paper wrapping.

Penny waited until he was eating greedily. Then stealing along the wall, she groped for the electric light switch. As she pressed it, the room was brilliantly illuminated. At the same instant, the girl gave a shrill whistle, a signal to Louise that the culprit had been trapped.

The man at the counter whirled around, facing Penny with startled dismay. He was a gaunt, unshaven fellow in his late fifties with shaggy hair, and soiled, unpressed clothing.

Before he could retreat, Louise came down the stairway, blocking the exit.

"What are you doing here?" Penny questioned him. "Why did you steal my lunch?"

The man's lips moved nervously but no sound issued from them.

"Shall I call the police?" prodded Penny. She gave him a severe glance.

"No, don't do that," the man pleaded, finding his voice. "Don't call the police. I'll go. I won't bother you any more."

"Why have you been hiding in the building?"

"Because I have no other place to sleep, Miss. The cops chase you off the park benches."

Penny was surprised by the man's speech which belied his disreputable garments. His tone was well modulated, his manner respectful.

"You've been living in this building a long while?" she asked curiously.

"Maybe six months. I sleep down in the furnace room. I didn't do any harm."

"You're hungry, aren't you?" Penny inquired, less severely.

"Yes, I am, Miss. Lately I haven't been eating any too often."

"You may finish the lunch," said Penny. "And there's a thermos bottle of coffee under the counter."

"Thank you, Miss, thank you. I surely am obliged."

With a hand which trembled, the man poured himself a cup of the steaming beverage.

"You haven't told me your name," said Penny after a moment.

"Folks just call me Horney. Old Horney."

"What is your real name?"

"Mark Horning," the man answered reluctantly.

"I'm curious to learn how you've been getting in and out of the building."

"With a key." Old Horney devoured the last bite of sandwich, and poured himself a second cup of coffee.

"A skeleton key, you mean?" Penny asked in surprise.

"No, Miss. I have my own key. In the old days I used to work here."

"You're a former _Press_ employee?"

"Sure, I know it's hard to believe," Old Horney replied, "but when a fellow's out of a job and money, it doesn't take long to go to seed. I lost my place when Judson closed down."

"And you've been unable to find other work?"

"In the past nine months I've worked exactly six days. No one hires an old fellow any more. If I could have kept on with Judson three more years I'd have been due for my pension."

"What work did you do on the paper?" asked Penny with growing interest.

"I was a pressman."

Penny shot Louise a glance which was almost triumphant. Her voice when she spoke held an undertone of excitement.

"Horney," she said, "it's barely possible I may be able to find some sort of work for you later on. Do you mind writing your name on this paper?"

The old man took the sheet she handed him, without hesitation scrawling his name, _Mark Horning_.

Penny studied the writing a moment. To her relief it bore not the slightest resemblance to the warning message left on her desk the previous night.

"Horney," she questioned, "did you ever try to frighten me away from this building?"

"Oh, no, Miss," he replied. "Once I tiptoed up to your office. When I saw you were working there, I slipped down to the basement again."

"Did you ever place a note on my desk?"

"I never did."

Penny was satisfied that Horney had told the truth. Yet if he were not the culprit she was unable to guess who had warned her to abandon the plant.

"Horney, I've decided that we need a watchman around this place," she said abruptly. "If you want the job, it's yours."

"You're not turning me out?"

"No, you may stay. I can't promise much of a salary, but at least you'll have a place to sleep and enough food."

"You're mighty kind," Horney mumbled gratefully. "Mighty kind." He hesitated and then added: "I promise you won't be sorry you did it, Miss. Maybe you'll find I can be of some real use around this plant. I'm at your service and what's more, I'm for you one hundred per cent."

CHAPTER
13
_PAPER PROBLEMS_

The next afternoon Penny and Louise arrived at the _Weekly Times_ to find that the entire lower floor had been cleaned and swept. Old Horney was discovered in the composing room, stirring up a great cloud of dust with a stub of a broom.

"I was just cleaning the place up a bit," he said apologetically. "Hope you don't mind."

"Mind?" laughed Penny. "I'm delighted. Our staff of janitors has lost interest here of late."

"I set a little type for you last night, too."

"Why, Horney! I didn't know you were a linotype operator."

"I'm not," answered the old man, "but I can learn most anything if I set my mind to it. If you have any jobs you want done just turn them over to me."

"Horney," said Penny soberly, "more than anything else I would like to publish the _Weekly_ in my own plant. The obstacles seem almost too great to overcome; do you think it could be accomplished?"

"Why, sure," said Horney. "If I had some tools and a little to do with I could get the presses ready in a day."

"What about the stereotyping work?"

"I could master the trick of it," declared Horney confidently.

"Horney, you're a jewel!" laughed Penny. "I'll place you in charge of my production department, but I fear I can't give you a salary in proportion to your duties."

"Don't worry about that, Miss. I would rather be working than sitting around with nothing to do."

"Then look over the plant and make up a list of the things you must have," suggested Penny. "I'll go over to the _Star_ this minute and arrange for printing paper."

Leaving Louise in charge of the office, she jubilantly set forth for her father's plant. Now that Old Horney had been added to the staff of the _Weekly_, problems which previously had seemed unsurmountable suddenly had become easily solved.

Entering the _Star_ building, Penny went directly to the stockroom, wandering about until she found Mr. Curry, the foreman.

"Here's something for you," she grinned, offering a slip of paper.

"What's this?" Mr. Curry asked with a puzzled frown. "An order for a roll of paper?"

"Yes, Mr. Curry," explained Penny. "At last I am going to publish my own sheet over in the old _Press_ building. Dad is staking me to a little paper."

"A little! Why, one of these big rolls would print more copies of your paper than you could sell in six months! And paper is expensive. How about a half-roll or even a quarter? It would be a lot easier to handle."

"Oh, all right," agreed Penny. "Just so I get enough to print my first issue."

Mr. Curry led the way to one of the presses, pointing to a roll of paper mounted on a feeding rack.

"That one is about half used up," he said. "Will it do?"

"Yes, I guess so," agreed Penny. "May I have it right away?"

Mr. Curry replied by pushing a tram along a miniature railway which ran under the press. With surprising skill, he maneuvered the roll into position on the carrier. Then he pushed the tram to the elevator, moved the portable paper lift over the roll, and up it went to the platform. The elevator grounded at the first floor where the paper was rolled to the loading dock with pry bars.

"There you are," said the foreman.

"All I need now is a truck," Penny cried exultantly. "Thanks, Mr. Curry!"

Standing guard beside her paper she waited until one of the _Star_ drivers had finished unloading his cargo and was ready to pull from the dock.

"How's chances fer a ride, buddy?" asked Penny, jerking her thumb in the manner of a hitch-hiker. "Me and my paper to the _Weekly Times_."

"Okay," laughed the trucker.

He rolled the paper onto the truck, and Penny climbed into the cab beside him. At the _Times_ building she had the roll set off at the rear entrance where Old Horney easily could get it to the press room.

Highly elated, Penny mounted the steps two at a time, bursting in upon Louise who was busy writing headlines.

"Got it!" she announced. "About six hundred pounds of paper. That should keep the _Weekly_ going for awhile."

"Here's something to dampen your enthusiasm." Louise thrust a letter toward her. "Another kick on that octopus tattoo story you wrote. A Mrs. Brown says she heartily disapproves of such outlandish tales, and that she'll never buy another copy of the _Times_."

"At least it proves my story attracted attention," chuckled Penny. "Anything else while I was gone?"

"Yes, Mrs. Weems telephoned to ask that you come to the cottage as soon as possible. And that reminds me--the telephone bill. The company requires a month's advance--"

"Never mind the bills," interrupted Penny. "Did Mrs. Weems say anything about Anchor Joe?"

"He appears to be much better."

"I'm glad of that. I suppose I should drive out to the cottage before it gets dark."

"Run along. I'll look after everything here."

Penny swept her desk clear of papers and locked the drawers. "If you have any spare time you might see what you can do with my algebra assignment," she suggested. "I missed every problem but one yesterday."

"I have my own lesson troubles," responded Louise. "I'm wading up to my neck in Latin, and the next monthly quiz is certain to drown me."

"Teachers have no consideration," sighed Penny. "None at all."

Gathering up her school books, she bade Louise good-bye and left the office. On the stairway she met Old Horney.

"I've made my list," he said, offering it to her. "I figure we can't get out the paper with less than this."

Penny glanced at the paper and slipped it into her purse.

"I'll get the things somehow," she promised. "By the way, there's a roll of paper on the loading dock."

"I've already hauled 'er in," replied Old Horney. "Any other jobs for me?"

"No, you seem to be one jump ahead," laughed Penny.

They descended the stairway together, the steps creaking beneath their weight. There was a different look to Old Horney, Penny thought, stealing a glance at him. His hair had been cut and his face was clean-shaven. Work had given him a new outlook, a desire to recover his self respect.

"I suppose you knew Matthew Judson rather well?" she remarked reflectively.

"Oh, sure."

"What was he like, Horney?"

"Well--" the old man hesitated, at a loss for words. "Judson was queer, sort of cold and unfriendly except to those who knew him best, but he was a square-shooter."

"The employes liked him?"

"Everyone did except a few chronic sore-heads."

"Horney, was it true that the _Press_ was making money at the time it closed?"

"That's what everyone on the paper thought. It was a shock to us all when Judson closed down. I'll never forget the day he told us he was giving up the plant. The old man looked like death had struck him, and he cried when he said good-bye to the boys."

"I wonder why he closed the plant?"

"Some say it was because he had lost a pile of money speculating on the stock market. But I never believed that. Judson wasn't the gambling type."

"Why do you think he gave up the paper, Horney?"

"I've done a lot of speculating on it," the old man admitted. "This is just my own idea, but I figure Judson may have been blackmailed."

"Blackmailed! By whom?"

"I can't tell you--it's only my guess."

"You have no evidence to support such a theory, Horney?"

"Nothing you could call that. But the day before Judson quit he was in the pressroom. He was sort of thinking out loud, I guess. Anyhow he said to me, 'Horney, the dirty blackmailer couldn't do this to me if it weren't for my daughter. If it didn't mean smearing her name, I'd fight!'"

"Did you ask him what he meant?"

"I made some reply, and then he closed up like a clam. I figure he hadn't realized what he was saying."

"You haven't any idea as to whom he meant?"

"I couldn't make a guess."

"No matter what the reason, it was a pity the _Press_ had to close," declared Penny. "I feel very sorry for Mr. Judson."

Bidding Horney good-bye, she hurried home for her automobile. However, as she drove toward the river cottage she kept thinking about what the old pressman had told her.

"It's barely possible his theory is right," she mused. "But why should Mr. Judson submit to blackmail even for his daughter's sake? Somehow the pieces of the puzzle refuse to fit."

CHAPTER
14
_AN EMPTY BEDROOM_

Darkness was inking the sky as Penny drew up at the end of the road. Parking her car between scraggly box-elders, she walked swiftly along the river trail, soon approaching within view of the Parker cottage.

The fallen tree had been sawed into cord wood, the yard cleaned of sticks and debris, and only the damaged porch remained to remind one of the severe storm.

As Penny opened the screen door, Mrs. Weems came from the kitchen.

"Joe is asleep," she warned in a whisper. "Perhaps we should talk outside."

Penny nodded and followed the housekeeper to the porch swing.

"How is he doing?" she inquired.

"Oh, much better," replied Mrs. Weems. "The doctor was here an hour ago. Joe is out of danger but must remain in bed for at least another day."

"I was afraid when you telephoned that something had gone wrong here."

"No," confessed the housekeeper, "I was merely lonesome for news. Is everything going well at home?"

"Oh, yes, we're getting along fine."

"I hope you remembered to bring in the milk. And you didn't neglect the dusting?"

Penny smiled ruefully.

"I might have known you would let everything go," sighed Mrs. Weems. "No doubt it's my duty to remain here, but I feel I should be at home."

"Anchor Joe needs you, Mrs. Weems. Has he talked very much?"

"Not a great deal. He ate a hearty lunch and seems in no pain."

"Did you see his back, Mrs. Weems?"

"Yes, the cut was an ugly one. The doctor changed the dressing while he was here."

"I mean the tattoo," said Penny impatiently. "Didn't you notice it?"

"I saw that he had one, if that's what you mean."

"You didn't question him about it?"

"Certainly not, Penny. Why should I?"

"Don't you read the _Weekly Times_? Anchor Joe's tattoo is a dead ringer for the one John Munn had on his back. Joe's already admitted that he knows Munn. For all we know they may be bitter enemies. Perhaps it was Anchor Joe who pushed Munn off the bridge!"

"Penny, your ideas grow wilder each day," protested Mrs. Weems. "I hope you don't talk such nonsense to other people."

"All the same, Anchor Joe bears someone a grudge," insisted Penny. "He mentioned a person who had 'ratted.' Didn't you learn a single fact about him, Mrs. Weems?"

"His last name is Landa and he came to Riverview three weeks ago. He has no family."

"I think I'll question him myself when he awakens."

"No, I can't allow that," said Mrs. Weems sternly. "The doctor would never approve."

"I promise not to excite him."

"The answer is no! Now I wish you would help me by bringing in the washing. I must start supper."

Penny obediently took the basket and unpinned sheets and pillow cases from the line. She had just finished when she observed a tall, well-built young man with military stride, approaching through the trees. He tipped his hat politely.

"I beg your pardon," he said, "I am trying to find the Parker cottage."

"Your search is at an end," answered Penny. "You've come to the right place."

"Do you have a man working here named Joe Landa?"

"Why, yes, we have."

"Where may I find him, please?"

"Joe is confined to his bed," explained Penny. "Unless it is very important I am afraid we can't allow you to talk with him today."

"It is important," said the stranger. "I am Clark Moyer, from the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

Penny's eyes opened wide. "A G-man?" she demanded.

"I am an investigator for the government," he replied, smiling.

"And you're after Anchor Joe?"

"I am here to question him."

"What has he done, Mr. Moyer?"

"I am not permitted to discuss a case to which I have been assigned," he returned, amused by her display of interest. "It's quite possible that Landa is not the man I seek. How long has he worked here?"

"Only a few days. He--he hasn't killed anyone, has he?"

"No," smiled the government man, "it's not that serious. The man I am after is short and wiry, sandy hair and blue eyes. He has a tattooed anchor on his right arm."

"And one on his back?" Penny asked eagerly.

"I wouldn't know about that. Does my description fit the man who has been working here?"

"Yes, it does! Almost exactly."

"Then I'd like to talk with him."

"Come into the cottage," invited Penny. "I'll call Mrs. Weems."

Summoned from the kitchen, the housekeeper listened to Mr. Moyer's request that he be permitted to see the injured man.

"If you are a government investigator I suppose it will be all right," she said reluctantly. "But the doctor's orders were that he was to be kept absolutely quiet."

"I'll only ask a question or two," promised Mr. Moyer.

"Is Joe wanted on a criminal charge?" the housekeeper asked.

"I was sent to check up on a man who calls himself Joe Landa. That's all I can tell you."

From the kitchen came the unmistakable odor of scorching potatoes. Mrs. Weems ran to jerk the pan from the stove.

"Penny, you see if Joe is awake yet," she called over her shoulder.

"I'll go with you," said Mr. Moyer quickly. "If I have made a mistake it may not be necessary to disturb the man."

"This way," directed Penny.

She led the government man down the hall to the rear bedroom. The door was closed. She twisted the knob and pushed, at first easily, and then with increasing force.

"It seems to be stuck," she said. "The recent rains must have caused the wood to swell."

"Let me try," offered Mr. Moyer.

He took Penny's place, and after testing the door, gave it a hard upward push. There was a loud crash as it suddenly swung open.

"Goodness! What was that?" exclaimed Penny.

"A barricade. Keep back."

To Penny's astonishment the government man drew his revolver before entering the room. Disregarding the order to remain behind, she followed him inside.

"I might have expected this!" he muttered.

Penny's gaze swept the room. A chair lay overturned on the floor. The bed, still bearing the imprint of a man's body, was empty.

"Why, where's Joe?" murmured Penny. "His clothing is gone, too!"

Mr. Moyer strode to the open window.

"You think he left that way?" Penny questioned. "He must have heard us talking!"

The government man nodded as he stepped through the opening to the ground.

"He heard us all right. There's no question now that he's the man I am after! And I'll get him, too!"

Briefly examining the ground beneath the window, Mr. Moyer turned and walked swiftly toward the river.

CHAPTER
15
_INFORMATION FROM TILLIE_

Penny lost no time in telling Mrs. Weems that Anchor Joe had disappeared.

"Well, of all things!" exclaimed the housekeeper as she saw the deserted bedroom. "He was here a half hour ago. I know because I came in while he was sleeping."

"He must have heard Mr. Moyer inquiring about him," declared Penny. "Obviously he ran away to avoid the interview."

"Then that means he's guilty."

"I'm afraid so, Mrs. Weems. What do you suppose he did to have a government man after him?"

"He may have been a gangster."

"Anchor Joe?" asked Penny, smiling. "He hardly looked the type."

"In any event, we're fortunate to be rid of him."

"I wish we could have questioned him," Penny said gloomily. "Now I may never learn about that octopus tattoo."

"You and your tattoo!" scoffed Mrs. Weems, beginning to strip linen from the bed. "Anchor Joe certainly deceived me. He seemed such a pleasant sort and I was sorry for him."

"I still am," said Penny. "The poor fellow is in no condition to be wandering around. I rather hope Mr. Moyer overtakes him soon. Then at least he'll get the medical attention he requires."

While Mrs. Weems straightened the bedroom, she wandered to the river's edge. Only a few stars were pricking the sky, and it was impossible to see very far. There was no sign either of Mr. Moyer or the man he pursued.

Penny returned to the cottage to eat supper with Mrs. Weems.

"Now that Anchor Joe has gone, I may as well go home tonight," declared the housekeeper. "I can't leave, though, until I've cleaned the cottage and set it to rights."

"How much longer will it take?"

"Oh, an hour or two."

"While I am waiting I may walk over to Peter Fenestra's place," Penny remarked. "I shouldn't mind seeing Tillie Fellows again."

"You'll be cautious in crossing the river?"

"Of course," laughed Penny. "I won't be gone long."

She washed the dishes for Mrs. Weems and then set forth for the Fenestra farmhouse. Frogs croaked as she crossed the swaying bridge, and far upstream she heard the faint chug of a motorboat. Otherwise, the night was unusually still.

Emerging from among the trees, Penny saw a light glowing in the distance. Knowing that it came from the Fenestra house, she used it as a beacon to guide her.

Passing the barn, she climbed a fence and entered the yard. The house was dark save for a single light burning in the kitchen. She could see Tillie Fellows moving about.

Penny knocked on the side door. Through the window she observed Tillie freeze into a tense attitude of fear. To reassure the girl she called her name in a loud voice.

Immediately Tillie ran to open the door.

"Oh, it's you!" she exclaimed in relief. "I was frightened."

To Penny's surprise Tillie wore a silk dress. Pocketbook, hat and gloves lay upon the kitchen table.

"I am afraid I've come at an awkward time," she apologized. "You were going somewhere?"

"I'm leaving here," Tillie answered grimly. She closed the door behind Penny.

"You mean for good? You've found another job?"

Tillie shook her head. "I've been discharged. He didn't give me a week's advance wages either."

"Oh, that's too bad," said Penny sympathetically. "But you'll find a better place. You said you didn't like it here anyway."

"I've hated it. Peter Fenestra is such a suspicious person. Why do you think he discharged me?"

"I can't guess, but I should like to know."

"He accused me of prying!"

"How unjust."

"Well, in a way, I was trying to learn about things I shouldn't," Tillie admitted honestly. "It was that storm cave."

"Did you get down into it?" Penny asked.

"No, but I tried. Old Peter was gone this afternoon and I decided to find out what he keeps hidden underground."

"The padlock wasn't locked?"

"Usually it is, but today he forgot. I got the door open. Just as I started down the steps he grabbed me by the shoulder. I was scared half to death."

"You mean Fenestra had hidden himself in the cave?" Penny questioned in astonishment.

"Yes, it was a trick to catch me prying. He said so himself, Penny. He only pretended to go away, then lay in wait."

"Did he threaten you?"

"No, he just told me to get out and never come back. It wouldn't surprise me if he leaves here himself soon."

"Why do you say that, Tillie?"

"Because he's afraid of his own shadow. But I don't blame him for being nervous. This house is being watched!"

As if fearing that unfriendly eyes were upon her at that very moment, Tillie went to the window and after peering into the yard, lowered the blind.

"Twice I've seen men hiding in the wheat field just back of this place," she confided. "The first time there was only one, but yesterday I saw three."

"Are you sure they were watching this house, Tillie?"

"Oh, yes, they were lying on the ground. For an hour they scarcely moved."

"Didn't you tell Fenestra?"

"I was afraid to do it, but I think he knew. All day he kept inside the house, and I saw him at the windows. He was as jumpy as a cat. Another thing--I saw him loading his revolver."

"He must fear for his life."

"I'm sure of it, Penny. Even if he's only going to the barn he carries the revolver with him."

A clock on the shelf above the stove struck eight times.

"Mercy!" exclaimed Tillie, "I must hurry or I'll never get away before Old Peter returns. Excuse me while I run upstairs for my suitcase."

"Where is Fenestra now?" Penny inquired before the girl could leave.

"In Riverview I suppose. He went away right after supper."

"Run along and get your suitcase," Penny advised. "I'll drive you into town."

"Oh, thanks," the girl answered gratefully. "It won't take me long."

After Tillie had gone, Penny walked to the window and rolled up the blind. Across the yard she could see the disfiguring mound of earth and cement. What secret did the storm cave guard? Why was it always kept padlocked?

Abruptly she went to the foot of the stairs and called:

"Oh, Tillie, I'm going outside for a minute. I'll come back."

"All right," agreed the girl. "Sorry to keep you waiting but I still have a few things to pick up."

Leaving by the side door, Penny paused on the porch for a moment. Carefully she glanced about the yard and surrounding fields. A thin quarter moon rising over the pine trees gave dim shape to the barn and silo. She could see no one, yet Tillie's revelation that strange men spied upon the house, made her attentive to danger.

Swiftly she crossed the lawn to the storm cave. As she had fully expected, the slanting door was padlocked.

"Oh, shoot!" she exclaimed impatiently. "I want to get down there!"

She jerked at the padlock several times, and then accepting the situation, turned toward the house. As she walked, Penny's eyes fastened absently upon a clump of lilac bushes some twenty yards from the cave. They were moving gently as if stirred by a wind. Yet there was no wind.

Penny did not pause, but every sense became alert. Her heart pounded. Distinctly she could see a man crawling on hands and knees behind the lilacs.

CHAPTER
16
_BEHIND THE LILACS_

Without disclosing by her actions that she had observed anything amiss, Penny walked steadily on toward the house. Her first thought had been that it was Peter Fenestra who spied upon her. However, as the figure straightened she knew she had been mistaken. The man was not Fenestra.

Before she could see his face, he moved to another clump of bushes, and then was enveloped by darkness.

Entering the house, Penny blew out the kerosene lamp and stood by the window, watching. She could not see the man. He had vanished completely.

"That proves that Tillie was correct," she thought. "This house _is_ being watched. I wonder why."

As she waited, Tillie came down the stairway, carrying her luggage. Observing that the kitchen was dark, she paused in alarm.

"It's all right," Penny called reassuringly. "I blew the light out so that I wouldn't be seen from outside."

"Is anyone there?" Tillie demanded, coming quickly to the window. Her pallid features were rigid with fear and her breathing quickened.

"He's gone now, I think."

"There was someone a moment ago?"

"Yes, a man, hiding behind the lilacs. I believe he must have been watching the house--or possibly the storm cellar!"

"Then you see I was right," Tillie declared. "Oh, this is a dreadful place, and I'll be glad to leave it."

"I almost wish you were staying," said Penny slowly. "You might be able to learn what's hidden in that cave."

"Not with Peter Fenestra so suspicious. Anyway, you couldn't hire me to remain even if he would allow it. I'd rather starve."

"You have no place to go, Tillie?"

"I'll find work. If not in Riverview then I can return to the country. Anything will be better than what I've had."

Penny groped in the dark for the lamp, relighting it.

"Tillie," she said, "how would you like to work at our place for a few days?"

"You don't mean it."

"I do if it can be arranged," Penny affirmed. "We have a housekeeper, but it occurred to me that she might take your place here."

"She'd be very foolish to give up a good job for this."

"It would only be temporary. I think I can induce her to make the change for a few days. The question is, can we get Peter Fenestra to accept her?"

"I doubt if he'll hire anyone now that I am leaving. Why do you want your housekeeper in such a place as this, Penny?"

"Only for one reason. To learn what's going on here. I confess you've made me very curious about the storm cave."

"Fenestra would watch her every minute, the same as he did me. It won't work."

"It will if Mrs. Weems can get the job," declared Penny confidently. "First of all, we must make Fenestra so uncomfortable he'll want someone to take care of the house. Is he a good cook?"

"Oh, wretched. And the trick of keeping a good fire going is simply beyond him. Why, if we turned the damper, it never would occur to him to change it."

"Thanks for the idea," laughed Penny. "Let's hide the breakfast supplies, too."

Tillie was quite certain that her friend did not know what she was doing, but she offered no objection to the plan. Before leaving the house they altered the stove damper, hid the coffee pot, and placed salt in the sugar bowl.

"If Old Peter doesn't get his coffee in the morning he'll simply rave," chuckled Tillie. "Missing it may be the one thing which will make him hire a new housekeeper."

The girls were watchful as they crossed the yard, but they observed no one lurking about the premises. Evidently the man who had hidden behind the lilacs had taken himself elsewhere.

Penny escorted Tillie to the parked automobile, leaving her there while she went to the cottage for Mrs. Weems. The housekeeper was ready and waiting by the time she arrived.

"Penny, I nearly gave you up," she sighed. "Why did it take so long?"

"I've been busy finding you a new position," chuckled Penny. "Starting tomorrow morning, you're to work for Peter Fenestra instead of us."

In the act of locking the cottage door, Mrs. Weems turned to face the girl.

"Penny," she said, "I am tired tonight and in no mood for your jokes."

"This isn't a joke, Mrs. Weems. I really do want you to change jobs with Tillie Fellows. You remember I told you about her."

Not giving the housekeeper an opportunity to speak, she rapidly outlined her plan.

"Early tomorrow morning I'll drive you to Fenestra's farm," she ended gleefully. "You're to knock on the door, and say you're looking for a job at very low wages. Fenestra will be so desperate he'll welcome you with open arms. Then as soon as he's off his guard you learn what is hidden in the storm cave."

"How lovely," said Mrs. Weems. "I've listened to your crazy schemes for years, Penny, but this one takes the prize!"

"You'll do it, won't you?"

"I certainly will not." The housekeeper spoke with biting emphasis.

"Oh, Mrs. Weems," Penny moaned. "You don't realize how much this means to me! If only you'll go there, I may be able to get a wonderful scoop for the _Weekly Times_."

"I wish you never had started that paper. I declare, ever since you took over the old _Press_ plant, you've done the wildest things."

"This isn't wild," Penny argued. "It's absolutely logical. I would try for the job myself only I know Fenestra wouldn't give it to me. Besides, I am kept busy at the plant."

"I refuse to play detective for you, Penny. That's final."

Completely downcast, Penny followed Mrs. Weems along the river trail. However, she had no intention of giving up so easily.

"Then if you won't," she remarked, "I must take Tillie to a charity home. She had intended to start working at our place."

"The girl may spend the night with us, if you like. We have an extra room."

"Tillie would never accept such a favor," insisted Penny. "More than anything else she wants a job. Mrs. Weems, please reconsider--"

"It's a crazy scheme!"

"No, it isn't," Penny refuted, and noting indications of weakening, launched into another lengthy argument.

Mrs. Weems drew a deep sigh. "I don't know why I allow you to twist me around your finger the way you do."

"You'll try for the job?"

"I suppose so. But what will your father say?"

"He'll call it clever journalism," chuckled Penny. "Don't you worry about Dad. Just leave everything to me."

During the ride to Riverview Mrs. Weems was further influenced by Tillie Fellows' account of Fenestra's peculiar actions. Gradually she began to share Penny's opinion that the man might have reason to fear for his life. However, she could not agree with the girls that anything of great value was hidden in the cave.

"Perhaps we're wrong," Penny conceded, "but you must go there with an open mind, Mrs. Weems. Observe everything you can and report to me. Particularly I want to learn what Fenestra knows about John Munn and the octopus tattoo."

"I shan't try very hard to get the job," threatened the housekeeper.

At seven the next morning Penny awakened Mrs. Weems from a sound slumber, reminding her that it was time to start for the Fenestra farm. Protesting that the idea seemed crazier than ever, the housekeeper snuggled down beneath the covers again.

"You promised you would go," reminded Penny brutally. "Please hurry, because I must get you established before I go to school."

By the time Mrs. Weems was dressed, breakfast and the car awaited her. She drank the bitterly strong coffee and, still protesting, allowed Penny to drive her within view of the Fenestra farm.

"Is that the place?" she inquired with distaste as the automobile halted.

"Yes, I don't dare go any closer for fear Fenestra will see me. You know the story you're to tell him."

"Which one? You've suggested so many that my mind is a-whirl."

"Then make it simple. Just say you're a widow, out of work, and that you're a wonderful housekeeper. I'll wait here. If you go inside I'll know you've been given the job."

"When will you come for me?"

"I'll try to see you tomorrow. But hold the fort until I arrive even if it's a week."

A bundle of clothing under her arm, Mrs. Weems trudged on down the road. Penny watched her with misgiving. The adventure was not to the housekeeper's liking, and it was doubtful that her application for work would be an enthusiastic one.

Turning the car in the road, she pulled to one side and waited. Mrs. Weems had reached the farmhouse. Following instructions, she knocked at the side entrance. In a moment or two the door was opened by Peter Fenestra.

Anxiously, Penny watched. The interview seemed to be taking a long while, but at least Fenestra had not closed the door in the housekeeper's face.

Then, to her delight, Mrs. Weems followed the man into the house.

"The job is hers!" she thought exultantly. "If she doesn't fail me, I may yet break an important story in my paper! I feel in my bones that Peter Fenestra's cave soon will yield its secret!"

CHAPTER
17
_THE ART OF TATTOO_

At school, during the afternoon assembly period, Penny received a note from Louise which read:

"The _Weekly Times_ is in urgent need of feature stories for our next issue. Any ideas?"

Penny scrawled a huge zero on the paper, decorated it with angel wings, and sent it down the aisle. An answer came immediately.

"You'll have to do something about it. All of our reporters are taking a vacation until after monthly exams. Can't you write some sort of story?"

Penny considered the problem as she studied her history lesson. Just as the dismissal bell rang an inspiration seized her.

"Lou, I do have an idea!" she declared, linking arms with her chum. "How about an interview with Ellis Saal?"

"Who is he?" inquired Louise, somewhat dubiously.

"A tattoo artist who has a little shop on Dorr Street. He takes passport pictures, too. I noticed the place weeks ago."

"What makes you think the story would be worth printing?"

"Tattooing is a fascinating subject."

"It is to you. I doubt if our readers share your enthusiasm."

"They will when they read my story," countered Penny.

Early the next morning she presented herself at Mr. Saal's place of business, a den-like crack in the wall, barely wide enough to accommodate a door.

Pausing, she stared at a sign which proclaimed that for a nominal sum Mr. Saal would tattoo or photograph all comers. In a glass frame were displayed many samples of tattooing--bleeding hearts, clasped hands, sailing ships, birds in flight and other artistic conceptions.

Penny entered the shop. The front end of the long, narrow room was unoccupied, but the sound of hammering led her to the rear. A man of some sixty-odd years was engaged in making a new shelf. As he saw her the hammer dropped from his hand.

"Good morning," said Penny in her friendliest tone. "Are you Mr. Saal?"

"That's me," he replied, regarding her curiously.

"Excuse me for bothering you," apologized Penny, "but I should like to interview you for my newspaper."

Mr. Saal's intelligent but somewhat child-like eyes fixed her in a steady stare.

"A reporter," he said finally in a long suffering tone. "They wouldn't respect a man's privacy--or anything else for that matter, I reckon."

"There is one thing I am sure all reporters respect, Mr. Saal," responded Penny. "Art. From the samples of your work which I saw out front I am sure you are a great tattoo artist."

Mr. Saal melted like a lump of butter on a hot stove. Penny had struck his weakest spot.

"You flatter me," he said, a faint pattern of a smile etching his face. "I admit I'm good, although maybe not quite the best in the business. What do you want to know?"

"A story about the tattooing business in general and you in particular, Mr. Saal. How do you do it? How did you start? Who was the most famous person you ever tattooed? What is your favorite design? Do you think a tattoo looks better on the arm or the chest? What--?"

"Hold it, young lady, hold it. You seem to be a living question mark."

Mr. Saal motioned for Penny to follow him to the front of the shop. As he offered her a chair she took a quick glance at a row of dirty, smeary bottles of chemicals on a shelf above her head.

"Now let's take your first question," said Mr. Saal, seating himself opposite the girl. "I can't tell you how to tattoo--that's a secret of the profession."

"How much do you charge for one?"

"Depends upon how much a fellow is willing to pay. Take this town--it's a cheap place. Nobody has any money. The King of England paid fifty dollars for his tattoo and what do I get? I'm lucky if it's a dollar. And mostly hoodlums to work on. You can't give a man much of a tattoo for a dollar."

"Do you ever remove tattoos, Mr. Saal?"

"It's against the law," the man replied briefly.

"I didn't know that," said Penny in surprise. "Why?"

"Crooks can be identified by their tattoos. Oh, it's easy for a fellow to get one on, but not so easy to get it off."

"But it can be done?" Penny persisted. "Have you ever removed one?"

"I'm the only man in the state who can take off a tattoo so it doesn't show," boasted Mr. Saal. "The surgeons have tried, but you always can see where it was."

"Tell me about some of the tattoos you've removed," urged Penny.

"I've told you more than I should now," said Mr. Saal. "You'll print it in the paper and then I'll get into trouble with the police."

"This will be strictly confidential," promised Penny.

"It's this way," Mr. Saal justified himself. "I never do any work for crooks--not me. But if a law-abiding, respectable citizen comes here and says he's sick of his tattoo, then sometimes I take it off for him if he's willing to pay the price. Fact is, I'm workin' on a mighty interesting case right now. It's a design that's rare--an octopus."

Penny did not trust herself to speak for a moment. Carefully she controlled her voice as she said casually:

"How interesting, Mr. Saal, An octopus tattoo! Was the man a sailor?"

"He was an old salt all right, though he denied it."

"What is his name?"

"I couldn't tell you that," answered Mr. Saal. "I have to protect my customers."

"Tell me more about the tattoo," urged Penny.

"It's just a figure about so large--" Mr. Saal demonstrated with his hands, "on the man's back. Funny place for a tattoo, ain't it?"

"I should say so," agreed Penny. "Is it merely a figure of an octopus? No words or anything like that?"

"There are two words. I took 'em off last week."

"Two?" inquired Penny. "What are they, Mr. Saal?"

"They don't make sense. The words are _For One_."

"I once saw an octopus tattoo such as you describe," declared Penny. "But I distinctly recall that the design used only a single word. It was _One_."

"Is that so?" inquired Mr. Saal. "Maybe the tattoo isn't as uncommon as I thought. But I never saw one like it before."

"I wonder what can be the significance of the words?"

"I was asking my customer about it. He pretended he didn't know, but I figure maybe he and some buddies had a sentence tattooed on 'em."

"You mean that if one were able to read several tattoos together, the words would make sense?"

"That's right," nodded Mr. Saal. "I don't know about this octopus tattoo, but I figure it may have been that way."

"Did your customer have any other tattoos on his body?" Penny questioned. "An anchor, for instance?"

"Didn't notice 'em if he did."

"I suppose it takes a long while to remove a tattoo. Does your customer come often?"

"Every Tuesday and Thursday night. He complains because I don't do the work faster, but I tell him if he wants a good job it has to be done carefully."

Before Penny could ask another question, two young sailors swaggered into the shop. Ellis Saal, scenting business, immediately arose.

"Be careful what you write up," he warned as he left her. "There's been a lot of articles on tattooin', but not a one that's right. It just ain't possible for a reporter to write a true story unless it's about a murder or a fire!"

"I'll be careful," promised Penny.

Leaving the shop, she walked slowly to her parked car. The information obtained from the tattoo artist both excited and mystified her.

"I don't believe Mr. Saal could have been mistaken about the words which were incorporated in the design," she thought. "And I'm equally certain I wasn't mistaken about Anchor Joe's tattoo. It had only the single word, 'One.'"

Mr. Saal's declaration that his customer was not the possessor of a tattooed anchor caused Penny to wonder if the person could be Joe Landa. However, the man was wanted by government agents and it seemed reasonable to believe that he might seek to remove tell-tale markings.

"I know what I'll do," she decided. "Thursday night I'll watch Mr. Saal's shop. In that way I may be able to learn the identity of his mysterious customer!"

CHAPTER
18
_PAULETTA'S EXPLANATION_

Penny compressed the facts given her by Ellis Saal into a brief, lively feature story for the _Weekly Times_. She was careful not to divulge that the man had removed a tattoo from a customer, but to Louise she confided the entire story.

"All unwittingly, Mr. Saal gave me just the clue I need," she declared enthusiastically. "It will be a gigantic step forward if I learn the identity of his mysterious customer."

"What's to be gained by it?" asked Louise as she slugged a story and speared it on a hook. "What will be proven?"

"Well, if I'm ever going to solve the mystery I must gather every fact I can," Penny said defensively. "I aim to learn the meaning of those strange tattoos and, above all, the reason why John Munn was pushed from the bridge."

"You have your work cut out for you," responded Louise dryly.

"But Mr. Saal's information helps. You remember I told you that John Munn's tattoo bore the word _All_. Anchor Joe's was exactly the same except for the word, _One_. And now Ellis Saal has a customer with two words on his back: _For One_. Why, I believe I have it!"

Penny sprang from her chair, eyes dancing with excitement.

"You have what?" asked Louise calmly.

"It came to me like a flash--the meaning of those tattooed words! If we haven't been dumb!"

"Kindly stop jumping around, and explain."

"Mr. Saal told me he thought several sailors might have had a sentence incorporated in their tattoo. That is, only a word or two was used in each design, but taken as a whole it would make sense."

"And you think you have the phrase?"

"I do, Louise! Why couldn't it be: _All for one, one for all_?"

"If the men were close friends, that would be fairly logical. But the words we have to juggle don't make such a sentence, Penny."

"Obviously there must be a fourth sailor whose tattoo includes the words, 'for all,'" argued Penny. "Then it would fit perfectly."

"Just because four men were pals, you think they would have such nonsense tattooed on their backs?"

"That's my theory."

"If you're right, then the mystery is solved."

"Far from it," corrected Penny. "I haven't learned who pushed John Munn from the bridge or why. You remember how Anchor Joe talked about someone who had 'ratted'? The four of them must have been in on a scheme, and one man betrayed his comrades."

"Better bridle that imagination before it takes you for too wild a ride," chuckled Louise.

"Then you think there's nothing to my theory?" Penny demanded in an injured tone.

"I think that if you speculate upon it much longer we'll never get any work done," Louise replied, turning once more to her typewriter. "These headlines must be composed if ever we expect to get another paper on the street."

Disappointed that her chum did not take the matter more seriously, Penny went to consult Old Horney in the composing room. The pressman had proven to be worth many times the small salary which the girls paid him. Not only had he made the rotary presses ready for service, but he had cleaned and oiled every useable piece of machinery in the building. Eagerly he awaited the day when Penny would print the _Weekly_ in her own plant.

"Everything's all set," he told her with a worshipful grin. "Whenever you give the word, we can go to press."

"That's fine," Penny praised. "Louise and I have been having a few difficulties, financial and otherwise. But I hope it won't be long now."

She talked with Old Horney about various technical problems, then returned to her desk. Slipping a sheet of paper into her typewriter, she composed a letter to a well known steamship, the _Dorasky_.

Slipping it into her pocket, she opened the door of Louise's office.

"Do you mind staying here alone for awhile?"

"No, of course not. Where are you going?"

"To mail an important letter. Then I want to drive out to Fenestra's farm and see Mrs. Weems."

"I'll look after everything until you get back," Louise promised. She glanced curiously at the letter but did not ask to whom it was directed.

Penny dropped the stamped envelope into a convenient corner mailbox, and then drove toward the outskirts of the city. Nearing Drexel Boulevard it suddenly occurred to her that she never had found time to revisit Matthew Judson's home.

"Pauletta owes me an explanation for the way she acted the other day," she thought. "I have a notion to stop and see if she's alone."

Penny impulsively spun the wheel, and followed the boulevard to the Judson home. The iron gate stood open. She drove through, up the curve of cement to the house.

In response to her knock, an untidy colored maid admitted her to a dark, dusty living room. As she awaited Pauletta, her wandering gaze noted a number of significant details. The walls had not been decorated in many years, upholstered furniture had assumed a moth-eaten appearance, and the entire room seemed spiritless.

Pauletta came slowly down the circular stairway. She hesitated as she recognized Penny, but could not retreat.

"How do you do," she said somewhat stiffly. "Nice of you to call."

"I think you know why I came," said Penny. "We were unable to talk when I was here before."

"I've told you all there was to it," Pauletta declared, seating herself opposite the girl. "Frankly, I can't see that the affair is any of your concern. I wore the disguise because I didn't wish to be recognized on board the _Goodtime_."

"Your explanation isn't very satisfactory, I'm afraid. Tillie Fellows is staying at our home now."

"What of it?"

"She was robbed that night on the boat."

"We discussed it before," Miss Judson said in exasperation. "You insult me by suggesting that I may have snatched the girl's pocketbook! Why should I steal when my father is wealthy? I've always had everything I want."

"I should like very much to believe you," said Penny quietly. "But unless you are willing to offer a complete explanation, I am afraid I can't."

"Very well, if I must, I'll tell," Miss Judson replied angrily. "You may have read in the newspapers that I am engaged to marry Major Howard Atchley?"

"The story escaped me."

"I admire Howard very much," resumed Pauletta, still in an icy tone. "He comes from an excellent family, is well-to-do, and in Father's opinion will make me a good husband."

"Your opinion differs?" Penny inquired softly.

"I do not love Howard, and I never shall. On the night you saw me aboard the _Goodtime_ I had gone with another friend of mine, Carl Feldman, intending to enjoy the excursion trip."

"Your father knew nothing about it?"

"I told him I was going with another girl."

"Oh, I see."

"There was nothing wrong about it," Pauletta said irritably. "But I'm fairly well known. I realized that if I were recognized, Father or Howard might learn about it. Then there would be trouble, for Howard is a very jealous person."

"So you resorted to the wig and glasses?"

"Yes, that was my sole reason. Major Atchley met me at the boat. Before joining him I threw the bundle of clothing into the river. Now are you satisfied with my explanation?"

"I am," said Penny. "In fact, I never believed that you had robbed Tillie."

"You certainly acted that way."

"Perhaps, I only wanted to learn the truth."

Miss Judson did not reply. Her cold stare made it evident that she disliked Penny and regarded her as a meddler.

"Is there anything else you wish to know?" she asked after a lengthy silence.

"Nothing, Miss Judson. I was only thinking that I would like to help you and your father."

"Thank you. We don't require assistance."

"Perhaps you don't," said Penny, "but your father needs friends. He admitted to me that if it weren't for you he would be tempted to end everything."

The words stunned Pauletta. "Father never said that!" she exclaimed.

"He did."