The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Mildred A. Wirt

  “Since she’s bent upon doing such a thorough job, I suppose I should help,” Penny remarked to her chum. “Finish your supper while I lock the back door.”

  “Don’t forget to set out the milk bottle before you barricade us in,” Susan laughed.

  Penny picked the bottle up from the kitchen table and crossed the porch to place it on the step. It took her so long outside that Susan came to the door to learn what detained her. She was astonished to behold Penny standing as rigid as a statue, her eyes riveted upon the garage door.

  “What’s wrong?” Susan inquired.

  “Didn’t I close that door when I put the car away?” Penny demanded in a low tone.

  “Why, yes, I’m sure you did. The wind must have blown it open.”

  Penny shook her head.

  “The door has a special catch so I know it couldn’t have opened by itself. Susan, I believe someone has sneaked into the garage since we left it!”

  Susan’s eyes dilated with fear. Involuntarily, she took a step backwards, turning toward the kitchen door.

  Penny caught her by the hand.

  “Don’t tell Mrs. Gallup or she’ll go into hysterics. Let’s find out if there really is anyone in the garage before we call the police.”

  At first Susan hung back, but when she found that Penny was determined to investigate the garage alone, she reluctantly followed her chum down the path.

  Cautiously, they peeped into the garage. It appeared to be deserted.

  “I’ll get Dad’s flashlight from the sedan pocket,” Penny whispered.

  She tiptoed across the cement floor. Groping about inside the car she found the light, but before she could turn it on she was startled to hear a slight sound overhead.

  Penny’s heart began to beat a trifle faster. She was almost certain that someone was hiding in the little room above the garage. In former years it had been occupied by a chauffeur whom Mr. Nichols employed, but now that the detective drove his own car it was used only for the storage of a few old boxes and trunks.

  “Don’t you dare go up there!” Susan whispered tensely, sensing the thought in her chum’s mind. “It isn’t safe.”

  “It’s safe enough if you stand guard here at the door,” Penny insisted. “If anything goes wrong scream for Mrs. Gallup.”

  Before Susan could stop her she tiptoed across the cement floor and quietly crept up the stairway leading to the storage room.

  Reaching the top step Penny paused to listen. She could hear no unusual sound, yet a certain intuition warned her that someone was in the room.

  Systematically, she flashed the beam of her light over the walls. Nothing appeared amiss.

  “My imagination is running riot tonight,” she thought in disgust. “There’s no one here.”

  She started toward the stairway, but paused, unable to rid herself of the conviction that all was not as it should be. Then her light chanced to focus for an instant upon an old trunk in one corner of the room. Beside it in a crumpled heap lay an old rug.

  From her father Penny had learned to be an unusually keen observer. She was positive that upon her last visit to the storeroom, the carpet had covered the trunk, protecting it from dust.

  Summoning her courage, she cautiously approached the trunk. She paused to listen again. Distinctly, she could hear the sound of soft breathing.

  Suddenly she flung back the lid. A man cowered inside.

  “Don’t make a move,” Penny warned coolly, blinding him with the light. Protected as she was by the darkness, he could not know that she had no weapon.

  “Don’t shoot!” he pleaded, stepping from the trunk with hands held above his head.

  It was then that Penny observed that her prisoner was a mere boy. He did not appear to be more than a year or two older than herself.

  “March down the stairs in front of me and don’t try any tricks,” she ordered, trying to keep her voice steady.

  She had grown a little frightened at her own daring. It appeared reasonable to suppose that the youth she had captured was the same crook whom the police had warned her against and yet the boy seemed too young to be a hardened criminal.

  Penny decided upon a bold move.

  “Susan, stand guard at the outside door,” she directed.

  As her chum took the position, Penny reached up and switched on the garage light.

  “I have no weapon,” she admitted, knowing that the youth had perceived the fact instantly. “But it will do you no good to try to escape for the police are combing the neighborhood.”

  Her words had the desired effect. Blinking in the unexpected glare of the light, the young fugitive shrank back against the wall, his face twisted by fear.

  “Do they suspect I’m here?” he questioned. “Have they surrounded the district?”

  “I talked with an officer only a few minutes ago,” Penny answered truthfully. “He advised me that our property was being watched.”

  She was studying the boy with increasing interest. He was exceedingly well dressed and while his garments were in need of pressing they fitted him perfectly, disclosing a fine physique. He had broad shoulders and powerful muscles. It struck Penny that he looked more like a football player than a crook. Yet, as she studied his face, she realized that it lacked character.

  “Don’t turn me over to the police,” the boy begged. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Then why were you hiding in my garage?”

  “It’s true the police were chasing me,” he admitted reluctantly, “but they mistook me for someone else.”

  “If you weren’t guilty why did you run?” Penny demanded suspiciously. “Why didn’t you wait and explain?”

  “You can’t explain to a cop,” the boy told her with a scornful curl of his lip. “You see, I have a juvenile court record—it doesn’t amount to much but the police won’t give me a chance. I’ve been trying to go straight, but every move I make they watch me.”

  “Tell me your name.”

  The boy hesitated, then said quietly:

  “Jerry Barrows.”

  “I mean your real name,” Penny smiled.

  A telltale flush crept over the youth’s face, but he threw back his head a trifle defiantly.

  “It is my real name. I’m no thief either. I admit I’ve been in a little trouble before this, but today it wasn’t my fault. Another fellow and myself were standing in a crowd when an old lady let out a holler that someone had picked her pocketbook. The police came running. They spotted me right off. I hadn’t been near the old lady, but she was so excited she was ready to identify anyone. When the cops tried to arrest me on suspicion I took to my heels.”

  “What sort of juvenile court record do you have?” Penny asked.

  “Nothing of consequence. Once I was in a gang that took some apples from a pushcart. It was done in fun, but the judge put me on probation on account of it.”

  Penny occasionally had visited juvenile court sessions and in many respects the stories she had heard there corresponded to Jerry Barrows’ account of his difficulties. Yet in some ways his tale did not ring true. Obviously, he was trying to convey the impression that he had never had a chance and yet he wore expensive clothing. She suspected too that he had been educated in a school fully as good as the one she attended.

  “I am sorry, but I must turn you over to the police,” she told him. “I don’t believe your story. It doesn’t hang together.”

  A strange change came over the boy’s face. The last trace of arrogance left him as he turned pleading eyes upon the two girls.

  “I lied about my name,” he admitted, “but I did it because I want to protect my mother. If she learns that I am in trouble again it will kill her. Please, won’t you let me go free?”

  Even as the boy spoke, his eyes were roving to the door. It would not be difficult for him to overpower the two girls and escape if he really chose.

  “If I should let you go will you promise not to get into any more trouble?” Penny asked suddenly. />
  The boy nodded.

  “I’ll find a job and keep straight.”

  “Would you really work if you had a position?” Penny questioned.

  “Would I? Just try me!”

  “Then I’m going to turn you loose,” she decided. “Come to my father’s office tomorrow at nine o’clock. I’ll ask him to help you find a position.”

  “Where is his office?” the boy inquired.

  “In room 305 of the Leader building. You’ll see his name on the door. Christopher Nichols.”

  “Nichols, the detective?” the boy questioned uneasily.

  “Yes, but you needn’t be afraid he’ll turn you over to the police. Wait now, and I’ll see if the coast is clear.”

  Opening the garage door a tiny crack, Penny peered out. As she had expected there were no officers lingering about the neighborhood.

  “It’s safe to leave,” she informed.

  He started away, then paused and offered his hand to Penny.

  “Thanks for giving me a break,” he told her gratefully. “I really meant what I said about going straight.”

  With that he darted through the open door and was lost in the night.

  CHAPTER III

  An Impulsive Act

  “I don’t know why I let him escape,” Penny said self-accusingly as she closed the garage doors. “I simply did it on the impulse of the moment.”

  “One couldn’t help liking the boy,” Susan declared optimistically. “Do you suppose he’ll keep his promise and come to see your father?”

  “If he doesn’t I’ll know I made a silly mistake. I hope they can’t put me in jail for permitting criminals to escape!”

  “You might look very well in stripes,” Susan teased. “They would never become me because I’m too plump.”

  Penny was in no mood to respond to the attempted banter.

  “I wonder what Dad will say when he learns about it,” she mused uncomfortably.

  She did not have long to speculate for as the girls turned toward the house Mr. Nichols came down the walk.

  “I can’t get in at the front door,” he complained good naturedly. “Has Mrs. Gallup locked up the place for the summer?”

  Penny explained what had happened but as she repeated Jerry Barrows’ story it sounded flat and a trifle ridiculous. She was not surprised that her father listened incredulously.

  “Why were the police searching for the boy?” he questioned.

  “I didn’t learn,” Penny confessed. “I have only the boy’s word.”

  “And yet you expect me to find him a job?” Mr. Nichols demanded gruffly. “If he ever shows up—which he won’t—I’ll turn him over to the authorities.”

  “Oh, Dad, you wouldn’t, not after I gave my promise that you’d help him!”

  “Why should I assist you in thwarting justice?” Mr. Nichols questioned severely. Penny could not see that his eyes were twinkling. “Are you trying to ruin my reputation as a detective?”

  “I didn’t mean to do anything that might embarrass you, only I couldn’t bear the thought of turning the boy over to the police. He was so young.”

  “I was only teasing,” Mr. Nichols told her kindly. “If the boy does come to my office I’ll have a talk with him.”

  “But you don’t really think he’ll come?”

  “I have no way of knowing, Penny. I must admit I’ll be rather surprised if he appears.”

  Penny relapsed into moody silence as she walked toward the house with Mr. Nichols and her chum. She had begun to regret her hasty action.

  “I left your roadster at a downtown garage,” Mr. Nichols commented, switching to a different subject. “I notified the police that the wheels had been stolen but I did not have time to see the insurance company. I can attend to it in the morning unless you care to do it yourself.”

  “I may as well,” Penny agreed listlessly.

  She was feeling very gloomy indeed. Although her father had refrained from blaming her, she knew that he was amused if not annoyed at her behavior. Above all else, she coveted his admiration.

  “Cheer up,” he said lightly as the three entered the house. “What if you did make a slight blunder? All detectives must learn by experience.”

  “A fine detective I’d make!” Penny sniffed. “I fail at the very first test. I’m just soft hearted I guess.”

  “Part of the blame should fall on me,” Susan declared. “Jerry Barrows didn’t seem in the least like a criminal, Mr. Nichols. I was impressed with his story too.”

  “I feel sure he must have been a very persuasive talker,” the detective smiled. “However, I don’t consider that either of you committed any great crime in permitting the boy to escape so I shouldn’t worry about it now that the deed is done.”

  Mr. Nichols regarded the incident as closed, but Mrs. Gallup had heard enough of the conversation to surmise a little of what had happened. In response to her questions, the girls were forced to relate the entire story.

  “Penelope Nichols, I never thought you’d do such a silly, foolhardy thing!” the housekeeper said severely. She felt it her privilege to be outspoken for she regarded the girl almost as a daughter. “Why, that young criminal might have killed you! And to think you let him get away without even making an effort to call the police!”

  “I’m sorry about it now, Mrs. Gallup, but I thought I was acting for the best. Please, let’s not talk about it any more this evening.”

  The subject had grown very painful to both Susan and Penny. They interested themselves in backgammon and as soon as they could do so gracefully, went to their bedroom.

  “I’ll never hear the last of it unless that boy shows up at father’s office tomorrow,” Penny groaned as she tumbled into bed. “I feel positively ill over the affair.”

  At breakfast the next morning she was her usual cheerful self. She even dared to hope that Jerry Barrows would keep his promise.

  “You’ll be at your office all morning, won’t you, Dad?” she questioned anxiously.

  “All morning,” he repeated, smiling quizzically at her over his newspaper. “If your young friend calls upon me I’ll telephone you.”

  Directly after breakfast Susan insisted that she must return home as her mother would be expecting her.

  “I’ll walk along with you,” Penny offered. “I promised Father I’d stop at the insurance office this morning.”

  At the Altman residence the girls parted. Penny continued downtown alone. Mr. Nichols had furnished her with the address of the Reliance Insurance Company and she experienced no difficulty in locating the office.

  After stating her mission she was ushered immediately into the presence of a portly gentleman who adjusted insurance claims. She was not surprised to learn that her name already was known to him.

  “So you are Christopher Nichols’ daughter?” the man remarked with interest. “We think very highly of your father here. In fact, his work has so impressed us that we have engaged him to assist us in stamping out this gang of auto accessory thieves. But of course you already know that.”

  “My father did mention something about it,” Penny murmured.

  “Of late the gang has been extending its activities,” the adjuster went on, warming to his subject. “Why, last night alone, over thirty thefts of car wheels were reported to the police.”

  “Thirty!” Penny gasped. “And I imagined I was the only one to have such bad luck.”

  “Quite the contrary. You merely chanced to be one of the victims of a systematic combing of the city. Nearly all of the wheels were taken in a relatively small downtown area. Now, in all probability there will be a lull in the activities for a few weeks. Then the gang will make another large haul.”

  “But when the wheels are taken in such numbers I should think it would be easy to trace them,” Penny ventured.

  The adjuster shook his head.

  “For the most part the wheels are trucked to other cities for disposal. The serial numbers are altered and the stolen goo
ds is sold and distributed to dishonest dealers almost before the authorities are aware of the thefts. The police have been unable to cope with the situation.” The adjuster smiled broadly, adding: “Now that your father is on the case, we’re expecting a little action.”

  “I’m sure he’ll provide it,” Penny declared loyally.

  The adjuster reached for a form book, and after asking a few routine questions concerning the stolen wheels, wrote out an order which permitted her to have them replaced free of charge at the garage where her roadster had been towed. Penny thanked him for the prompt service and left the office.

  Since she was eager to have her car in operating condition with the least possible delay, she carried the order directly to the Hamilton garage. A courteous attendant promised that he would have the roadster equipped and ready for the road within a few minutes.

  “You’ll need a new standard for the spare too,” he advised as she stood viewing the crippled car. “When the wheel was stolen, the thief didn’t bother to take it off. Instead he cut the standard with some sharp instrument. Probably with a little hand power saw.”

  “Isn’t that a new method?” Penny inquired with interest, walking around the car to view the severed pieces of metal.

  “We’re getting quite a few cars in here that way,” the attendant returned as he unbolted the ruined tire standard and tossed it into a corner.

  While the man fastened a new wheel upon the rack, Penny went over and curiously picked up the discarded scraps of metal. She noted the jagged marks which the saw had left.

  “I wonder if Dad might not make use of this,” she thought. “I’ll take it along anyway.”

  Somewhat to the amusement of the garage man, she carefully placed the pieces of steel in the rear compartment of the car.

  Penny had heard her father remark that many times it was possible to trace a crook by the tools he used. Once Mr. Nichols had apprehended a kidnapper by means of a ransom note which had been written upon a typewriter with a characteristic imprint. Penny hoped that the scraps of metal might upon scientific analysis disclose the type of instrument which had been employed by the thief to sever the tire standard.