The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

  “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. Wee
ms?”

  “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 glo
wing 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.”