The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

  “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 p
rize!”

  “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?”

  “De
pends 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.”