“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 Timesbuilding, 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 tel
ephone Mother.”
The girls dined at a café 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 wa
s 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 Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels Page 52