The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

  After a moment of indecision she, too, entered the field. By that time there was no sign of Penny, no sound to guide her. Wandering aimlessly first in one direction, then another, she soon became hopelessly lost.

  “Penny!” she shouted frantically.

  “Here!” called a voice not far away.

  Tracing the sound, and making repeated calls, Louise finally came face to face with her chum.

  “Such a commotion as you’ve been making,” chided Penny. “Not a chance to catch that fellow now!”

  “I don’t care,” Louise retorted crossly. Her hair was disarranged, stockings matted with burs. “If we can get out of this dreadful maze I want to go to the car.”

  “We’re at the edge of the field. Follow me and I’ll pilot you to safety.”

  Emerging a minute later at the end of the corn row, Penny saw the stable only a few yards away. Impulsively, she proposed to Louise that they investigate it for possible clues.

  “I’ve had enough detective work for one day,” her chum complained. “Anyway, what do you hope to discover in an old barn?”

  “Maybe I can induce the horse to talk,” Penny chuckled. “Sal must know all the answers, if only she could speak.”

  “You’ll have to give her the third degree by yourself,”Louise decided with finality. “I shall go to the car.”

  Taking the melons with her, she marched stiffly down the lane and climbed into Leaping Lena. Carefully she rearranged her hair, plucked burs, and then grew impatient because her chum did not come. Fully twenty minutes elapsed before Penny emerged from the stable.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting so long, Lou,” she apologized as she reached the car. “See what I found!”

  Penny held up a bright silver object which resembled a locket, save that it was smaller.

  “What is it?” Louise inquired with interest.

  “A man’s watch charm! It has a picture inside too!”

  With her fingernail, Penny pried open the lid. Flat against the cover had been fastened the photograph of a boy who might have been ten or twelve years of age.

  “Where did you get it, Penny?”

  “I found it lying on the barn floor, not far from the place where we picked up the black hood last night.”

  “Then it must belong to Clem Davis!”

  “It may,” Penny admitted, sliding into the seat beside her chum. “Still, I don’t believe the Davis’ have any children.”

  “What will you do with the charm? Turn it over to the sheriff?”

  “I suppose I should, after I’ve shown it to Dad,”Penny replied, carefully tying the trinket into the corner of a handkerchief. “You know, Lou, since finding this, I wonder if Mrs. Davis may not have told the truth.”

  “About what, Penny?”

  “She said that her husband had been framed.”

  “Then you think this watch charm was left in the barn to throw suspicion upon Clem Davis!”

  Penny shook her head. “No, this is my theory, Louise. Perhaps someone hid the black hood there, and rode Clem’s horse to make it appear he was the guilty person. Inadvertently, that same person lost this watch charm.”

  “In that case, you would have a clue which might solve the case.”

  “Exactly,” Penny grinned in triumph. “Get ready for a fast ride into town. I’m going to rush this evidence straight to the Star office and get Dad’s opinion.”

  CHAPTER 7

  MR. BLAKE’S DONATION

  Not wishing to ride to the Star building, Louise asked her chum to drop her off at the Sidell home. Accordingly, Penny left her there, and then drove on alone to her father’s office. The news room hummed with activity as she sauntered through to the private office.

  “Just a minute, please,” her father requested, waving her into a chair.

  He completed a letter he was dictating, dismissed his secretary, and then was ready to listen. Without preliminary ado, Penny laid the watch charm on the desk, explaining where she had found it.

  “Dad, this may belong to Clem Davis, but I don’t think so!” she announced in an excited voice. “It’s my theory that the person who planted the black hood in the stable must have lost it!”

  Mr. Parker examined the charm carefully, gazing at the picture of the little boy contained within it.

  “Very interesting,” he commented. “However, I fear you are allowing your imagination to take you for a ride. There isn’t much question of Clem Davis’ guilt according to the findings of the sheriff.”

  “Has any new evidence come to light, Dad?”

  “Yes, Penny, the sheriff’s office has gained possession of a document showing beyond question that Clem Davis is a member of a renegade band known as the Black Hoods.”

  “Where did they get their proof?”

  “Sheriff Davis won’t disclose the source of his information. However, our star reporter, Jerry Livingston, is working on the case, and something may develop any hour.”

  “Then you’re intending to make it into a big story?”Penny asked thoughtfully.

  “I am. An underground, subversive organization, no matter what its purpose, has no right to an existence. The Star will expose the leaders, if possible, and break up the group.”

  “Since the Hoods apparently burned the Preston storage barn, their purpose can’t be a very noble one,”Penny commented. “Nor are their leaders especially clever. The trail led as plain as day to Clem Davis—so straight, in fact, that I couldn’t help doubting his guilt.”

  “Penny, I’ll keep this watch charm, if you don’t mind,” Mr. Parker said, locking the trinket into a drawer. “I’ll put Jerry to work on it and he may be able to learn the identity of the little boy in the picture.”

  Abruptly changing the subject, the editor inquired regarding his daughter’s success in selling Camp-Benefit tags.

  “I have only one left,” Penny replied, presenting it with a flourish. “Twenty-five cents, please.”

  “The cause is a worthy one. I’ll double the amount.” Amiably, Mr. Parker flipped a half dollar across the desk.

  “While you’re in a giving mood I might mention that my allowance is due,” Penny said with a grin. “Also, you owe me five gallons of gasoline. I saw old Seth McGuire this morning and he agreed with me that the Hubell clock struck thirteen last night.”

  Mr. Parker had no opportunity to reply, for just then his secretary re-entered the office to say that Mr. Clyde Blake wished to see him.

  “I suppose that means you want me to evaporate,”Penny remarked, gazing questioningly at her father.

  “No, stay if you like. It’s probably nothing of consequence.”

  Penny welcomed an invitation to remain. After her talk with Seth McGuire she was curious to see the man who had caused the old bell maker to lose his position at the Hubell Tower.

  “Blake probably wants to ask me to do him a personal favor,” Mr. Parker confided in a low tone. “He’s a pest!”

  In a moment the door opened again to admit the real estate man. He was heavy-set, immaculately dressed, and the only defect in his appearance was caused by a right arm which was somewhat shorter than the left.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Parker,” he said expansively. “And is this your charming daughter?”

  The editor introduced Penny, who bowed politely and retreated to a chair by the window. Prejudiced against Mr. Blake, she had no desire to talk to him.

  “What may I do for you?” Mr. Parker asked the caller.

  “Ah, this time it is I who shall bestow the favor,”Mr. Blake responded, taking a cheque book from his pocket. “Your paper has been campaigning for a very worthy cause, namely the Orphans’ Summer Camp Fund. It wrings my heart that those unfortunate kiddies have been denied the benefit of fresh air and sunshine.”

  “If you wish to make a donation, you should give your money to Mrs. Van Cleve,” the editor cut him short.

  “I much prefer to present my cheque to you,” the caller insisted. “Shall I make it out for a hundred an
d fifty dollars?”

  “That’s a very handsome donation,” said Mr. Parker, unable to hide his surprise. “But why give it to me?”

  Mr. Blake coughed in embarrassment. “I thought you might deem the offering worthy of a brief mention in your paper.”

  “Oh, I see,” the editor responded dryly.

  “I don’t wish publicity for myself, you understand, but only for the real estate company which bears my name.”

  “I quite understand, Mr. Blake. If we should use your picture—”

  “That will be very acceptable,” the real estate man responded, smiling with satisfaction. “I’ll be happy to oblige you by posing.”

  Helping himself to a pen, he wrote out the cheque and presented it to the editor.

  “Penny, how would you like to write the story?” inquired her father. “You’ve been helping Miss Norton with the publicity, I believe.”

  “I’m rather bogged down with work,” Penny demurred. “I think Mrs. Weems wants me to clean the attic when I get home.”

  “Never mind the attic. Please conduct Mr. Blake to the photography room and ask one of the boys to take his picture.”

  Penny arose obediently, but as the real estate man left the office ahead of her, she shot her father a black look. She considered a publicity story very trivial indeed, and it particularly displeased her that she must write honeyed words about a man she did not admire.

  “You have a very nice building here, very nice,”Mr. Blake patronizingly remarked as he was escorted toward the photographic department. Noticing a pile of freshly printed newspapers lying on one of the desks, he helped himself to a copy.

  “I see the sheriff hasn’t captured Clem Davis yet,” he commented, scanning the front page. “I hope they get him! It’s a disgrace to Riverview that such a crime could be perpetrated, and the scoundrel go unpunished.”

  “He’ll probably be caught,” Penny replied absently. “But I wonder if he’s the guilty person.”

  “What’s that?” Mr. Blake demanded, regarding her with shrewd interest. “You think Davis didn’t burn the Preston barn?”

  “I was only speculating upon it.”

  “Reflecting your father’s opinion, no doubt.”

  “No, not anyone’s thought but my own.”

  “Your father seems to be making quite a story of it,” Mr. Blake resumed. “It will be most unfortunate for the community if he stirs up talk about underground organizations.”

  “Why unfortunate?” Penny asked.

  “Because it will give the city a bad reputation. I doubt there is anything to this Black Hood talk, but if there should be, any publicity might lead to an investigation by state authorities.”

  “A very good thing, I should think.”

  “You do not understand,” Mr. Blake said patiently. “Depredation would increase, innocent persons surely would suffer. With Riverview known unfavorably throughout the country, we would gain no new residents.”

  Penny did not reply, but opened the door of the photographic room. While Mr. Blake wandered about, inspecting the various equipment, she relayed her father’s instructions to Salt Sommers, one of the staff photographers.

  “Better get a good picture of Blake,” she warned him. “He’ll be irritated if you don’t.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Salt promised, “but I can’t make over a man’s face.”

  Mr. Blake proved to be a trying subject. Posed on a stool in front of a screen, he immediately “froze” into a stiff position.

  “Be sure to make it only a head and shoulders picture, if you please,” he ordered Salt.

  “Can’t you relax?” the photographer asked wearily. “Unloosen your face. Think of all those little orphans you’re going to make happy.”

  Mr. Blake responded with a smirk which was painful to behold. Nothing that Salt could say or do caused him to become natural, and at length the photographer took two shots which he knew would not be satisfactory.

  “That’ll be all,” he announced.

  Mr. Blake arose, drawing a deep sigh. “Posing is a great ordeal for me,” he confessed. “I seldom consent to having my picture taken, but this is a very special occasion.”

  Completely at ease again, the real estate man began to converse with Penny. In sudden inspiration, Salt seized a candid camera from a glass case, and before Mr. Blake was aware of his act, snapped a picture.

  “There, that’s more like it,” he said. “I caught you just right, Mr. Blake.”

  The real estate man turned swiftly, his eyes blazing anger.

  “You dared to take a picture without my permission?” he demanded. “I’ll not have it! Destroy the film at once or I shall protest to Mr. Parker!”

  CHAPTER 8

  PUBLICITY BY PENNY

  The real estate man’s outburst was so unexpected that Penny and Salt could only stare at him in astonishment.

  “It’s a good full length picture,” the photographer argued. “Much better than those other shots I took.”

  “I can’t allow it,” Blake answered in a calmer tone. He touched his right arm. “You see, I am sensitive about this deformity. Unreasonable of me, perhaps, but I must insist that you destroy the film.”

  “Just as you say,” Salt shrugged. “We’ll use one of the other pictures.”

  “No, I’ve changed my mind,” Blake said shortly. “I don’t care for any picture. Kindly destroy all the films—now, in my presence.”

  “Why, Mr. Blake!” Penny protested. “I thought you wanted a picture to accompany the story I am to write.”

  “You may write the article, but I’ll have no picture. The films must be destroyed.”

  “Okay,” responded Salt. Removing two plates from a holder he exposed them to the light. He started to take the film from the candid camera, but did not complete the operation. Mr. Blake, however, failed to notice.

  “Thank you, young man,” he said, bowing. “I am sorry to have taken so much of your valuable time, and I appreciate your efforts.”

  Nodding in Penny’s direction, Mr. Blake left the studio, closing the door behind him.

  “Queer duck,” commented Salt. “His picture on the front page would be no break for our readers!”

  “I can’t understand why Mr. Blake became so provoked,”Penny said thoughtfully. “That excuse about his arm seemed a flimsy one.”

  “Let’s develop the film and see what it looks like,”Salt suggested, starting for the darkroom. “It was just an ordinary shot though.”

  Penny followed the young photographer into the developing room, watching as he ran the film through the various trays. In exactly six minutes the picture was ready, and he held it beneath the ruby light for her to see.

  “Nothing unusual about it,” he repeated. “Blake’s right arm looks a bit shorter than the left, but we could have blocked that off.”

  Salt tossed the damp picture into a wastepaper basket, only to have Penny promptly rescue it.

  “I wish you would save this,” she requested. “Put it in an envelope and file it away somewhere in the office.”

  “What’s the big idea, Penny?”

  “Oh, just a hunch, I guess. Someday the paper may want a picture of Blake in a hurry, and this one would serve very nicely.”

  Aware that time was fast slipping away, Penny returned to her father’s office to report Mr. Blake’s strange action. Mr. Parker, well versed in the peculiarities of newspaper patrons, shrugged indifferently.

  “Blake always was a queer fellow,” he commented, fingering the cheque which still lay on his desk. “I never trusted him, and I wish I hadn’t accepted this money.”

  “How could you have refused, Dad?”

  “I couldn’t very well. All the same, I have a feeling I’ll regret it.”

  “Why do you say that?” Penny asked curiously.

  “No reason perhaps. Only Blake isn’t the man to give something for nothing. He aims to profit by this affair, or I’m no judge of human nature.”

  “He
craves publicity, that’s certain.”

  “Yes, but there’s more to it than that,” Mr. Parker declared. “Oh, well”—he dismissed the subject, “I’ll turn the cheque over to the camp committee and let someone else do the worrying.”

  “I’ll tell you why I dislike Mr. Blake,” Penny said with feeling. “He caused Seth McGuire to lose his job at the Hubell Tower.”

  “That so?” the editor asked in surprise. “I hadn’t heard about it.”

  “Blake gave the position to a special friend of his. Can’t you do something about it, Dad?”

  “I don’t know any of the basic facts, Penny. Why should I interfere in a matter which is none of my affair?”

  “At least let’s not give Mr. Blake a big build-up because of his donation.”

  “The story must be written,” Mr. Parker said with finality. “I always keep a bargain, even a bad one.”

  “Then you might write the story,” Penny proposed mischievously. “I can’t spell such a big word as hypocrite!”

  “Never mind,” Mr. Parker reproved. “Just get busy and see that you handle the article in a way favorable to Blake.”

  With a deep sigh, Penny took herself to the adjoining newsroom. Selecting a typewriter, she pecked listlessly at the keys. Presently Jerry Livingston, one of the reporters, fired a paper ball at her.

  “Your story must be a masterpiece,” he teased. “It’s taken you long enough to write it.”

  Penny jerked the sheet of copy from the typewriter roller. “It’s not fair,” she complained. “I have to dish out soft soap while you handle all the interesting stories. There should be a law against it.”

  “Learn to take the bitter along with the whipped cream,” chuckled Jerry. “I’ve also just been handed an assignment that’s not to my liking.”

  “Covering the Preston fire, I suppose.”

  “Nothing that spectacular. DeWitt’s sending me out to the Riverview Orphans’ Home to dig up human interest material in connection with the camp-fund campaign. Want to ride along as ballast?”

  “Well, I don’t know?” Penny debated. “I’ve had almost enough of publicity stories for one day.”

  “Oh, come on,” Jerry coaxed, taking her by the arm. “You can talk to the orphans and maybe turn up a lot of interesting facts.”