“How could it be?” Penny questioned, scarcely able to accept her father’s theory. “I found one of the rocks myself. I know I wasn’t hired by any Indian show!”
“It was pure luck that you stumbled into the stone, Penny. If you hadn’t, someone hired by the Indian show would have brought it to light.”
“But where does Jay Franklin figure in, Dad? You don’t think he’s connected with the publicity scheme as you call it!”
“Franklin wouldn’t have sufficient imagination to pull off a stunt like that,” Mr. Parker declared. “No, he may actually believe in the authenticity of the stones. At any rate, he saw an opportunity to make a little money for himself and seized it.”
“Why should an Indian show go to the trouble of having stones carved and planted in various fields? It doesn’t make sense.”
“The resulting publicity should draw state-wide attention to the show, Penny. It’s just the sort of idea which would appeal to a clever publicity agent. Every newspaper in Riverview except the Star has fallen for it, giving columns of space to the story.”
“I still don’t see how the show will gain. Its name never has been mentioned in connection with the finding of the stones.”
“Of course not, Penny. That would be too crude. But at the proper time, the publicity agent will twist all of the stories to his own purpose.”
“Dad,” said Penny sadly, “in the past you have accused me of having wild ideas. I think the score is even now.”
“I’ll have that show traced,” Mr. Parker declared, paying no heed to his daughter. “Since it is coming to Riverview next week it can’t be far away now. I may find it worth while to call on the publicity agent and have a little chat with him.”
Penny was gazing at the billboard again, reading the dates.
“Dad, the show will play here during Pilgrimage Week,” she declared. “What a shame! It’s certain to take away customers from a much more worthwhile event.”
“There may not be an Indian show,” responded Mr. Parker grimly. “Not when I get through with the outfit!”
Immediately upon arriving at home, the publisher called the newspaper office, delegating City Editor DeWitt to obtain complete information about the Indian Show and to report to him. All evening he talked of his theory until both Penny and Mrs. Weems confessed that they were a bit weary of redskins.
“I shall write an editorial for tomorrow’s Star,” Mr. Parker announced. “Even if I haven’t absolute facts, I’ll drop a few broad hints about those fake stones!”
The editorial, cleverly worded but with very definite implications, was composed that night, and telephoned to the newspaper office. Penny had the pleasure of reading it at breakfast the next morning.
“You certainly did yourself proud, Dad,” she praised. “However, I imagine the museum people aren’t going to be too pleased. Nor certain other folks in this town.”
“Let me take a look at it,” Mr. Parker requested, reaching for the paper.
As Penny offered it to him, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Weems was busy in the kitchen so the girl arose and went to answer it. Jay Franklin stood on the porch.
“Good morning,” he said in a hard voice. “Is your father here?”
“Yes, he is eating breakfast,” Penny responded. “Won’t you come in, please?”
Mr. Franklin walked ahead of her into the living room.
“Good morning, Jay,” called the editor, who was able to see the caller from his chair at the breakfast table. “Will you have a cup of coffee with us?”
Ignoring the invitation, Mr. Franklin entered the dinette, blocking the doorway. From his pocket he took a copy of the morning Star.
“Parker,” he said curtly, “I’ve just read your editorial and I demand an explanation! Do you realize what you’ve done?”
“Written a pretty fair stickful—or so my daughter tells me,” Mr. Parker smiled undisturbed.
“You’ve deliberately tried to smear me,” the real estate man accused.
“I don’t recall that your name was mentioned in the editorial.”
“No, but you know I expect to sell those two stones to the museum. This editorial of yours may queer the sale!”
“Then it will have fulfilled its purpose. The stones are fakes. If you aren’t aware of it, I suggest that you acquaint yourself with the true facts.”
“Those stones bear genuine Elizabethan writing. There’s no connection with any cheap Indian show, and I defy you to prove it!”
“Consider your challenge accepted,” replied Mr. Parker evenly. “I expect to publish the true facts very shortly in the Star.”
“If you prevent me from making a sale to the museum, I’ll sue you!” Jay Franklin threatened. “That’s all I have to say. Good morning!”
In his anger he turned so quickly that he ran into Penny who stood directly behind him. Without bothering to apologize, he brushed past her, out the front door.
“What a dreadful man!” remarked Mrs. Weems who had heard the conversation from the kitchen.
“I rather expected him to call, although not so early in the morning,” the publisher remarked, reaching for a slice of toast. “His attitude doesn’t bother me in the least.”
“He may actually sue you if you don’t make good on producing facts,” Penny commented. “How are you going to do it?”
“DeWitt informs me that the Indian Show is playing at Bryan this week. I’ll drive over there today and see what I can learn.”
Bryan was a small city located sixty-nine miles from Riverview. Although Penny ordinarily would have spent the day in school, she immediately decided that her father would need her assistance. Accordingly, she begged so hard to accompany him that he finally gave his consent.
Early afternoon saw Mr. Parker and his daughter at the outskirts of Bryan where two large blue and red show tents had been set up. A band played, and townspeople were pouring past the ticket-taker, an Indian who wore the headdress of a chieftain.
“It looks rather interesting,” Penny remarked wistfully.
Mr. Parker stripped a bill from his wallet and gave it to her.
“Go buy yourself a ticket,” he said, smiling. “I’ll meet you here by the entrance in an hour.”
“Don’t you want to see the show, Dad?”
“I’ve outgrown such foolishness,” he rejoined. “I’ll find the publicity agent and have my little talk with him.”
The enticing sound of tom-toms and Indian war whoops caused Penny to forget her desire to meet the show’s publicity man. Saying goodbye to her father, she bought a ticket and hastened into the big top. For an hour she sat through a very mediocre performance, consisting in the main part of cowboy and Indian horseback riding. The concluding event, a tableau, depicted an attack by redskins upon an early English colony settlement. It was all very boring, and Penny left in the middle of the performance.
Mr. Parker was not waiting at the entrance way. Loitering about for a time, she inquired of a workman and learned that her father was in one of the small tents close by. The flap had been rolled back, permitting her to see a sharp-faced man of thirty who sat at a desk piled with papers.
“Is that the show’s publicity agent?” she asked the workman.
“Yep, Bill McJavins,” he answered. “He’s sure put new life into this outfit. We’ve been packin’ them in ever since he took over.”
Within a few minutes Mr. Parker joined Penny and from the expression of his face, she immediately guessed that his interview had not been very successful.
“I take it that Bill McJavins didn’t break down and confess all?” she inquired lightly.
“He denied any connection with those stones found in Riverview,” Mr. Parker replied. “But in the next breath he admitted he knew all about them and intends to capitalize on the story.”
“Just how will it help the show?”
“From what McJavins told me, I gather the program includes an historical pageant.”
“That would be a fla
ttering name for it.”
“In the pageant, Indians attack a white settlement. A beautiful maiden escapes, and chisels on a stone tablet an account of the massacre—then she, too, succumbs to the tomahawk.”
“You seem to know more about the show than I,”Penny laughed. “Anyway, I’m glad to learn how it came out!”
“It’s my guess that McJavins hopes to profit by a tie-up between the stone writing of the pageant and the finding of similar rocks near Riverview. It’s a cheap trick, and the hoax would have been exposed a long time ago if museum authorities were awake!”
Neither discouraged nor too much elated by the results of the trip, Mr. Parker and Penny returned to Riverview. It was exactly noon when they reached the newspaper office.
“I trust you plan to attend school this afternoon,” the editor reminded his daughter. “By lunching downtown you’ll have plenty of time to get there.”
Loitering about the newsroom as long as she dared, Penny crossed the street to have a sandwich at a quick-lunch cafe. As she reached the restaurant she observed a familiar figure coming toward her.
“Rhoda Wiegand!” she exclaimed. “Aren’t you going in the wrong direction?”
“I’m cutting classes for the afternoon,” the trailer camp girl replied, pausing. “Mr. Coaten expects me to meet him at the Fischer Building. Can you tell me where it is?”
“Three blocks straight down the street,” Penny directed. She hesitated and then said: “Rhoda, it’s none of my affair, but I do hope you’re not agreeing to Mr. Coaten’s proposal.”
“The adoption? Yes, I am, Penny. I’ve tried to hold out against them all, but I can’t do it. Ted signed the papers two days ago. Since then I’ve had no peace. Ted keeps after me, the Breens want me to do it, and Mr. Coaten says I am selfish.”
“We both know Mr. Coaten intends to profit in some way at your expense.”
“I do feel that way about it. If only I dared stand firm—”
“You must,” Penny said earnestly. Deliberately taking Rhoda’s arm she turned her about. “You’re to break that appointment and have luncheon with me. I’ll assume all the responsibility.”
CHAPTER 20
RHODA’S PROBLEM
Rhoda allowed herself to be dissuaded, but not without misgiving. As she lunched with Penny at the Dolman Cafe, she painted a gloomy picture of what lay before her.
“You don’t understand how it is,” she said, slowly stirring a cup of hot chocolate. “I really haven’t a good reason for refusing to consent to the adoption. If I had one scrap of evidence against Mr. Coaten it would be different.”
“Can’t you write to Texas and inquire about him and his friend?”
“I did,” Rhoda admitted. “The answer came back that Mr. Coaten was unknown at the address he gave the Breens.”
“I should think that would be sufficient reason for distrusting him.”
“Oh, Mr. Coaten explained it by saying that his family just moved to a new house, and that he inadvertently had given me the wrong address.”
“Did you ask for the second one, Rhoda?”
“Yes, he gave it to me. So far I’ve not had time for a reply.”
“My advice is to stall for time,” Penny said. “If we have even a few days more we may dig up some information. However, I’ll confess I haven’t an idea at the moment.”
“Mr. Coaten will be furious because I didn’t keep the appointment,” Rhoda sighed. “He’s certain to come to the trailer camp tonight and demand an explanation.”
“Just tell him you changed your mind and refuse to say anything more. I wish I could talk to him.”
“So do I,” declared Rhoda with emphasis. “Why not take dinner with us tonight—if you can stand our brand of hospitality.”
“Well, I don’t know,” Penny hesitated. “Louise and I plan to go to Mrs. Marborough’s place directly after school—”
“Oh, I wish I could go with you!” Rhoda declared impulsively. “I never have had an opportunity to finish my sketch. Mrs. Marborough is such an interesting character, too.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” laughed Penny. “You’re welcome to come along. I think Mrs. Marborough will be willing to share our secret with you.”
“Secret?”
“No questions now, please,” Penny requested, capturing both luncheon checks. “We must hurry or we’ll be late for school.”
Having assured Mrs. Marborough that she would disclose nothing about the lost pearl necklace, she could not honorably share the adventure with her friend. However, it was her hope and belief that the widow would be willing to allow Rhoda to aid in the exciting search of the premises.
Penny’s surmise proved entirely correct. Later that afternoon when the three girls called at Rose Acres, Mrs. Marborough scarcely noticed that Rhoda was an uninvited member of the party. At once she began talking of the missing pearls, which to the satisfaction of Louise and Penny, necessitated a complete explanation.
“Imagine finding a tunnel leading from the old wishing well to the house!” Rhoda cried in delight. “Take me through it! Show me everything!”
“Perhaps you can find the pearls,” Penny laughed. “So far Louise and I have failed.”
“They’re supposed to be hidden somewhere near the old wishing well,” Louise contributed. “That’s the only real clue we have.”
“I suppose you looked under the flagstones?”
“I did that many days ago,” answered Mrs. Marborough. “In fact, I don’t think there’s a single place I haven’t searched.”
“The roof of the well?” Rhoda suggested.
“We never once thought of that place!” Louise exclaimed. “But how could the necklace be secreted there?” She frowned as she stared at the steep-pitched, shingled covering which formed a protection over the well.
“It’s worth looking at anyhow!” Penny declared. “I’ll get a ladder if I can find one.”
“In the woodshed,” directed Mrs. Marborough.
Penny soon returned carrying a dust-laden step-ladder which had not seen service in many years. Bracing it against the well, she mounted and began to inspect the roof.
“Find anything?” inquired Rhoda impatiently.
“Two birds’ nests. There seems to be a hole under the edge of the roofing—”
Penny broke off as she ran her hand into the narrow opening.
“Yes, there is something here!” she exclaimed a moment later. “It feels like a tiny box!”
Mrs. Marborough and the two girls waited tensely, hardly daring to hope. Penny withdrew her hand from the hole, triumphantly holding up a small leather case.
“This isn’t it?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, yes!” Mrs. Marborough cried. “It is the old jewel case. The pearls must be inside!”
In her haste to climb down from the ladder, Penny missed one of the steps. Rhoda seized her arm saving her from a hard fall. Recovering her breath, Penny politely offered the jewel case to Mrs. Marborough.
With the three girls clustered about her, the mistress of Rose Acres ceremoniously opened the lid. In a nest of yellowed silk lay a string of matched pearls, so beautiful and lustrous that no one could find words to admire it.
“The famous Marborough pearls,” the widow murmured at last. “This necklace brought only unhappiness to our family. Now, however, they shall serve a useful purpose!”
The girls gazed at Mrs. Marborough expectantly, waiting for her to continue:
“I shall sell the pearls,” she said quietly. “They represent a small fortune, and by disposing of them I’ll be well-provided for in my old age. It won’t be necessary for me to pinch and skrimp. I’ll be able to hold my head up in society—live like a human being again instead of a recluse.”
Realizing that she was revealing a great deal, Mrs. Marborough snapped shut the jewel case and smiled at the girls.
“I never should have found the pearls by myself. To tell you that I am grateful scarcely expresses my feelings. You�
�ve saved me from poverty.”
“Rhoda did it,” Penny declared, giving full credit to the trailer-camp girl. “Louise and I never would have thought of searching the roof of the well.”
“Do come inside,” Mrs. Marborough invited gaily. “We’ll have tea in my kitchen. It’s not much to offer, but I did bake a little sponge cake this morning.”
No longer ashamed of the barren condition of the old mansion, the widow led the girls through the great empty rooms. By daylight, notwithstanding the stained condition of the walls, the house seemed more elegant than ever. There was a large fan-shaped window of stained glass which Penny had not noticed before, and dozens of candle holders attached to the walls.
“How gorgeous this place would look if all the candles could be lighted at one time,” she remarked admiringly.
“And if the house had a little furniture in it,” added Mrs. Marborough. “You know, a few days ago I did a very foolish thing.”
Louise glanced quickly at Penny but said nothing.
“I was a bit hard pressed for money,” the widow resumed. “On an impulse I sold all my furniture to Mr. Butterworth. Do you suppose he will sell it back to me?”
“He should,” declared Penny.
“I like Riverview for I was born here,” Mrs. Marborough went on, talking as if to herself. “By selling the pearls I can refurnish the house, have the grounds restored to their original beauty, and live as I formerly did!”
“Oh, I do hope you decide to stay here,” Penny said eagerly.
Mrs. Marborough started a fire in the kitchen stove and put a kettle of water on to boil. Soon the tea was ready, and was served with generous slices of yellow sponge cake.
“I suppose everyone in Riverview considers me a crotchety old woman,” Mrs. Marborough remarked presently. “I haven’t been very friendly because I didn’t want folks to know I had sold my furniture. Some days ago a group of women came to see me about opening the house for some sort of Festival—”
“Pilgrimage Week,” Penny supplied.
“I turned them down, not because I wasn’t eager to help, but because I couldn’t let folks know all my furniture was gone. I wonder if they would still care to include Rose Acres in the tour of houses?”
The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels Page 78