Chapter IV: Part 4

"I can't believe it. Why, Father's the most cheerful person in the world!"

"In your presence, possibly. The loss of the _Morning Press_ must have been a heavy blow to him."

"Father wasn't forced to give up the paper," Pauletta protested. "He did it because he was tired of working so hard."

"Was that what he told you?"

"Why, yes. I know of no other reason."

"The general belief seems to be that your father speculated on the stock market, losing large sums of money."

"That can't be true," denied Pauletta. "To my knowledge Father never gambled. He may have bought a few stocks from time to time, but only for investment."

"Then you feel sure he did not dispose of the _Press_ because he needed money?"

Pauletta hesitated before she answered. "It never occurred to me before, but Father has been rather close the past year. I thought it was sheer carelessness when he let this place run down. He always gave me everything I wanted."

"Why does he favor your marriage to the Major?"

"Perhaps money does enter into it," Pauletta said slowly. "Many times Father has reminded me that I would have every luxury as Howard's wife."

"Your friend Carl is poor?"

"He has a fairly good position, but not much money. Father always seemed to like Carl. That was why I couldn't understand when he asked me not to see him again."

"I am sure your father thinks only of your welfare."

"But I would rather marry Carl and be poor always than to have riches with Howard."

"You've not told your father that?"

"Why, no. It never occurred to me that money had influenced him."

"There's another rumor," said Penny. "I suppose I shouldn't mention it."

"I wish you would."

"I've heard it said that your father disposed of the _Press_ because he had been blackmailed."

"By whom?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. It was only a rumor."

"There may be truth in it," Pauletta replied in a low voice. "You've opened my eyes, Miss Parker. I've been very blind."

"Then you think someone may have forced your father to pay money?"

"I don't know. But Father has acted strangely ever since he gave up the paper. Once a month, on the fourth, he receives a visit from a queer looking man. Always he tries to get me out of the house before the fellow comes."

"Don't you know his name?"

"No, Father has never told me. The man seldom stays longer than ten minutes."

"Can you describe him?"

"Not very well because I never saw him at close range. I should say he's middle-aged, dark and cruel looking. Not at all the sort Father would choose for a friend."

"Your father offers no explanation as to why the man comes?"

"None. He refuses to discuss the subject. I've noticed, though, that for days after the fellow leaves he's very nervous and uneasy."

"Excuse me for asking so many questions, Miss Judson, but do you know of any reason why your father might be blackmailed?"

"No, I don't. I am sure he's never been involved in anything dishonorable."

Penny had no more to tell, and she was convinced that Pauletta had given a truthful account of the situation. Feeling that she was not particularly welcome, she arose to leave.

"I am glad you came," Pauletta said, extending her hand. "Please excuse my rudeness. There were so many things I failed to understand."

"You must forgive me, too," replied Penny. "I didn't mean to meddle. I truly want to help your father."

"I wish I could help him, too," said Pauletta in a troubled voice. "In the past I fear I've been very selfish and inconsiderate."

"There's a way to help if you're willing to do it."

"I don't understand."

"You say that on the fourth of each month a man comes here to see your father. If you tried could you learn his name?"

"I might drop in upon them at an awkward moment, compelling Father to introduce me."

"Are you willing to do it?"

"Why, yes, but I fail to see what will be gained."

"Perhaps nothing, perhaps a great deal," replied Penny. "If the man is a blackmailer, it should help for us to know his name."

"I'll learn what I can."

"Then until the fourth, good-bye. And please, not a word to Mr. Judson. We must work secretly."

Reflecting upon the information given her by Pauletta, Penny drove on toward Peter Fenestra's home. A quarter of a mile away she parked the car, and set off afoot, hoping to attract no attention should the owner be at home.

It was well that she took the precaution. She was three hundred yards from the grounds when suddenly she saw a man emerge from behind the barn. At a glance she observed that he was too short to be Peter Fenestra.

As Penny paused to watch, the man moved stealthily across the yard to the front door of the farmhouse. His face turned slightly in her direction, and she recognized Anchor Joe.

"What can he be doing here?" she thought in amazement.

The question soon was answered. Glancing quickly about, Anchor Joe dropped a white envelope on the front porch. Then he pounded several times on the door before darting to the shelter of the lilac bushes.

CHAPTER
19
_MRS. WEEMS' REPORT_

Several minutes elapsed before the door was opened by Peter Fenestra. He glanced alertly about the yard, and then his gaze fell upon the envelope. Penny heard him mutter to himself as he picked it up.

Fenestra's face became convulsed with rage as he tore open the flap and saw the message. Still muttering, he crumpled the paper and thrust it into his pocket. Entering the house, he slammed the door.

With Peter at home Penny dared not try to see Mrs. Weems. As she hesitated, debating, Anchor Joe came from his hiding place. He did not see the girl.

"Joe!" she called softly.

The sailor turned. Recognizing her, he ran in the opposite direction across the yard. Keeping low behind a hedge, he started toward the river.

"Joe! Come back!" Penny called again.

Paying no heed, the sailor fled through the fields. Soon he was hidden by tall trees and bushes.

Penny felt deeply disturbed, wondering if Anchor Joe made a practice of watching the Fenestra home. She was inclined to believe that this had not been his first visit there.

Unexpectedly the farmhouse door swung open. Penny barely had time to step behind a large maple before Peter Fenestra came down the path. He went directly to the barn, and a few minutes later backed out his automobile.

"Good!" thought Penny. "He's likely driving to Riverview. Now I can talk to Mrs. Weems without fear of interruption."

As soon as the car had disappeared down the main road, she ran to the kitchen door and knocked. When it was not opened immediately, she thrust her head inside and called the housekeeper's name.

"Here I am," answered Mrs. Weems, hurrying from the dining room. "I hope you've come to take me home, Penny Parker!"

"No, only to receive your report." Penny sank into a chair beside the stove. "You don't act very pleased with your new job."

"It's a dreadful place. I was crazy to say I would stay here."

"Haven't you learned anything?"

"I've learned that Peter Fenestra is one of the most disagreeable men I ever met in my life! There's no satisfying him. He requires a slave, not a housekeeper!"

"But what about the storm cave?" Penny asked. "Were you able to find out what Fenestra stores in it?"

"Of course not. The padlock always is locked, and he keeps the key in his pocket."

"But he does have something hidden there?" Penny questioned eagerly. "He goes down into it at night?"

"I've seen him enter the cave once since I came here."

"When was that?"

"Last night after I had gone to bed. I heard the door close, so I went to the window and watched."

"How long did he stay there, Mrs. Weems?"

"About three hours I'd judge. It was after two o'clock when he returned to his room."

"What _can_ he have hidden in the cave?"

"Nothing in my opinion," declared Mrs. Weems. "I think he cooks something. At least he builds a fire."

"What makes you think that?"

"I could see smoke seeping out from the cracks of the cave door."

Penny frowned. "I can't guess what he could be cooking," she said. "Surely he doesn't have a still down there."

"I doubt it very much. Probably you've built up a great mystery about nothing."

Pouring hot water over the dishes, Mrs. Weems began to wash them. Penny picked up a towel and automatically wiped and stacked them away.

"I didn't imagine that this house was being watched," she replied. "Only a few minutes ago I saw Anchor Joe steal to the door and leave a letter for Mr. Fenestra."

"Anchor Joe!"

"Mr. Moyer never caught him it seems. But why should the fellow come here? What message did he leave Fenestra?"

"I heard a knock on the front door," Mrs. Weems admitted. "Fenestra answered it, and when he came back into the kitchen he was in a dreadful temper."

"The letter upset him?"

"I didn't know he had received one."

"Yes, Anchor Joe left it on the doorstep. It may have been a threatening note. I'd give a lot to know."

"Fenestra has been very nervous since I came here," Mrs. Weems contributed. "If he hears any unusual sound in the yard he immediately becomes alert."

"As if he were afraid for his life?"

"Yes, he does act that way. I doubt if he'll stay here much longer. His clothes are all packed in suitcases."

"That _is_ important information," declared Penny. "Oh, dear, if only we knew why he's being threatened, and why he intends to leave! I believe I'll go upstairs and inspect his room."

"You'll learn nothing there," responded Mrs. Weems. "Fenestra is a careful man. He leaves no papers lying about."

"It will do no harm to look."

Penny climbed the creaking stairs and was followed by Mrs. Weems.

"This is his room," said the housekeeper, opening a door. "I haven't made the bed yet."

She busied herself smoothing covers while Penny wandered about. The room had no rug. It was furnished with an old fashioned dresser, a wash stand and a bed with a high headboard.

Penny opened the closet door. The hangers were dangling together, without clothing. Everything had been packed into two suitcases which stood against the wall.

"I've already inspected the luggage," said Mrs. Weems as the girl bent to open one of the bags. "You'll find nothing except clothing. I tell you, Peter Fenestra is a very cautious man."

"I can believe it," agreed Penny. "This room is as bare of evidence as Mother Hubbard's cupboard."

"Just what do you hope to find?"

"Well, I don't know. What's this?" Penny picked up a sheet of notebook paper from the dresser.

"Don't get excited over that," laughed Mrs. Weems.

"It's only a grocery list which Fenestra made up. He doesn't trust anyone to spend his money for him."

"Is this Fenestra's writing?" Penny studied the paper with intense interest.

"Yes, it is."

"Mrs. Weems, I've seen this writing before!" Penny exclaimed. "I'm almost certain of it. There's a marked resemblance!"

"A resemblance to what, Penny?"

"Why, to a threatening note I received. I guess I never told you. Someone left a message on my desk at the newspaper office, warning me to give up my paper."

"And you think Peter Fenestra left it there?" inquired the housekeeper, smiling.

"This looks like the same writing."

"Probably you are mistaken, Penny. Why should he have any interest in your paper?"

"He came to the office one day, questioning me about a story I ran concerning John Munn. I shall keep this and compare it with the note."

Carefully folding the paper, Penny slipped it into her dress pocket. Mrs. Weems had finished making the bed and was ready to leave.

"I've learned everything I can for you," she said. "Now I hope you're willing to let me return home."

"Please stay another day," pleaded Penny. "I feel in my bones that we're about to make an important discovery."

"Those bones of yours!" complained the housekeeper. "Tell me, how is Tillie Fellows getting along?"

"Well, she tries hard, but I'll admit Dad doesn't like the arrangement."

"Then I must return. It's nonsense for me to stay here."

Penny was paying no attention to Mrs. Weems' words. She had picked up the waste paper basket and was examining the contents. There were a few advertising circulars, an unaddressed envelope and a crumpled ball of paper. The latter, Penny carefully smoothed.

"Mrs. Weems!" she exclaimed. "Look at this!"

The housekeeper hastened to her side. Curiously, she examined the paper. It bore no writing, only a crude drawing of an octopus.

"This must be the paper which Anchor Joe left on the doorstep only a few minutes ago!" cried Penny excitedly.

"You think it may have been intended as a warning to Peter Fenestra?" The housekeeper regarded the drawing rather dubiously.

"I'm sure of it, Mrs. Weems! Don't you see? The drawing is a copy of the tattoo which both Anchor Joe and John Munn had on their backs!"

"Yes, it does look the same as Joe's marking," conceded the housekeeper. "But what does it mean? Why was it sent to Fenestra?"

"I wish I knew."

"One thing is clear. That boatman your father hired is a downright scamp."

"He's wanted by the government. We know that. But Fenestra may be a rascal, too. Why should Anchor Joe threaten him unless he's done something he shouldn't?"

"Why indeed? This is a case for the police, not one for you or me," declared Mrs. Weems with finality. "I am ready to leave here whenever you are. I've decided not to bother giving Fenestra notice."

"You can't go now. You can't!" moaned Penny. "Stay until after Thursday, at least. I'm positive everything will be cleared up by then."

"Why Thursday?"

"Well, I have a little matter coming up on that day. Besides, I've sent off a letter which may help solve the mystery. Please, Mrs. Weems, do this one favor and I'll never ask another."

"Until next time, you mean. But to please you I'll stay until Friday. Not a day longer. However, I warn you, if I see Anchor Joe prowling about, I shall summon the sheriff."

"That's all right with me," grinned Penny. "I must skip now before Fenestra gets back from town. Just keep your eye on him and report to me if anything unusual happens."

CHAPTER
20
_PICNIC BY MOONLIGHT_

Penny had never found it necessary to explain fully to her father what had become of Mrs. Weems. She had mentioned rather carelessly that the housekeeper was helping out at the Fenestra home for a few days, and he had accepted the substitution of Tillie Fellows without too many questions.

At breakfast on Wednesday morning, the publisher waited until Tillie had gone to the kitchen, and then asked in an undertone:

"How much longer is this to continue? When is Mrs. Weems coming home?"

"Friday morning, Dad. Don't you like Tillie's cooking?"

"It's awful," he whispered. "These eggs taste as if they had been fried in lard."

"They were," chuckled Penny. "Tillie was brought up to be frugal. She never wastes butter."

The discussion was brought to an abrupt end by the appearance of Tillie. Mr. Parker immediately switched to another subject, that of a barbecue picnic which he gave each summer to the _Star_ employes. Penny had forgotten that the outing was scheduled for that night at the cottage.

"I'm glad you reminded me, Dad," she said. "I'll be there with bells to eat my share of roast beef. Mind if I bring Old Horney?"

"Invite him if you like," replied Mr. Parker. "But no others. This is a newspaper picnic, not a bread line as you made it last year."

After school that afternoon Penny worked as usual at the _Times_ office. She was busy figuring advertising space when she glanced up and saw Fred Clousky standing in the doorway.

"Are--are you busy?" asked the boy diffidently.

"Yes, I am," said Penny with discouraging brevity.

"I don't want to bother you," Fred murmured, "but I was wondering--do you have a job for me around here? I'd like to work on a real paper. Being editor of _Chatter_ is okay but you don't get any practical experience."

"Oh, so you want a job?" inquired Penny. Inclined to give him a short answer, she thought better of it. "Everything considered," she said, "what you need, Fred, is to learn about different kinds of type. It's so easy to get name-plates and various headlines mixed!"

Fred kept his gaze on his shoes.

"I have just the job for you," resumed Penny. "You can sort and clean the type when it's broken out of the page forms. If you do that well, perhaps you can work up later on."

"When do I start?" Fred asked in a crushed voice.

Penny was surprised for she had expected him to decline such a dirty, menial job. In a far more friendly tone she directed him to seek Old Horney who would be found in the composing room.

"Fred isn't so bad after all," she thought after he had gone. "I'll give him an office job next week."

Penny returned to her work. In need of an extra sheet of paper, she tried to open the lower drawer of her desk. It was stuck fast. She tugged at it several times, finally pulling it out entirely. A folded newspaper clipping dropped to the floor.

Wondering what it might be, she picked it up. The torn sheet, yellow with age, bore the picture of a young man. The face was vaguely familiar although the name beneath it read, Matthew Jewel.

"Matthew Jewel," she whispered. "But it's Matthew Judson! Judson as a young man. He must have changed his name!"

The two column headline drew her attention.

MATTHEW JEWEL BEGINS TEN YEAR SENTENCE IN NEW YORK PRISON FOR MISAPPROPRIATION OF BANK FUNDS

The clipping, she noted, had been cut from a New York paper and was dated twenty years earlier. It reported Matthew Jewel's conviction, following an admission that he had stolen two thousand dollars belonging to the Berkley Savings Bank.

Penny studied the picture again. Not the slightest doubt entered her mind that the young man of the story and Matthew Judson were the same individual. Evidently the clipping had been saved by the former publisher, and in some manner had become lodged beneath the drawer.

"I'm sure no one in Riverview ever knew that Judson served a term in prison," she thought. "He came here years ago with his daughter, and to all appearances had led an upright life."

After perusing the item again, she returned it to the drawer which she carefully locked. She knew that the information was of utmost importance. Was it not possible that she had stumbled upon a motivation for Judson's strange behavior of the past year? Could not the data contained in the clipping have provided an unscrupulous person with a basis for blackmail?

"But why should Judson ruin his career rather than face exposure?" she reflected. "Other men have made mistakes in their youth and started over again. The truth might have humiliated him, but Riverview people would have taken a charitable attitude."

Deeply troubled, Penny gathered together her belongings and went in search of Old Horney. Finding him initiating Fred Clousky in his new duties, she discreetly invited him to attend the picnic.

"Thank you mightily," responded the pressman, "but I'm not dressed for it. These pants are so shiny you could use 'em for a mirror."

"Don't you worry about your clothes, Horney. Besides, it will be so dark no one will notice. Dad gave you a special invitation."

"Did he now?" The old pressman could not hide his pleasure. "Well, if you think he really wants me, maybe I'll go."

"You wash up while I get the car," Penny urged. "We're rather late."

Within ten minutes, Old Horney met her at the front entrance. His hair was combed, he wore a frayed coat, and had contrived to polish his shoes.

"Horney," Penny said abruptly as they drove toward the river, "did you ever hear that Matthew Judson had been in trouble before he gave up his paper?"

"You mean financial?" the pressman inquired.

"No, I meant of a personal nature. I've been thinking over your theory that Judson was blackmailed."

"Maybe I oughtn't to have said what I did. It was just my own idea."

"I'm inclined to believe there may be something to it, Horney. Now supposing that Judson had stolen money or had been in prison--"

"It couldn't have been that," interrupted the pressman. "Why, Judson was so honest he bent over backwards."

Penny was tempted to tell Horney about the clipping, but refrained from doing so. However, she was satisfied that employes of the _Morning Press_ had gained no inkling of Mr. Judson's prison record.

The picnic was well under way by the time Penny and the pressman arrived at the river cottage. A caterer had taken complete charge, and with his crew of helpers, prepared to serve nearly two hundred boisterous, hungry newspaper employes.

Always a favorite, Penny immediately was surrounded by a group of friends. Assured that Horney had found welcome with pressmen acquaintances, she entered wholeheartedly into the frivolity.

Jerry Livingston, frowning away all other young men, became her escort for the evening. After supper had been served, he guided her firmly away from the group.

"We don't want to hear any speeches," he said. "Let's go look at the moon."

"Can't we see it here?" countered Penny.

"A moon to be appreciated properly must be seen from a sandy beach," chuckled Jerry. "Preferably from a nice comfortable shoulder."

Breaking away, Penny raced ahead of him, along the beach to the suspension bridge. She was halfway across when he overtook her, rocking it so violently that she had to cling to him for support.

"Stop that, Jerry Livingston! You'll break the bridge!"

"Then don't try to run away from me. Will you let me show you the moon?"

"No, I know you, Jerry. You show it to all the girls."

"If I do, it's just as a rehearsal. You see, Penny, I've hoped that someday I might get a chance to show it to you."

"What a line you have," laughed Penny. "But I won't play. As a moon-shower your technique is terrible. Better practice some more."

Jerry chuckled and slipping his hand in hers, led her on across the bridge.

"If you won't look at the moon," he said, "then take a squint at Old Man River."

"I believe I prefer the moon after all," Penny returned, raising her eyes to the disc of light sailing serenely through the star-pricked sky. "It _is_ beautiful."

Her reverie was broken by Jerry's voice. His hand tightened on her own.

"Penny!" he exclaimed. "Look over there!"

Farther down the river in an open space, the forms of two struggling men were silhouetted in the moonlight.

"Oh, Jerry," Penny cried, "they're fighting!"

"And to the death," added Jerry grimly. "Come on, before it's too late!"

CHAPTER
21
_ELLIS SAAL'S CUSTOMER_

Penny followed the reporter, quickly overtaking him. Their pounding footsteps were heard by the two men who abruptly ceased their desperate struggles. Observing the pair, they turned and fled, one toward the river, the other toward the road.

"Well, we broke that up in a hurry!" exclaimed Jerry. "Wonder what made them run?"

"They must have been afraid we would recognize them," answered Penny. "Didn't you think that one man looked like Peter Fenestra?"

"I never have seen him to my knowledge. He was the fellow who ran along the river?"

"No, the other. Fenestra's farmhouse is across the fields." Penny pointed toward a light shining dimly from a window.

"They've both disappeared now," Jerry commented, moving to the river bank. "Wonder how the row started anyway?"

"Fenestra has been threatened," revealed Penny. "Yesterday Anchor Joe left a drawing of an octopus on his doorstep."

"What was the idea?"

"It must have been intended as a warning of some sort. Anchor Joe, and other men, too, keep watch of the house."

"How did you learn that, Penny?"

"I've made observations. Besides, Tillie Fellows, who worked there, told me what she had seen. Fenestra is afraid for his life."

"Maybe it was Anchor Joe who attacked him tonight."

"It may have been. I wish we could have seen those men at close range."

Penny walked on to the clearing where the pair had fought. Grass had been beaten down over a large area, indicating that the struggle had not been a brief one. A shiny object gleamed in the moonlight. Penny picked it up, then called softly to Jerry who had remained by the river bank.

"What is it?" he asked, coming quickly to her side.

"I've found a key, Jerry! It was lying here on the ground."

"One of the men must have lost it from his pocket."

"This may have been what they were fighting over, Jerry!"

"What makes you think that?"

"Doesn't the key look as if it belonged to a padlock?"

"Yes, it does, Penny."

"Then I am convinced this key will fit the lock on Peter Fenestra's storm cellar! His attacker was trying to get it away from him!"

"Just a minute," remonstrated Jerry. "You're traveling too fast for me. Explain the storm cellar part."

"You'll promise not to use anything I tell you for the _Star_?"

"That's fair enough."

Satisfied that Jerry would keep his promise, Penny told him everything she had learned at the Fenestra farm. The reporter asked many questions about the storm cave.

"So you believe this key may unlock the door?" he mused.

"I'd like to try it, at least."

"Now?"

"There never will be a better time. Mrs. Weems thinks that Fenestra is getting ready to leave Riverview."

Jerry hesitated only briefly. "All right, I'm with you," he said. "Lead the way."

They were leaving the river when both were startled to hear the suspension bridge creak beneath human weight. As they paused, listening, a familiar voice called:

"Jerry! Hey, Jerry!"

"Here!" responded the reporter.

A figure emerged from the trees, and they recognized Salt Sommers, the _Star_ photographer.

"Say, I've been lookin' everywhere for you," he complained. "You're wanted back in Riverview."

"What is this, a gag?" Jerry asked suspiciously.

"It's no gag. The Fulton Powder Company just blew up. Joe, and Gus, and Philips are already on their way. DeWitt sent me to get you."

"The Fulton Powder Plant!" Jerry exclaimed, falling into step with Salt. "That's a big story!"

"It sure is, and we're late! Get a move on, brother."

Jerry glanced toward Penny, remembering that she too had a "story" to be covered.

"We'll go to Fenestra's place tomorrow," he promised hurriedly.

Knowing that Penny might try to investigate the cave alone, he hooked his arm through hers, pulling her along.

"Back you go to camp," he said. "This is no place for a little girl at night."

Penny's protests went unheeded. Jerry and Salt marched her between them to the cottage. Unceremoniously turning her over to her father, they leaped into a press car, and were gone.

Hours later the picnic came to an end. Riding home with her father after taking Horney to the _Times_ building, Penny was startled to observe a light in an upstairs window of the Parker house.

"Why, that's in Mrs. Weems' room!" she exclaimed. "She can't be home!"

Penny was mistaken. Upon hastening upstairs to investigate, she was met at the bedroom door by the housekeeper.

"Why, Mrs. Weems! I thought you intended to stay on the farm until tomorrow!"

"I decided a few hours would make no difference. Penny, the place was unbearable."

"How did you get home?"

"By taxicab."

"Oh, I wish you had stayed one day longer," sighed Penny. "Did you learn anything since I saw you last?"

"Nothing of value. Fenestra came home a short time before I left. He was in a dreadful temper."

"Had he been in a fight?" Penny asked quickly.

"There was a black and blue mark across his cheek."

"Then I was right!" exclaimed Penny triumphantly. "I wish I knew for certain who attacked him."

Questioned by Mrs. Weems, she described the scene witnessed at the river, and proudly displayed the key.

"Why, it does resemble one I've seen Fenestra use," declared the housekeeper.

"Then it must unlock the cave! Tomorrow I'll go there and find out!"

"You'll do no such thing," replied Mrs. Weems firmly. "That is, not without your father's permission."

"But you know Dad won't be in favor of it," groaned Penny. "I simply must go there and get a scoop for the _Weekly_."

"No, Penny, you need to be protected from your own recklessness. Your father must be consulted before you visit the farm again."

"Either he'll say I can't go, or if he thinks there's anything to the story, he'll turn it over to a _Star_ reporter. Whichever he does, I lose."

"Penny, I am in no mood to listen to your pleadings," Mrs. Weems said wearily. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go to bed."

Grumbling at the decision, Penny went to her own room. She did not feel equal to a spirited discussion with her father that night.

"Here, I'm on the verge of solving a great mystery," she grieved. "Perhaps the most stupendous of my life! And now I'm told I must stay away from Fenestra's farm. It's enough to turn my hair gray."

Penny overslept the next morning, barely awakening in time to reach school by nine o'clock. A surprise oral history quiz caught her completely unprepared. She missed three questions in succession, and was told that she must remain after school for a special study session.

Released at four-thirty, Penny hastened to the _Star_ office. Neither her father nor Jerry were there, nor could anyone tell her when they would return. Discouraged, she sought Louise who as usual was working at the _Times_ plant.

"Such luck as I am having," Penny complained. "Mrs. Weems says I can't go to Fenestra's farm without Dad's permission, and he's hiding from me."

"I wish you would forget that storm cave and the octopus tattoo," said Louise unsympathetically. "Maybe then we could get out another issue of this old paper."

Penny gazed at her rather queerly. "You're sick of it, aren't you?" she asked.

"No," Louise denied, "it's been fun, and we've learned a lot. But there's so much work. It never ends."

"It will soon," replied Penny quietly. "Our advertisers are dropping off one by one. Sales are falling, too."

"We always can quit," said Louise cheerfully.

"No, we can't," Penny's mouth drew into a tight line. "Fred Clousky would taunt me to my dying day. I'll never close the plant except in a blaze of journalistic glory!"

"But you just said we're failing--"

"What the _Weekly_ needs and must have is a tremendous story! Somehow I'm going to get it!"

"You're nothing if not persistent," said Louise admiringly. "Oh, before I forget it, Old Horney has been up here several times inquiring for you."

"More bad news I suppose."

"He didn't say why he wished to talk with you. I thought he seemed rather disturbed, though."

"I'll see what he wants."

Penny sought Horney in the composing department and pressroom, and even ventured into the basement. The old man was not to be found. Concluding that he had left the building, she gave up the search.

She helped Louise read proof until six o'clock, and then telephoned home to inquire if her father were there. Learning from Mrs. Weems that he did not expect to come until later, she decided to remain downtown for her own dinner.

"Why don't you stay with me, Lou?" she invited. "Afterwards, I'll take you on a little adventure."

"Not to Fenestra's?" her chum demanded suspiciously.

"Unfortunately, no. I shall do a bit of spade work by watching Ellis Saal's shop. This is Thursday, you know."

"It will be a long, tedious wait."

"I'll consider it well worth the time if I learn the identity of Saal's customer. You don't care to come?"

"On the contrary, I do. I'll telephone Mother."

The girls dined at a cafe not far from the _Weekly Times_ and soon thereafter stationed themselves a half block from Ellis Saal's shop. An hour elapsed. Several times they became hopeful as persons paused to gaze at the exhibits in the show window, but no one entered. A cold wind made their vigil increasingly uncomfortable.

"If we don't get action in another fifteen minutes I am going home," chattered Louise.

A clock struck eight-thirty. Five minutes later Penny observed a familiar figure coming briskly down the street. She touched her chum's arm.

"It's Peter Fenestra," Louise murmured. "You don't think he's the one?"

"We'll soon see."

Fenestra was too far away to notice the girls. As they watched, he walked to the doorway of Ellis Saal's shop. Quickly he glanced about as if to ascertain that the street was deserted. Then he slipped into the shop, closing the door behind him.

CHAPTER
22
_GHOSTS OF THE PAST_

"Peter Fenestra," murmured Louise. "Can there be any doubt that he is the customer Ellis Saal meant?"

"Not in my opinion," rejoined Penny.

"Isn't it possible that he went into the shop to have a photograph taken, or for some other reason?"

"Possible but not probable. No, Lou, we should have guessed long ago that Fenestra is an ex-sailor. It's all becoming clear now."

"Then I wish you would explain to me."

"Don't you see? Anchor Joe, John Munn, Fenestra, and perhaps a fourth man must have been good friends at one time. They had their tattoos with that phrase, _All for one, one for all_, pricked on their backs. Then Fenestra must have done something which made the others angry. They followed him here to get even with him."

"What makes you think that?" Louise asked dubiously.

"Anchor Joe gave us a good broad hint. Then we know that he and at least one other man have kept watch of the Fenestra farm."

"What can the man have done to offend them?"

"I can't guess that part," admitted Penny. "Another thing, why should Fenestra decide to have his octopus tattoo removed?"

"And who pushed John Munn off the bridge?" Louise added. "We're as much in the dark as ever."

"Not quite," amended Penny. "I feel that if only we could get into that storm cave, we might learn the answer to some of our questions."

"You're not thinking of investigating it tonight?"

Penny shook her head. "I can't without Dad's permission. It's a pity, too, because I know a big story is awaiting me, if only I could go out there and get it."

"I'm sure of one thing. We'll never dare print a word against Fenestra without absolute proof."

"No," agreed Penny, her eyebrows knitting in a frown, "it would lead to legal trouble."

Deciding that nothing more could be learned by waiting, the girls returned to the parked car. Motoring toward Louise's home, they discussed various angles of the baffling case. Confronting them always was the fact that Peter Fenestra's reputation in Riverview was excellent, while Anchor Joe and John Munn appeared to be persons of questionable character.

"You never learned why Joe was wanted by the authorities?" Louise inquired, alighting at her doorstep.

"No, I haven't seen Mr. Moyer since that day at the cottage. I'm reasonably sure Joe is still at liberty."

"He may be the one at the bottom of all the trouble," declared Louise. "We tend to suspect Fenestra of evil doing because we dislike him so heartily."

"That's so, Lou. The best way is to have no opinions and wait for facts. But waiting wears me to a frazzle!"

After parting from her chum, Penny did not drive home. Instead, she turned into Drexel Boulevard, and presently was ringing the doorbell of the Judson home.

The door was opened by Matthew Judson. Penny had not expected to meet the former publisher. Somewhat confusedly she inquired for Pauletta.

"My daughter isn't here now," replied Mr. Judson. "I expect her home within a few minutes. Won't you wait?"

"No, thank you," Penny declined. "I'll drop in some other time."

"I wish you would stay," urged Mr. Judson. "I find an empty house so depressing."

Penny hesitated, and then followed the former publisher to the living room. Mr. Judson had been reading the newspaper. He swept it from a chair so that the girl could sit opposite him.

"Tell me how you are getting on with your newspaper," he urged in a friendly tone.

Penny talked entertainingly, relating the various difficulties which beset a young publisher.

"I've even received threatening notes," she revealed. "Or rather, one. I think it was left on my desk by a man named Peter Fenestra."

"Fenestra?" Mr. Judson's face darkened.

"Yes," answered Penny, watching the publisher attentively. "Do you know him?"

"Only by reputation. He's a scoundrel!" His voice grew quite intense.

"Can you tell me anything definite against him?"

"No--no, I can't. I only advise you to have nothing whatsoever to do with him."

The telephone rang and Mr. Judson arose to answer it. During his absence, Penny thought swiftly. Dared she mention the clipping which she had found in the publisher's desk? She did not wish to antagonize him, yet there were many questions she longed to ask.

Mr. Judson presently returned. Penny decided to risk his anger.

Casually she introduced the subject by mentioning that she was using Mr. Judson's former office and desk as her own.

"Yesterday I came upon a clipping caught beneath the lower drawer," she said quietly. "It concerned a man named Matthew Jewel. He bore a striking resemblance to you."

The publisher raised his eyes to stare intently at Penny. His hands gripped the chair arms so hard that the knuckles became a bluish-white. Splotches of red appeared on his forehead.

"Matthew Jewel?" he murmured at last.

"Yes, Mr. Judson, but you have nothing to fear from me. I shall not expose you."

"Then you know?"

"The likeness was unmistakable. I read the clipping, too."

The publisher arose, nervously walking to the fireplace. His hands trembled as he fingered an ornament on the shelf.

"I searched everywhere for that clipping when I cleaned out my desk," he mumbled. "I've gone through every imaginable torture fearing it would be found. And now I am to be exposed!"

"But I assure you I have no intention of telling anyone," said Penny earnestly. "Your past is your own."

"A man's past never is his own," responded Mr. Judson bitterly.

"I shouldn't have mentioned it. I hoped I might be able to help you."

"You haven't told Pauletta?"

"No, nor any other person."

Mr. Judson's tenseness relaxed slightly. He paced across the room and back, then faced Penny.

"All my life," he said very quietly, "I have tried to spare Pauletta the knowledge that her father was--a convict. I haven't much to offer, but I'll give anything within reason to keep the story out of the paper."

"You don't understand," interrupted Penny. "I have no intention of printing the information, or of telling anyone. I want nothing from you. But I do wish you would tell me the true story. I am sure there were extenuating circumstances."

Mr. Judson sagged into an armchair. "None," he said. "None whatsoever. I used money which did not belong to me. My wife was desperately sick at the time and I wanted her to have the care of specialists. She died while I was serving my sentence."

"Why, you did have a reason for taking the money," said Penny kindly. "You should have been granted a pardon."

"A theft is a theft. When I left prison, I made a new start here, and devoted myself to Pauletta who was then a little girl."

"How old was she?" inquired Penny.

Mr. Judson gave no indication that he heard the question. He resumed:

"The truth had been kept from Pauletta. She believes that I was abroad during those years I spent in prison. Here in Riverview I prospered, people were kind to me. I made money and made it honestly. The future was very bright until a year ago."

"Then you gave up your newspaper," commented Penny. "Why?"

"Can't you guess?"

"Blackmail?"

Mr. Judson nodded. "One day a man came to me, a man I had known in prison. He threatened to expose me unless I paid him a large sum of money."

"And you agreed?"

"I did."

"Wasn't that rather foolish? People would have been charitable if you had admitted the truth."

"I considered it from every angle, particularly from Pauletta's standpoint. I gave the man what he asked, although it cost me the _Morning Press_. But that was not the end."

"He still bothers you?"

"Yes, I'll pay as long as I have a penny. I've thought of taking Pauletta and going away, but he would trace me."

"Who is the man, Mr. Judson?"

"I can't tell you."

"Is it either Anchor Joe Landa or Peter Fenestra?"

Mr. Judson's face did not alter. "I can't tell you," he repeated.

"I wish you would talk to Dad," Penny said after a moment. "He might be able to help you."

"No," returned Mr. Judson, growing agitated again, "you gave your promise that you would not tell."

"Of course, I'll keep it," responded Penny. "It does seem to me, though, that the easiest thing would be to admit the truth and be rid of the man who robs you. Pauletta would understand."

Mr. Judson shook his head. "I have made my decision," he said. "As long as I can, I shall abide by it."

There was nothing Penny could do but bid Mr. Judson good evening and leave the house. His secret troubled her. If he had told her the entire truth, it seemed very foolish of him to meet the demands of a blackmailer.

"I wonder if Mr. Judson did tell me everything?" she mused. "I had a feeling that he was keeping something back."

The car rolled into the driveway of the Parker home. As Penny jumped out to open the garage doors, a man, who had been sitting on the back doorstep, arose. His face was hidden, but she knew it was not her father.

"Who is it?" she called uneasily.

The voice was reassuring. "It's Horney, Miss Penny. I've been waitin' for you."

"What brings you here?" she asked, hurrying to meet him. "I hope nothing bad has happened at the _Times_."

"Everything's fine there. I've got a letter I thought you would want to see right away. Found it tonight when I was sweeping up. It answers a lot of questions you've been askin'."

Penny took the paper from Old Horney's gnarled hand. "Not about Matthew Judson?" she asked.

"Read it and you'll see," encouraged the pressman. "Judson was blackmailed just as I always thought. And by the man who signed this letter."

CHAPTER
23
_PENNY'S PLIGHT_

It was too dark for Penny to read the letter. Stepping to the car, she switched on the headlights and held the paper in its brilliant beam.

The letter read:

Dear Matthew:

Sorry to bother you again, Old Pal, but I know you're always willing to give an old buddy and cellmate a helping hand. I don't want to tip off the New York cops where you are, and you can trust me to keep mum if you come through with another six thousand. This is my last request. Peter F.

"Peter Fenestra!" exclaimed Penny. "And it's no surprise either! Horney, where did you find this letter?"

"It was in a pile of rubbish down in the basement. I don't know how it got there."

"Peter Fenestra has a habit of leaving notes on Mr. Judson's desk," declared Penny. "This one may have blown off and been swept out without the publisher seeing it!"

"Don't you figure it's a blackmail attempt?"

"Of course it is, Horney. You've not shown the letter to anyone?"

"Only to you. From the threat I dope it out that Judson was sent to prison years ago, and he's still wanted."

Penny nodded as she placed the letter in her pocketbook. His guess was a shrewd one, but she could tell him nothing without breaking her promise to Mr. Judson.

"Horney," she said, "a great deal hinges upon this letter. You'll not tell anyone what you've learned?"

"Oh, I'll keep it to myself. I'm not one to get Judson into trouble. He's had enough of it already."

Penny noticed that her father's car was not in the garage. She reasoned that since he had not come home he must be working late at the _Star_ office as he frequently did.

"Jump in, Horney," she invited, swinging wide the car door. "I'm going downtown to find Dad. I'll give you a ride."

She was grateful that the pressman had little to say as they sped through dimly lighted residential streets.

How much he suspected she could only guess. But the letter had made it clear to her that the former publisher never had completed his prison sentence.

"That was why he didn't answer me when I asked about Pauletta's age!" she thought. "He must have escaped from prison soon after he was sent there!"

No longer did Penny wonder why Mr. Judson had not refused Peter Fenestra's repeated demands for money. Obviously he had feared a far worse fate than exposure--return to the New York state prison.

The car turned into the deserted _Star_ loading dock. Few lights were visible in the building, for the day staff had gone home and only the scrub women were at work. Penny could not see the windows of her father's office from the street. Nor did she observe a man who slouched against a wall, not far from where the car had stopped.

Old Horney stepped from the running board, thanking Penny for the ride.

"Guess I'll amble up the street and get a cup of coffee."

"You'll be sure not to mention the letter?" Penny reminded him.

"I won't tell a soul. You know, I was thinkin' about it as we rode downtown. Peter Fenestra came into the office a couple of times just before Judson closed the plant. He was a dirty blackmailer, all right! Wouldn't that letter I gave you be enough to send him up?"

"I should think so, Horney. But the problem is how to take care of him without ruining Mr. Judson."

"Better show the letter to your father," advised the pressman. "Maybe he'll have some ideas."

Tipping his hat, Old Horney moved briskly away.

Penny entered the rear vestibule, speaking to three scrub women who were locking up their cleaning equipment before leaving the building. Not even the elevator man was on duty, so she climbed the stairs. Switching on a light in the newsroom, she passed through it to her father's office.

The room was dark.

"Not here," thought Penny. "I was afraid of it."

Deciding to telephone home, she entered one of the glass enclosed booths at the end of the newsroom. As she lifted the receiver, a voice from behind her said distinctly:

"Put that down!"

Startled, Penny whirled around. Peter Fenestra stood in the doorway of the booth.

"Come out of there!" he ordered harshly.

Penny obeyed with alacrity as she tried to gather her wits. The building was practically deserted, and Fenestra took care to stand between her and the outside door.

"What do you want here?" she demanded coldly.

"The letter."

Penny stared at him blankly. Her astonishment was genuine.

"Don't pretend you don't know," Fenestra said harshly. "I want the letter you and that old man were talking about."

"Oh!" Light broke upon Penny. "So you heard our conversation! You were listening!"

"I happened to be standing in the loading dock. I know you have the letter. Hand it over."

Penny backed a few steps away toward her father's office. "So you admit you wrote it?" she challenged.

"I admit nothing. But I want that letter."

"You'll not get it," Penny defied him. "Peter Fenestra, you were the one who put that warning note on my desk a few days ago! And I know why, too! You were afraid I'd learn too much about the octopus tattoo. Well, I've learned plenty!"

Fenestra's face became contorted with rage. He choked, "You've been down in the cave!" and started toward Penny.

Thoroughly frightened, she eluded his grasp. Running into her father's office, she slammed the door. Bracing her body against it, she managed to turn the key before Fenestra could force it open.

"Come out of there!" he shouted furiously. "Come out, I say!"

"And I say I won't!" retorted Penny. "Just try to get in!"

She pushed her father's heavy desk across the room, placing it in front of the door.

Fenestra rattled the handle several times, and threw his body against the panel once or twice. Then she heard footsteps as he walked away.

"That's only a trick to get me to come out," thought Penny. "I won't be stupid enough to fall into his trap. I'll stay right here."

Walking to the window, she gazed down. Cars were passing along the street. If she shouted for help someone might hear her. However, to explain her predicament would be rather awkward.

Penny's gaze fell upon the telephone which had fallen from the desk to the floor. Picking it up, she dialed the number of her own house. Mrs. Weems answered.

"Hello," said Penny cheerfully, "Dad hasn't come home yet by any chance?"

"He's just now driving into the garage," the housekeeper replied. "I'll call him."

A moment later Penny heard her father's voice at the other end of the wire.

"Dad," she said, "I'm down at your office, sitting behind some barbed wire entanglements. I wish you'd get a policeman and see what you can do about rescuing me."

"Is this one of your jokes?" Mr. Parker demanded.

Fearful that her father would hang up the receiver, Penny talked fast and to the point. Mr. Parker assured her he would come without a moment's delay.

"I guess that will teach Peter Fenestra not to get funny with me!" she congratulated herself. "It pays to do a little thinking. Fenestra will be arrested, and then I'll drive out and learn what he hides in his cave."

Penny sniffed the air. She could smell smoke, and she thought it must be coming from a cigarette. Evidently Fenestra had stolen to the door and was patiently waiting for her to emerge.

"He'll have a long wait," she chuckled.

Gradually her elation died. The odor of smoke had grown stronger. She saw a wisp of it filter beneath the door crack. Penny's heart caught in her throat. Tensely she listened. Was it imagination or could she hear the crackle of flames?

"Fenestra may be burning the papers of a scrap basket just to smoke me out," she thought. "Probably that's just what he's doing."

Pulling the heavy desk away from the door, she stood with her ear against the panel. Distinctly she could hear the crackle of flames. The wood felt warm to her cheek.

Suddenly Penny was afraid. Frantically she turned the key in the lock.

The door swung outward to the pressure of her shoulder. A wave of heat rushed in.

Penny staggered backward, horrified by the sight which met her eyes. At the end of the newsroom, where the exit should have been, rose a towering barrier of flames.

CHAPTER
24
_A BARRIER OF FLAMES_

Escape through the newsroom was cut off. Panic seized Penny, but only for an instant. Retreating, she telephoned the fire department. Then finding a chemical extinguisher, she began fighting the flames.

Black, rolling smoke billowed into her face, choking and blinding her. The heat drove her back.

From far down the street came the wail of a siren. Penny rushed to a window. A pumper and a hook-and-ladder truck swung around the corner, lurching to a stop.

Raising the sash, she stepped out onto the ledge, waving to the men below.

"Stay where you are!" shouted a fireman. "We'll get you!"

A ladder shot up, but Penny did not wait to be carried to safety. Before a fireman could mount, she scrambled down with the agility of a monkey.

"The fire started in the newsroom," she gasped. "But it's already spread into the composing department."

"Anyone else in the building?"

"I don't think so. There were three scrub women, but they're probably out now."

Lines of hose were stretched to the hydrants, and streams of water began to play on the flames. A crowd, following in the wake of the fire engines, was ordered back by the police. One young man broke through, darting to Penny's side.

"Jerry!" she exclaimed.

"Gosh, how did it start?" he demanded. "Why, Penny, your hair is singed!"

"I was in it," she said briefly. "I can't explain now, but the fire was started by Peter Fenestra."

"On purpose?"

"I don't know about that. He was smoking a cigarette."

"Have you told the police?"

"Not yet. I'm waiting for Dad."