The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

  Penny wondered if she had heard correctly.

  “Your tires weren’t the only ones stolen yesterday,”Mr. Parker resumed. “A half dozen other thefts were reported. In fact, I’ve known for several weeks that a professional gang of tire thieves has been operating in Riverview.”

  “Oh, Dad, you’re a peach!” Penny cried, making a dive for him. “I’m going to give you a great big kiss!”

  “You are not,” Mr. Parker grinned, pushing her away. “Try to remember, this is an office.”

  Penny resigned herself to a chair. Questioned by her father, she gave a straightforward account of how the car had been stripped at the Yacht Club grounds.

  “The tire gang is getting bolder every day!” Mr. Parker exclaimed wrathfully. “But we’ll soon put a stop to their little game!”

  “How, Dad?”

  Mr. Parker hesitated and then said: “I can trust you, can’t I, Penny?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I’ll tell you this in confidence. For weeks Jerry Livingston, our star reporter, has been working on the case. He’s rounded up a lot of evidence against the outfit.”

  “Then we have a chance to get those tires back!”

  “I’m not thinking about that,” Mr. Parker said impatiently. “Jerry’s gathered enough evidence to smash the entire gang. It will be as big a story as the Star ever published.”

  “When are you breaking it, Dad?”

  “Perhaps tomorrow. Depends on the state prosecutor.”

  “John Gilmore? What does he have to do with it?”

  “This story is loaded with dynamite, Penny. If we spread it over our front page before police have a chance to act, the guilty parties are apt to make a getaway.”

  “That’s so,” nodded Penny.

  “There’s another reason I want to consult the Prosecutor before I use the story,” Mr. Parker resumed. “Some of the men involved—”

  A tap sounded on the door. Without completing what he had started to say, the editor called, “Come in.”

  Jerry Livingston entered the office. He was a good-looking young man, alert and clean-cut. Smiling at Penny, he slapped a folded paper on Mr. Parker’s desk.

  “Here’s my story on the tire thefts, Chief,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, this winds up the case.”

  “You’ve done fine work, Jerry,” Mr. Parker praised. “Thanks to your work, we ought to clean out the gang.”

  “I hope so, Chief. Guess you have all the proofs needed to back up the story.”

  “All the evidence is locked in my safe. I have an appointment scheduled with the Prosecutor. If he Okays the story, we’ll publish it tomorrow. By the way, Jerry, what are your plans?”

  “Well, I have a couple of weeks before I go into the Army Air Corps.”

  “Then treat yourself to a vacation, starting right now,” said Mr. Parker. “Can you use it?”

  “Can I?” grinned Jerry. “Know what I’ll do? I’ll hop the noon train and head for the Canadian wilds on a hunting trip.”

  Mr. Parker wrote out a check which he presented to the young man.

  “We’ll be sorry to lose you, Jerry,” he said regretfully. “But remember, a job always will be waiting when you return.”

  The reporter shook hands with Mr. Parker and Penny, then left the office.

  “We’ll miss Jerry around here,” the editor remarked.

  Penny nodded. She and Jerry had shared many an adventure together, and he was one of her truest friends. The office would not seem the same without him.

  “My appointment with the Prosecutor is at ten-thirty,” said Mr. Parker briskly. “I’ll gather my papers and be on my way.”

  The editor placed Jerry’s signed story in a leather portfolio. Next he went to the safe and fumbled with the dial.

  “Want me to open it for you?” Penny asked, after he had tried several times.

  Without waiting for a reply, she stooped down, twisted the dial a few times, and opened the heavy door.

  “Young lady, how did you learn the combination?”Mr. Parker demanded in chagrin.

  “Oh, the numbers are written on the under side of your desk,” Penny grinned. “Not a very good place either! You must trust your office help.”

  “Fortunately my reporters aren’t quite as observing as a certain daughter,” Mr. Parker retorted grimly.

  The editor removed a fat brown envelope from one of the drawers of the safe. Glancing at the papers it contained, he added them to the contents of the portfolio. He then locked the safe.

  “How about letting me see that story?” Penny asked.

  Mr. Parker smiled but shook his head. “Only two persons know the facts of the case—Jerry and myself.”

  “Let’s make it a trio.”

  “It will be after I’ve talked to the Prosecutor. I’ve got to step right along, too, or I’ll be late.”

  “But Dad—”

  “You’ll read the story in tomorrow’s Star—I hope,” her father laughed. Picking up the portfolio, he started for the door. “Just contain your impatience until I get back. And please keep those slippery little fingers away from my safe!”

  CHAPTER 5

  AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW

  After her father had gone, Penny remained in the private office. Eager to be off, Mr. Parker had neglected to make any arrangements concerning the stripped car at the Riverview Yacht Club.

  “Oh, bother!” she thought impatiently. “Now I must wait here until he comes back to learn what I’m to do. The car should be hauled home.”

  Penny wrote a letter on the typewriter. As she searched for a stamp, the door swung open. A slightly bald, angular man with hard brown eyes, paused on the threshold. The man was Harley Schirr, an assistant editor, next in authority to Mr. DeWitt. Of the entire Star staff, he was the only person Penny actively disliked.

  “Oh, good morning, Miss Parker,” he said with elaborate courtesy. “Your father isn’t here?”

  “No, he went away a few minutes ago.”

  “And you are taking care of the office in his absence?”Mr. Schirr smiled. Even so, to Penny’s sensitive ears, the words had an insolent ring.

  “I’m merely waiting for him to return,” she answered briefly. “I came to find out what to do about the car.”

  “Oh, yes, I heard that all of your tires were stolen last night.” Mr. Schirr’s lips twitched. “Too bad.”

  “I may get them back again. Dad says—” Penny checked herself, remembering that the information given her by her father was to be kept secret.

  “Yes?” encouraged the assistant editor.

  “Perhaps police will catch the thieves,” she completed.

  “I shouldn’t count on it if I were you, Miss Parker. Black Markets have flourished in this city for months. Nothing’s been done to stop it.”

  “Just what do you mean by a Black Market, Mr. Schirr?”

  “Illegal trading in various scarce commodities. Tires either stolen or hijacked, are sold by the crooks to so-called honest dealers who serve the public. It’s now a big-time business.”

  “What does Dad think about it?”

  “Well, now, I really couldn’t tell you. Your father doesn’t discuss his editorial policy with me. If he did, I’d warn him to lay off all those tire-theft stories.”

  Penny gazed quickly at the assistant editor, wondering how much he knew of her father’s plan.

  “Dad usually prints all the news,” she said. “Why should he soft-pedal the tire stories?”

  “For his health’s sake.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Schirr.”

  The assistant editor had closed the door behind him. Warming to his subject, he replied: “The men who have muscled into the tire theft racket are ugly lads without scruples. If your father stupidly insists upon trying to smash the outfit, he may not wake up some morning.”

  The suggestion that her father might ruthlessly be done away with shocked Penny. And a canny corner of her mind demande
d to know how Mr. Schirr could be so well informed. She was quite certain her father had not taken him into his confidence.

  “Dad is no coward,” she said proudly.

  “Oh, no one ever questioned his bravery, Miss Parker. Your father is courageous to the point of rashness. But if he prints an exposé story about the tire theft gang, it’s apt to prove the most foolish act of his life.”

  “How do you know he intends to do such a thing?”

  The question, sharply put, surprised Mr. Schirr.

  “Oh, I don’t,” he denied hastily. “I merely heard the rumor around the office.”

  Penny made no reply. As the silence became noticeable, the assistant editor murmured that he would return to see Mr. Parker later and left the office.

  Penny glared at the man’s retreating back. Even more intensely than before, she disliked Harley Schirr.

  “The old sneak cat!” she thought. “I’ll bet a cent he’s been listening at the door or prying in Dad’s papers! I’m sure no rumors have been circulating around the office.”

  The telephone rang. Automatically Penny took down the receiver.

  “Mr. Parker?” inquired a masculine voice.

  “He’s not here now. This is his daughter speaking. May I take a message?”

  “No message,” said the purring voice. “Mr. Parker may hear from me later.”

  “Who is this, please?” asked Penny quickly.

  There was no answer, only the click of a receiver being hung on its hook.

  The incident, although trifling, annoyed Penny. Getting up from the desk, she walked to the window. Mr. Schirr’s intimation had alarmed her, and now the telephone call added to her uneasiness.

  “Probably the man who telephoned is well known to Dad,” she tried to assure herself. “I’m just imagining that his voice sounded sinister.”

  Feeling the need of an occupation, Penny wandered out into the editorial room. She chatted with the society editor and for a time watched the world news reports coming in on the noisy teletype machines.

  “Need a job?” inquired Editor DeWitt at the slot of the circular copy desk. “How about writing a few headlines for me?”

  “No, thanks,” Penny declined. “I’m just waiting for Dad. He should be back any minute now.”

  It was eleven-forty by the office clock. Never had time seemed to pass so slowly. As Penny debated whether or not to wait any longer, there was a sudden stir in the room. Glancing toward the outside door, she saw that Jerry Livingston, suitcase in hand, had entered.

  Immediately reporters and editors left their desks to shake his hand.

  “Jerry, you’re the best reporter this paper ever had,” Mr. DeWitt told him warmly. “We surely hate to see you go.”

  “Oh, I’ll be back,” the reporter answered. “You can bet on that!”

  Penny crossed the room to say goodbye. Jerry surprisingly tucked her arm through his.

  “Come along and see me off on the train,” he invited, pulling her along. “Not doing anything special, are you?”

  “Just waiting for Dad.”

  “Then come on,” Jerry grinned. “I’ve got a lot to say to you.”

  However, once in the taxi, speeding toward the railroad station, the reporter scarcely spoke. He reached out and captured her hand.

  “I’m going to miss you, little twirp,” he sighed. “No telling when I’ll get back to the Star. Maybe—”

  “Now don’t try to work on my sympathies,” laughed Penny, though a lump came in her throat. “Oh, Jerry—”

  “At your command. Just break down and confess how desolate you’ll be without me.”

  The railroad station was close by and Penny had only a moment to talk.

  “Riverview will be a blank without you,” she admitted. “But it’s that tire-theft story I want to ask you about. Did you ever tell anyone that Dad is planning to expose the gang?”

  “Of course not!”

  “I knew you wouldn’t give out any information,”Penny said in relief. “But somehow Harley Schirr has learned about it.”

  “Schirr! That egg? How could he have found out?”

  “I’d like to know myself. He hinted that something dreadful might happen to Dad if the story is printed.”

  Jerry patted Penny’s hand. “Don’t give it a thought, kid,” he said. “Schirr does a lot of wild talking. Probably whatever he said to you was pure bluff. He doesn’t know a thing.”

  The arrival of the cab at the station put an end to the conversation. Jerry paid the driver and hustled Penny inside. He barely had time to purchase a ticket before the train was called.

  “Well, goodbye,” Jerry said, squeezing her hand.

  “Have a good time in Canada,” Penny replied. “And bring me a nice bear rug!”

  “Sure, I’ll catch him with my bare hands,” Jerry rejoined, making a feeble attempt at a joke.

  The train began to move. The reporter swung himself aboard the last Pullman. As he waved from the steps, Penny realized that she had forgotten to ask for his Canadian address.

  Soon the train was only a blur down the frosty tracks. Penny climbed a steep ramp to the street. She felt lonesome, and for some reason, discouraged.

  “First I lose my car wheels, and now it’s Jerry,” she reflected sadly. “What a week!”

  Penny scarcely knew whether to go home or to the Star office. As she debated the matter, her ears were assaulted by the shrill scream of a siren.

  “A fire,” thought Penny.

  An ambulance rushed past. It raced to the end of the short street and pulled up.

  “Probably an accident,” amended Penny.

  Curious to learn what had happened, she began to run. At the end of the street a large crowd had gathered. A car with a smashed fender and damaged front grillwork, had piled against a street lamp.

  “What happened?” Penny asked a man who stood beside her.

  “Two cars in a smash-up,” he answered. “Didn’t see the accident myself.”

  “But what became of the other automobile?” asked Penny.

  She pushed through the gathering crowd to the curb. Broken glass was scattered over the pavement. Ambulance men were searching the wreckage of the car which had struck the lamp post. The other automobile, apparently, had driven away.

  Suddenly, Penny’s gaze riveted on the rear license plate of the smashed car. In horror she read the number—P-619-10.

  “Dad’s car!” she whispered. “He’s been hurt!”

  CHAPTER 6

  FRONT PAGE NEWS

  Never in her life had Penny been more frightened. Breaking away from the group of people at the curb, she ran to the parked ambulance. A glance into the interior assured her that Mr. Parker had not been placed inside on a stretcher.

  “Where is he?” she asked wildly. “Where’s my father?”

  A white-garbed ambulance attendant turned to stare at her.

  “That’s my father’s car!” Penny cried, pointing to the battered sedan. “Tell me, was he badly hurt?”

  The attendant tried to be kind. “We don’t know, Miss. Someone put in a call for us. Said we were to pick up an injured man. Evidently he was taken to a hospital before we could get here.”

  “That’s what happened,” contributed a small boy who stood close by. “A woman drove by in an auto. She offered to take the man to the hospital and he went with her.”

  “A tall, lean man in a gray suit?” Penny asked quickly.

  “Yes. He had a leather case in his hand.”

  “Then it was my father!” Penny cried. “How badly was he hurt?”

  “Oh, he could walk all right,” the boy replied. “He seemed kinda dazed though.”

  Greatly relieved to learn that her father had escaped serious injury, Penny sought more information. The boy who had witnessed the accident, told her that the car which had caused the smash-up, was a blue sedan.

  “Two men were in it,” he revealed. “They started to go around your father’s car and crowded him
toward the curb. Next thing I saw, he’d plowed into the lamp post.”

  “The other car didn’t stop?”

  “I’ll say it didn’t! You should have seen ’em go!”

  “Didn’t you notice the license number?” Penny asked hopefully.

  The boy shook his head.

  Having learned all she could from him, Penny questioned other persons. Only one woman in the crowd was able to provide additional information. Her eye-witness account differed slightly from the boy’s, but she confirmed that a middle-aged woman in a black coupe had taken the accident victim to a hospital.

  “Which hospital?” asked Penny.

  The woman could not tell her. She did say, however, that the accident victim seemingly had suffered only minor scratches.

  A police car drove up. Penny, frantic to find her father, did not wish to be delayed by questions. Without revealing who she was to members of the investigation squad, she hailed a taxi. Mercy Hospital was only a few blocks away. It seemed reasonable that her father would be taken there for treatment.

  A few minutes later, standing anxiously at the information desk of that institution, she learned that Mr. Parker had not been admitted as a patient. The nurse in charge, noting the girl’s agitation, kindly offered to telephone other hospitals. After six calls, she reported that she was unable to trace the accident victim.

  “Are you sure that your father sought hospital treatment?” she asked Penny.

  “Perhaps not. Dad wasn’t badly hurt according to witnesses. He may have gone elsewhere.”

  Thanking the nurse for her help, Penny taxied swiftly home. Mrs. Weems, in an old coat and a turban, was pouring salt on the icy sidewalk in front of the house. From the look on her face it was evident she had not heard the news.

  “Mrs. Weems, Dad’s been hurt!” Penny cried, leaping from the cab. “In an auto accident!”

  “My land!” the housekeeper gasped and allowed the bag of salt to fall from her gloved hand. “How bad is it?”

  “I think he was more stunned than anything else. But I’ve not been able to learn where he was taken. He didn’t telephone here?”

  “Not unless it was since I’ve been outdoors.”

  Picking up the bag of salt, Mrs. Weems followed Penny into the house. Without removing coat or hat, the girl dialed the Star office. Editor DeWitt answered.