CHAPTER 25
FINAL EDITION
Penny and her father had no definite plan as they raced toward Johnson’s warehouse in the iceboat. Their only thought was to return and somehow prevent the escape of the tire thieves.
“Dad, is Harley Schirr one of the gang?” Penny shouted in Mr. Parker’s ear.
“Schirr?” he repeated impatiently. “Of course not!”
“Then why didn’t he want you to publish the tire stories in the Star?”
“Oh, Schirr’s a natural-born coward,” Mr. Parker answered. “He likes to snoop and give unasked advice. Let’s forget him.”
The Icicle slowed to a standstill near the warehouse. Penny and her father leaped out and climbed the slippery bank. Nearby they saw a loaded truck about to pull away from the building.
“We never can stop those men now!” gasped Penny.
“Yes, we can!” cried her father. “A police car is coming, and this time it’s no fake!”
As he spoke, an automobile bearing the notation,“Police Department” in bold letters, skidded into the driveway. Detective Fuller was at the wheel and at least four policemen were with him.
“Stop that truck!” Mr. Parker shouted. “Don’t let it get away!”
Detective Fuller and four companions leaped from the police car. As the loaded truck started off with a roar, they blocked the road.
“Halt!” shouted Detective Fuller.
When the order was ignored, he fired twice. The bullets pierced the rear tires of the truck. Air whistled out and the rubber slowly flattened.
For a few yards the truck wobbled on, then stopped. Two detectives leaped for the cab.
“All right, get out!” ordered Detective Fuller, covering the men.
The truck driver and two others slouched sullenly out of the cab. As flashlights swept their faces, Penny recognized one of the men.
“Hank Biglow!” she identified the driver.
“And this man is Ham Mollinberg, a brother of Ropes,” said Mr. Parker, indicating a red-faced fellow in a leather jacket. “The man beside him is Al Brancomb, wanted for skipping parole in California.”
“Any others in the warehouse?” demanded Detective Fuller.
“There should be,” said Penny excitedly. “Where’s Mr. Burns?”
“What Burns do you mean?” questioned one of the detectives.
“Connected with your police force, unfortunately,” informed Mr. Parker. “That’s why I planned to consult the Prosecutor before I spread the story on the Star’s front page. You boys have done good work in Riverview and I didn’t want to make the department look bad.”
“Burns, eh?” Detective Fuller repeated. “We’ll find out what he has to say!”
The policeman, however, was not to be apprehended so easily. Four men, including Ropes Mollinberg, were captured inside the warehouse. Burns had left the building some minutes earlier and had returned to Riverview.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get him!” Detective Fuller promised Mr. Parker. “How about these other eggs? Can you identify them?”
“They’re all members of the outfit,” the publisher said without hesitation. “One of my reporters, Jerry Livingston, spent weeks watching these men and getting wise to their methods.”
“Then he can testify against them.”
“He can if he gets back,” agreed Mr. Parker. “Jerry’s in Canada and for some reason we’ve been unable to locate him.”
Penny and her father remained at the warehouse until the handcuffed prisoners had been taken away. They were jubilant over the capture. Not only would the tire-theft gang be broken up, but the Star had achieved another exclusive front-page story.
“The best part of all is that you’ve recovered your memory!” Penny declared to her father. “After this, you won’t dare fuss when I tell you I’m going ice-boating!”
“You’re right,” agreed Mr. Parker. “The Icicle is the best pal I ever had!”
Within an hour after Penny and her father left the warehouse they were notified that Mr. Burns had been taken into custody. Evidence piled up rapidly against the policeman. As it definitely was established that he had accepted money from Ropes Mollinberg, he was stripped of his badge and put behind bars.
Police were not compelled to search the Williams’garage. Before they could act, Sam Burkholder came voluntarily to Central Station, offering to make a clean breast of his part in the Black Market dealings. Both he and Mattie were held as witnesses against the tire thieves.
“Will Mattie be kept in jail long?” Penny asked her father.
“I doubt it,” he replied. “Apparently, Sam acted alone in selling illegal tires. Since he’s showing a disposition to cooperate with police, he’ll probably escape with a heavy fine.”
With the tire theft case soon to come up for trial, Penny was disturbed lest Jerry Livingston fail to return from Canada in time to testify. For many days she tormented herself with wild speculations. Then one afternoon her worries were brought to an end by the arrival of a telegram. Nothing had happened to the young reporter. He had failed to reply to messages only because he had been out of touch with civilization.
In his wire, Jerry stated that he would return to Riverview at once to aid in the search for the publisher.
“Jerry doesn’t know yet that you’ve been found!”Penny said to her father. “We must wire him right away to set his mind at rest.”
The message was sent, and within a few hours a reply arrived, addressed to Penny.
“COMING ANYWAY,” it read. “AM BRINGING YOU A BEAR RUG TOGETHER WITH A NICE BEAR HUG.”
As if pleasant surprises never would end, still another came Penny’s way. Police notified her that among the tires seized at the Johnson Warehouse was a set of five belonging to her stripped car.
“You’re much better off than I,” Mr. Parker teased her. “Your car now is in running order again. Mine will be in the garage for many a day. I’ll have to pay my own repair bill, too.”
“Unless the hit-skip driver is found.”
“I’m afraid he never will be,” sighed Mr. Parker. “I’ll always believe the men who crowded me off the road were hired by the tire-theft gang. No way to prove it though.”
“The car license number Mrs. Botts gave police didn’t seem to be accurate,” Penny replied. “By the way, have you decided what you’ll do about her?”
“Mrs. Botts?”
“Yes, so far you’ve placed no formal charge against her.”
Mr. Parker smiled as he reached for a final edition of the Star. The paper carried not only an account of the round-up at Johnson’s Warehouse, but a full confession from Mrs. Botts.
“I bear the woman no ill will,” he said. “She’s already lost her position as caretaker at the Deming estate. That’s punishment enough as far as I’m concerned.”
Presently Mrs. Weems entered the living-room with a glass of milk. When she tried to make the publisher take it he complained that he no longer was an invalid.
“Now drink your milk like a good lad,” Penny scolded. “Why, you’re still as thin as a ghost.”
With a wry face Mr. Parker gulped down the drink.
“Let’s not speak of ghosts,” he pleaded. “I’m well now, and I don’t like to be reminded of those disgraceful night-shirt parades.”
“Are you sure you’re perfectly well?” teased Penny.
“Of course I am. My memory is as good as it ever was!”
“Haven’t you forgotten a rather important financial item?”
Mr. Parker looked puzzled. Then light broke over his face.
“Your allowance! I’ve not paid it for a long while, have I?”
“You certainly haven’t,” grinned Penny. “The old till is painfully empty. I can use a little folding money to good advantage.”
Her father smiled and opened his pocketbook. “Here you are,” he said. “Go out and paint the town red!”
When Penny thumbed over the little stack of “folding money” she drew in her breath. Th
en she leaped to her feet in youthful exuberance.
“Oh, Dad, you’re a darling!” she cried. “Why, this will buy a brush and a whole barrel of red paint! Look out, Riverview, here I come!”
HOOFBEATS ON THE TURNPIKE
CHAPTER 1
OLD MAN OF THE HILLS
A girl in crumpled linen slacks skidded to a fast stop on the polished floor of the Star business office. With a flourish, she pushed a slip of paper through the bars of the treasurer’s cage. She grinned beguilingly at the man who was totaling a long column of figures.
“Top o’ the morning, Mr. Peters,” she chirped. “How about cashing a little check for me?”
The bald-headed, tired looking man peered carefully at the crisp rectangle of paper. Regretfully he shook his head.
“Sorry, Miss Parker. I’d like to do it, but orders are orders. Your father said I wasn’t to pass out a penny without his okay.”
“But I’m stony broke! I’m destitute!” The blue eyes became eloquent, pleading. “My allowance doesn’t come due for another ten days.”
“Why not talk it over with your father?”
Penny retrieved the check and tore it to bits. “I’ve already worked on Dad until I’m blue in the face,” she grumbled. “Talking to a mountain gives one a lot more satisfaction.”
“Now you know your father gives you almost everything you want,” the treasurer teased. “You have a car of your own—”
“And no gas to run it,” Penny cut in. “Why, I work like a galley slave helping Dad build up the circulation of this newspaper!”
“You have brought the Star many new subscribers,”Mr. Peters agreed warmly. “I’ll always remember that fine story you wrote about the Vanishing Houseboat Mystery. It was one of the best this paper ever published.”
“What’s the use of being the talented, only daughter of a prosperous newspaper owner if you can’t cash in on it now and then?” Penny went on. “Why, the coffers of this old paper fairly drip gold, but do I ever get any of it?”
“I’ll let you have a few dollars,” Mr. Peters offeredunexpectedly. “Enough to tide you over until the day your allowance falls due. You see, I know how it is because I have a daughter of my own.”
Penny’s chubby, freckled face brightened. Then the light faded. She asked doubtfully:
“You don’t intend to give me the money out of your own pocket, Mr. Peters?”
“Why, yes. I wouldn’t dare go against your father’s orders, Penny. He said no more of your checks were to be cashed without his approval.”
Unfolding several crisp new bills from his wallet, the treasurer offered them to Penny. She gazed at the money with deep longing, then firmly pushed it back.
“Thanks, Mr. Peters, but it has to be Dad’s money or none. You see, I have a strict code of honor.”
“Sorry,” replied the treasurer. “I’d like to help you.”
“Oh, I’ll struggle on somehow.”
With a deep sigh, Penny turned away from the cage. She was a slim, blue-eyed girl whose enthusiasms often carried her into trouble. Her mother was dead, but though she had been raised by Mrs. Weems, a faithful housekeeper, she was not in the least spoiled. Nevertheless, because her father, Anthony Parker, publisher of the Riverview Star was indulgent, she usually had her way about most matters. From him she had learned many details of the newspaper business. In fact, having a flare for reporting, she had written many of the paper’s finest stories.
Penny was a friendly, loveable little person. Not for long could she remain downhearted. As she walked down the long hallway, its great expanse of polished floor suddenly looked as inviting as an ice pond. With a quick little run she slid its length. And at the elevator corner she collided full-tilt with a bent old man who hobbled along on a crooked hickory cane.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry!” Penny apologized. “I didn’t know anyone was coming. I shouldn’t have taken this hall on high.”
The unexpected collision had winded the old man. He staggered a step backwards and Penny grasped his arm to offer support. She could not fail to stare. Never before in the Star office had she seen such a queer looking old fellow. He wore loose-fitting, coarse garments with heavy boots. His hair, snow white, had not been cut in many weeks. The grotesque effect was heightened by a straw hat several sizes too small which was perched atop his head.
“I’m sorry,” Penny repeated. “I guess I didn’t know where I was going.”
“’Pears like we is in the same boat, Miss,” replied the old man in a cracked voice. “’Lows as how I don’t know where I’m goin’ my own self.”
“Then perhaps I can help you. Are you looking for someone in this building?”
The old man took a grimy sheet of paper from a tattered coat pocket.
“I want to find the feller who will print this advertisement for me,” he explained carefully. “I want everybody who takes the newspaper to read it. I got cash money to pay for it too.” He drew a greasy bill from an ancient wallet and waved it proudly before Penny. “Ye see, Miss, I got cash money. I ain’t no moocher.”
Penny hid a smile. Not only did the old man look queer but his conversation was equally quaint. She thought that he must come from an isolated hill community many miles distant.
“I’ll show you the way to the ad department,” she offered, guiding him down the hall. “I see you have your advertisement written out.”
“Yes, Miss.” The old man hobbled along beside her. “My old woman wrote it all down. She was well edijikated before we got hitched.”
Proudly he offered Penny the paper which bore several lines of neatly inscribed script. The advertisement, long and awkwardly worded, offered for sale an old spinning wheel, an ancient loom and a set of wool carders.
“My old woman used to be one o’ the best weavers in Hobostein county,” the old man explained with pride. “She could make a man a pair o’ jeans that’d wear like they had growed to his hide. But they ain’t no call for real weavin’ no more. Everything is cheapened down machine stuff these days.”
“Where is your home?” Penny questioned curiously.
“Me and my old woman was born and raised in the Red River Valley. Ever been there?”
“No, I can’t say I have.”
“It’s one of the purtiest spots God ever made,” the old man said proudly. “You never seen such green pastures, an’ the hills kinda take your breath away. Only at night there’s strange creatures trackin’through the woods, and some says there’s haunts—”
Penny glanced quickly at her companion. “Haunts?” she inquired.
Before the old man could answer they had reached the want-ad counter. An employee of the paper immediately appeared to accept the advertisement. His rapid-fire questions as he counted words and assessed charges, bewildered the old hillman. Penny supplied the answers as best she could. However, in her haste to be finished with the task, she forgot to have the old fellow leave name and address.
“You were saying something about haunts,” she reminded him eagerly as they walked away from the desk. “You don’t really believe in ghosts do you, Mister—”
“Silas Malcom,” the old man supplied. “That’s my name and there ain’t a better one in Hobostein County. So you be interested in haunts?”
“Well, yes, I am,” Penny admitted, her eyes dancing. “I like all types of mystery. Just lead me to it!”
“Well, here’s something that will make your pretty eyes pop.” Chuckling, the old man fumbled in his pocket and produced a worn newspaper clipping. Penny saw that it had been clipped from the Hobostein County Weekly. It read:
“Five hundred dollars reward offered for any information leading to the capture of the Headless Horseman. For particulars see J. Burmaster, Sleepy Hollow.”
“This is a strange advertisement,” Penny commented aloud. “The only Headless Horseman to my knowledge was the famous Galloping Hessian in the story, ‘Legend of Sleepy Hollow.’ But in reality such things can’t exist.”
“Maybe not,” said the old man, “but we got one in the valley just the same. An’ if what folks says is so, that Headless Horseman’s likely to make a heap o’ trouble fer someone before he’s through his hauntin’.”
Penny stared soberly into the twinkling blue eyes of her aged companion. As a character he completely baffled her. Did he mean what he said or was he merely trying to lead her on with hints of mystery? At any rate, the bait was too tempting to resist.
“Tell me more,” she urged. “Exactly what do you know about this advertisement?”
“Nothin’. Nary a thing, Miss. But there’s haunts at Sleepy Hollow and don’t you think there ain’t. I’ve seen ’em myself from Witching Rock.”
“And where is Witching Rock?” Even the words intrigued Penny.
“Jest a place on Humpy Hill lookin’ down over the Valley.”
Finding her companion none too willing to impart additional information, Penny reread the advertisement. The item had appeared in the Hobostein County paper only the previous week. The words themselves rather than the offer of a reward enchanted her.
“Headless Horseman—Witching Rock!” she thought excitedly. “Why, even the names scream of mystery!”
Aloud she urged: “Mr. Malcom, do tell me more about the matter. Who is Mr. Burmaster?”
There was no answer. Penny glanced up from the advertisement and stared in astonishment. The elderly man no longer stood beside her. Not a soul was in the long empty hall. The old man of the hills had vanished as quietly as if spirited away by an unseen hand.
CHAPTER 2
PLANS
“Now what became of that old man?” Penny asked herself in perplexity. “I didn’t hear him steal away. He couldn’t have vanished into thin air! Or did he?”
Thinking that Mr. Malcom might have gone back to the want-ad department, she hastily returned there. To her anxious inquiry, the clerk responded with a grin:
“No, Old Whiskers hasn’t been here. If you find him, ask for his address. He forgot to leave it.”
Decidedly disturbed, Penny ran down the hall which gave exit to the street. Breathlessly she asked the elevator attendant if he had seen an old man leave the building.
The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels Page 108