The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

  Penny was silent for a moment. In her mind she had been turning over a way to bring the crooks to justice. It seemed to her that the men might be identified through Black Market operators with whom they must have dealings.

  “Now what are you keeping from me?” inquired Mr. Parker lightly.

  “I was thinking about a place known as Mattie Williams’garage,” replied Penny. “I’ve good reason to suspect it deals in stolen tires.”

  She went on to tell of her recent adventure in the storage room of the garage. The information did not excite Mr. Parker as she had feared it might. Instead, it fired him with a determination to get at the truth of the matter.

  “Penny, we’ll break our story yet!” he exclaimed, reaching for his hat. “Let’s go to Mattie’s place now!”

  “Unless we actually see the inside of the storage room we’ll learn nothing. You may be sure Mattie and her partner won’t cooperate.”

  “We’ll get into that room somehow,” returned Mr. Parker grimly. “I’ll take along a few pet skeleton keys just for luck.”

  At the Williams’ garage an hour later, they found Mattie and Sam busy with repair work.

  “Be with you in a minute,” the woman called to Mr. Parker.

  “No hurry,” replied the publisher. “No hurry whatsoever.”

  He and Penny wandered aimlessly about. Choosing a moment when both Sam and Mattie were inside the office, they slipped unnoticed into the room where the empty boxes had been stored.

  “Now show me the tunnel,” urged the publisher. “We’ll have to work fast!”

  Penny swung back the hinged boards of the big box. She led her father between a high aisle of crates to the locked door of the inner room.

  “Now if only I have a key that will unlock it!” muttered Mr. Parker.

  He tried several. At length one did fit the keyhole, the lock clicked, and he was able to push open the door.

  In the little storage room close to the outside building wall were tires of all sizes and description. Some were new, still wrapped in clean paper. Others appeared slightly used.

  “See, Dad!” Penny cried triumphantly. “I was right!”

  “We still have no proof this rubber was illegally obtained.”

  Penny darted forward to inspect a stack of tires which rose half way to the ceiling.

  “Here’s one that might have come off my car!” she cried. “See! Mine had a tiny cut place where I rammed the maple tree backing out of our garage!”

  “All tires look alike, Penny. Without the serial number—”

  “I do remember part of it. One was 8910 something.”

  “Then this isn’t your tire,” replied Mr. Parker, reading the number. “However, I shouldn’t be surprised that these are stolen tires.”

  Penny held up her hand as a signal for silence.

  “Quiet, Dad!” she whispered.

  Footsteps had sounded in the tunnel between the boxes. The next instant the door was flung open. Penny and her father stood face to face with Sam Burkholder.

  CHAPTER 24

  TRICKERY

  “What d’you think you’re doing in here?” demanded Sam Burkholder harshly. “Snoopers, eh?”

  “Call us that if you like,” retorted Mr. Parker. “How long have you been dealing in stolen tires?”

  The shot hit its target. Sam started to speak but no words came. He looked badly frightened. Convinced that his suspicion was correct, Mr. Parker added sternly:

  “Naturally, I’ll report this to the police. You and your partner will have to face charges.”

  “Keep Mattie out of this,” growled Sam. “She had nothing to do with the tire business.”

  “So you carried on crooked operations all by your lonesome?”

  “I’ve bought and sold a few tires,” Sam said sullenly. “All these government regulations give me a pain. A guy can’t make any money these days.”

  “So you admit you’ve been doing an illegal business?”

  “Maybe,” said Sam, watching Mr. Parker craftily. “But what’s it to you? I take it you’re not a government agent?”

  “I’m interested in breaking up a gang of leeches—the men who’ve been cleaning this town of tires for the past three months.”

  “Those guys are crooks all right,” agreed Sam. “Why the last time they sold me a bunch of tires they charged double. When I wasn’t going to take ’em they said, ‘Either you do, or else!’”

  “Did you deal with Ropes Mollinberg?”

  “He’s just one of the little fry. What will you give me to spill?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Will you keep Mattie out of this?”

  “If she’s innocent.”

  “She is,” insisted Sam. “Supposin’ I tell you how to get the whole gang, will you forget what you’ve seen here?”

  “I make no bargains with Black Market dealers,” retorted Mr. Parker. “Either you tell what you know, or I’ll have you and Mattie hauled into court.”

  Sam Burkholder was silent a moment.

  “Okay,” he said abruptly. “I’ve had enough of this business anyhow. I’ll tell you what I know, and it won’t take me long. I’ve never seen nor dealt direct with the big shots.”

  “Then how do you get your tires?”

  “A trucker by the name of Hank Biglow delivers them to me.”

  “Louise and I know that man!” cried Penny. “For whom does he work?”

  “I’ve never asked. But from something Hank dropped I kinda suspect the boys are having a meeting tonight.”

  “Where?” Mr. Parker demanded eagerly.

  “I’ll tell you on one condition. You’ve got to keep Mattie out of this. So far as she knows this garage has been run pretty much on the square.”

  Mr. Parker was unwilling to make any sort of agreement with the man. Nevertheless, he realized that Sam had it within his power to withhold vital information.

  “Very well,” he said, “I’ll take your word for it that Mattie is innocent. Now where is the meeting to be held?”

  “At Johnson’s warehouse.”

  “Isn’t that along the river?”

  “Yeah, about eight miles from here. The boys will be loading some tires there. If you’re willing to take the risk, you may learn something. Meeting’s at seven.”

  Penny glanced at her wrist watch.

  “It’s after six now!” she exclaimed in dismay. “Dad, if we are to get there in time, we’ve got to step!”

  “Right you are,” he agreed.

  Before leaving the garage, Mr. Parker telephoned Central Police Station. Without mentioning Sam’s name, he revealed a little of what he had learned and requested an immediate investigation of the Johnson Warehouse. Then, intending to meet officers there, he and Penny taxied along the winding river road.

  Although not yet seven o’clock, it was darkening fast. The driver switched on headlights, illuminating a long stretch of icy pavement.

  “Can’t you go faster?” Mr. Parker urged impatiently.

  “Don’t dare, sir,” replied the driver.

  Even as he spoke, a crossroads traffic light flashed red. Though the driver applied the foot brake with quick stabs, the car went into a disastrous skid. Out of control, it slid crosswise in the narrow road. The front wheels rolled into a deep, slippery ditch.

  “Just our luck!” muttered Mr. Parker.

  Several times the driver tried to back the car from the ditch. Failing, he and Mr. Parker pushed while Penny handled the steering wheel. The tires kept spinning and would not grip the ice.

  “No use,” the publisher acknowledged at last. “We’re only wasting time. We need a tow car.”

  “The nearest house or filling station is at least a mile up the road,” volunteered Penny. “I’m afraid we’re stalled here until the police car comes along.”

  They climbed into the taxi and waited. No vehicle of any description came by. With increasing impatience, Mr. Parker looked at his watch.

  “It’s nearly
seven o’clock now!” he exclaimed. “Either the police are waiting farther down the road, or they’ve taken a different route!”

  “What are we going to do?” Penny asked helplessly. “If we sit here much longer we’ll miss catching those men at their meeting.”

  “I don’t see what we can do. Maybe our best bet is to walk to the nearest filling station.”

  Penny suddenly was struck with an idea. “The Riverview Yacht Club is closer!” she cried.

  “True, but it’s closed for the winter.”

  “My iceboat is still there,” said Penny. “If you’re not afraid to ride with me, I could get you to Johnson’s Warehouse in nothing flat.”

  “What are we waiting for?” demanded Mr. Parker.

  Leaving the cab driver behind, Penny and her father ran most of the way to the club. The Icicle, covered with snow, runners frozen to the ice, remained where it had been abandoned.

  “The sail’s here too!” Penny declared, burrowing in a box hidden deep in the cockpit. “In this wind, we’ll go places!”

  “Are you sure you can handle the boat?” Mr. Parker asked anxiously. He had never ridden in the Icicle and from his daughter’s vivid descriptions, had no great desire to do so.

  “I know I can start it going,” Penny replied with a quick laugh. “I’ll worry about stopping it when the time comes!”

  They cleared the little boat of snow and pushed it out on the smooth ice of the river. Penny made certain that all the ropes were free running.

  “Now you get in, Dad,” she advised as she hoisted the flapping sail. “I want to be sure where you are when the fireworks begin.”

  The wind filled the big sail like a balloon. Nothing happened. The iceboat did not move an inch.

  “Why don’t we go?” growled Mr. Parker. “Runners dull?”

  Penny gave the boat a hard push.

  “Want me to help?” offered her father.

  “No, thanks,” puffed Penny. “When this baby makes up its mind, it will go so fast you’d be left behind.”

  Once more she pushed. The sail filled again and the runners stirred.

  “It’s moving!” shouted Penny.

  The Icicle was pulling away from her. She clung fast, trying to scramble aboard. Her feet went out from under her and she was dragged over the ice.

  “Hang on!” shouted Mr. Parker. “I can’t sail this thing alone!”

  Penny clung desperately. Away flew a mitten. Her scarf flapped in her face. With a supreme effort, she pulled herself aboard, and took command of the tiller.

  “Are you hurt?” Mr. Parker shouted anxiously in her ear.

  Penny shook her head and laughed. “Getting started always is quite a trick,” she replied. “Sit tight! We have a stiff breeze tonight.”

  Penny and her father wore no protective goggles. The sharp wind stung their eyes even though they kept their heads low.

  “How’ll we know when we get to the warehouse?”Mr. Parker shouted. “I can’t see anything!”

  “Just trust me,” laughed Penny. “All I worry about is stopping this bronco when we get there!”

  The boat was moving with the speed of an express train. Penny made her decisions with lightning-like rapidity, twice steering to avoid open stretches of water. She was worried, but had no intention of letting her father know.

  The boat raced on. Then far ahead loomed the dark outline of a building.

  “That’s the warehouse!” shouted Mr. Parker. “Don’t go past it!”

  Penny gradually slowed the Icicle. Approaching shore, she slacked the main sheet and shot up into the wind. By using her overshoes for brakes, she finally brought the boat to a standstill not far from the warehouse.

  “Well done, skipper,” praised Mr. Parker.

  Scrambling from the boat, they glanced anxiously about. A dim light shone from inside the warehouse. Not far from its side entrance stood a truck. There were no other vehicles, no sign of the expected police car.

  “Is this the place?” Penny asked doubtfully.

  “Yes, it’s the only warehouse within a mile. Queer the police aren’t here to meet us.”

  The publisher waded through a shrunken snowdrift to a side door of the building. It was not locked and he pushed it open a crack. Far down a deserted corridor shone a dim lantern light.

  “Oughtn’t we to wait for the police?” Penny whispered uneasily.

  Without answering, Mr. Parker started down the corridor. Penny quickly overtook him, padding along close at his side.

  The corridor opened into a large storage room used in years past to house river merchandise. Now the walls were stacked high with tires.

  On the ground floor stood a truck which several men were loading. Two others watched the work from a balcony overhead.

  “Dad, do you recognize any of those men?” Penny whispered.

  “No, but we’ve evidently come to the right place,” he replied.

  The men did not talk as they loaded the tires into the truck. For many minutes Penny and her father watched the work.

  “That truck soon will be pulling out,” Penny observed. “Why don’t the police come?”

  “I’m going to talk to those men,” Mr. Parker decided. “You stay here.”

  Before Penny could protest, her father stepped boldly into the lighted room. Immediately work ceased. Every eye focused upon him.

  “Good evening,” said Mr. Parker casually.

  The remark was greeted by a suspicious silence. Then one of the men, a red-faced fellow with a twisted lower lip, asked: “You lookin’ fer somebody?”

  “Just passing through and noticed the light,” replied Mr. Parker. “Wondered what’s going on.”

  “You can see, can’t you?” growled one of the workmen. “We’re trying to load tires. Now get out of here or I’ll bounce one on your head! We got work to do.”

  Mr. Parker did not lack courage. However, the grim faces warned him that the men would not hesitate to make their promise good. With Penny unprotected in the corridor he could afford to take no chances.

  “Sorry to have bothered you,” he apologized, and retreated.

  Penny waited nervously in the dark hallway. “Now what are we to do?” she whispered as her father rejoined her.

  “We’ll telephone again for the police. Let’s get out of here.”

  Noiselessly they stole from the building. As they huddled in the lee of a brick wall, a car came down the road.

  “That may be the police now!” Penny murmured hopefully.

  The car turned in at the warehouse. A lone policeman alighted. As he came over to the building, Penny recognized him as Carl Burns.

  “Where’s the rest of your men?” Mr. Parker demanded. “Surely you don’t expect to handle this tire gang single handed?”

  “Aren’t you a bit mixed up?” the policeman drawled.

  “Mixed up?”

  “I’m here on a routine inspection. This is a defense plant, or didn’t you know?”

  “A defense plant!” Mr. Parker echoed.

  “A warehouse for one, I should say,” corrected the policeman. “Tires intended for the Wilson war plant are earmarked and shipped out from here. A couple of trucks are going out tonight. I’m on the job to see they’re not hijacked.”

  Penny gazed blankly at her father. If the policeman’s information was correct, then they had nearly made a serious blunder.

  “Guess we’ve been tricked,” Mr. Parker muttered. “We were told this place operates in the Black Market.”

  “That’s a laugh,” responded the policeman. “Who told you that yarn?”

  “I can’t divulge my source.”

  “Well, you sure were taken for a ride!” the policeman taunted. “Mr. Parker, why not let the police handle the crooks while you look after your newspaper business? You’ve not been yourself since you were in that auto accident.”

  Penny and her father resented the implication, but wisely allowed the remark to pass without comment. Decidedly crestfallen, th
ey bade the policeman goodbye and returned to the iceboat.

  “We’ve made ourselves ridiculous!” Mr. Parker commented bitterly as they shoved off down river. “Taken in by Sam Burkholder!”

  “He probably lied to get rid of us,” agreed Penny. “By this time he’s likely removed every tire from Mattie’s garage!”

  Mr. Parker nodded and did not speak again. His failure to learn the identity of the key men associated with Ropes Mollinberg, had been a bitter disappointment.

  Penny handled the Icicle effortlessly and without much thought. Faster and faster the little boat traveled, its runners throwing up a powdery dust.

  Then without warning the Icicle struck something frozen in the ice. Before Penny could make a move, the runners leaped from the surface. The boat tilted to a sharp angle, and went over.

  Penny felt herself sliding. Snow filled her mouth, the sleeves of her coat. Her cap hung over one ear. Laughing shakily, she scrambled to her feet.

  “Are you all right, Dad?” she called anxiously.

  Then she saw him. Mr. Parker was sprawled flat on the ice a few yards away. He did not move. Terrified, she ran to him and grasped his arm.

  “Dad! Speak to me!”

  Mr. Parker stirred slightly. He raised a hand and rubbed his head. Slowly he pulled himself to a sitting position.

  “Penny—” he mumbled, staring at her.

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “It’s come to me—in a flash!”

  “What has, Dad?” Penny asked, wondering how badly her father had been stunned.

  “Why, all the evidence I had in my portfolio! Names! Pictures! I know every man who was mixed up in the tire deal. Jerry gave it all to me.”

  “You remember everything?” cried Penny. “Dad, that’s wonderful! It’s just like Doctor Greer said. You’ve regained your memory as the result of a sudden blow.”

  “Things did seem to rush back to me after I hit my head on the ice.”

  Gripping Penny’s hand, Mr. Parker pulled himself to his feet. Still giddy, he staggered and caught the iceboat for support. Then recovering, he exclaimed:

  “We’ve got to go back there right away!”

  “Where, Dad?”

  “To the warehouse. We were tricked, but not by Sam Burkholder! Policeman Burns is one of the men I aim to expose!”