The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels (65 page)

Penny read the message three times. Obviously, it had been placed on her desk during the few minutes she had been absent. Yet she reasoned that it would be useless to search for the cowardly person who undoubtedly had slipped from the building.

“So I am warned to close shop!” she muttered angrily. “And the
Weekly Times
offends public taste!”

Penny crumpled the paper into a ball, hurling it toward the wire basket. Reconsidering her action, she recovered the note and, carefully smoothing the wrinkles, placed it in her purse.

“I’ll show this to Dad,” she told herself. “But no one else.”

When Penny’s anger had cooled she was left with a vague sensation of misgiving. Resolutely she reflected that it was not unusual for editors to receive threatening notes. Often her father had shown her such communications sent to the
Star
by cranks.

“It doesn’t mean a thing,” she assured herself. “Not a thing. I’ll keep on publishing the
Weekly
as long as I please.”

One fact contributed to Penny’s uneasiness. Often she worked late in the building, and a single light burning from an upper story window proclaimed to any street watcher that she was alone. In the future she must use far more caution.

Try as she would, Penny could not forget the warning. After the boys who comprised the advertising staff had gone home for dinner, she caught herself listening tensely to every unusual sound. At length she shut the desk and arose.

“I’m doing no good here,” she thought in disgust. “I may as well go home.”

Taking particular care to lock all doors and windows, Penny left the building. Street lights were blinking on as she climbed into the parked automobile.

Driving mechanically, she weaved through downtown traffic, now and then halting for a red light. As she was starting ahead from an intersection, an elderly man suddenly stepped from the curb. His gaze was upon the pavement, and he did not see the car.

Penny swerved the wheel and slammed on the foot brake. The edge of the fender brushed the man’s overcoat. He gasped in astonishment and staggered backwards.

Penny brought the car to a standstill at the curb.

“You’re not hurt?” she called anxiously.

“No—no,” the man murmured in a bewildered way.

As he turned his face toward her, Penny recognized Matthew Judson, the former publisher of the
Morning Press
. Calling him by name, she invited him into the car.

“Let me take you home, or wherever you are going,” she urged. “You don’t look well, Mr. Judson. I am afraid I frightened you.”

“It was my fault,” admitted the old gentleman, staring at Penny. “I—I was thinking about something when I stepped from the curb.”

“This is a dangerous intersection. Please, Mr. Judson, can’t I take you home?”

“If you insist,” he murmured, entering the car. “You seem to know my name, but I haven’t the pleasure of your acquaintance.”

“I’m Penny Parker. My father publishes the
Star
.”

“Oh, yes.” Mr. Judson’s voice became spiritless.

“Your home is on Drexel Boulevard, I believe?”Penny inquired.

Matthew Judson nodded and in the same dull, lifeless voice supplied the address. He made no attempt at conversation.

As she stole occasional glimpses at the man, Penny thought that his face bore lines of mental fatigue and discouragement. He stared straight ahead with glazed, unseeing eyes.

Hoping to start a conversation, she presently remarked that she was the managing editor of the
Weekly Times
. For the first time Matthew Judson displayed interest.

“Oh, are you the girl who has taken over my building?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Veeley allows me the use of it rent free. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Mind?” repeated Mr. Judson, laughing mirthlessly. “Why should I?”

“Well, I thought—that is—” Penny began to stammer.

“You thought that because I gave up my own paper I might not wish to see the building used by another?”

“Something like that,” admitted Penny.

“I try not to think about the past,” said Mr. Judson quietly. “Long ago I made my decision, and now must abide by it. I realize that I never can publish the
Press
again. I’m broken, beaten!”

The old man spoke with such bitterness that Penny glanced quickly at him. There was an expression in his dark eyes which startled her.

“Surely one can’t be defeated as long as he’s willing to fight,” she ventured. “Why, if you chose to make a come-back, I’m certain you would succeed.”

Mr. Judson shook his head impatiently. “You don’t understand. I am through—finished. All I can hope to do is to hold fast to what little I have, and try to protect Pauletta.”

“Pauletta is your wife?” Penny inquired kindly.

“My daughter. If it weren’t for her—” Mr. Judson hesitated, then finished in a voice quite casual: “If it weren’t for her, I probably would end it all.”

Penny was shocked.

“Why, Mr. Judson!” she protested. “You can’t mean that!”

“Don’t be alarmed,” he said, smiling faintly. “I have no intention of taking the easy way out.”

A dozen questions flashed through Penny’s mind, but she was afraid to ask any of them. From Mr. Judson’s remarks it was fairly evident that he never had relinquished the
Press
voluntarily. Could financial difficulties alone account for his state of mental depression?

In the darkening twilight the car approached a white-painted brick house, set back some distance from the boulevard. Once an elegant dwelling, peeling paint had made it an unsightly residence. Roof shingles were curling, the front porch sagged, while an iron fence only partially hid a wide expanse of untended lawn.

“This is my home,” said Mr. Judson. “Turn into the driveway if you wish.”

Penny stopped the car just inside the iron gate.

As Mr. Judson alighted, a girl who appeared to be in her early twenties, arose from a bench. A white collie at her side, she came toward the car. Midway across the lawn, she paused, staring. Then, she half turned as if to retreat.

“Pauletta,” called Mr. Judson. “Will you come here, please?”

Reluctantly the girl approached the car, her gaze meeting Penny’s almost defiantly. Pauletta was a beautiful girl with auburn hair and steel-blue eyes.

“Pauletta, this is Miss Parker,” said her father.

“How do you do,” responded the girl coldly.

The instant Penny heard the voice she knew where she previously had seen Mr. Judson’s daughter—on the steamer
Goodtime
! Pauletta was the girl who had tossed a wig and clothing into the river.

“How do you do, Miss Judson,” she responded. “Haven’t we met before?”

Pauletta kept her face averted from her father. She met Penny’s gaze with a bold stare.

“I think not,” she said evenly. “No, Miss Parker, you are mistaken.”

CHAPTER 12

OLD HORNEY

Penny made no reply to Pauletta and the silence became unbearable.

“Won’t you stay for a few minutes?” Mr. Judson invited. “Pauletta, why not show Miss Parker our rose garden?”

“It’s rather dark,” his daughter replied. “Anyway, she wouldn’t care to see it.”

“Indeed, I should,” contradicted Penny. Deliberately she switched off the car ignition.

Pauletta glared at her, but dared make no protest in her father’s presence. With a shrug she led Penny along a gravel path to the rear of the house. Mr. Judson remained behind.

As soon as they were beyond hearing, Penny said quietly:

“Need we pretend? I am sure you recall that we met aboard the
Goodtime
.”

“Yes, I remember now,” admitted Pauletta coldly. “You were with another girl.”

“And you were accompanied by a young man.”

“A friend of mine.”

“This may be something of a shock,” said Penny,“but my chum and I saw you drop a bundle containing a wig into the river.”

“Oh!”

“The bundle caught fast and I fished it out.”

“You have no proof it was mine! You—you won’t tell Father?”

“Not if you can offer a good reason why I shouldn’t.”

“There are any number of them. You mustn’t tell my father! That’s why I pretended not to know you.”

“I certainly wish you would explain. Tillie Fellows was robbed that night.”

“Who is Tillie Fellows?”

“One of the excursionists. Her pocketbook was taken shortly before the boat docked.”

“You can’t believe I had anything to do with it!”

“I don’t wish to think so, but your actions were very strange.”

“I can explain everything,” Pauletta said hurriedly. “My reason for wearing a disguise was a simple one. I didn’t care to have anyone on the boat recognize me.”

“Why, may I ask?”

Before Pauletta could answer, Mr. Judson came around the corner of the house.

“Please say nothing about it to Father,” the young woman pleaded in a whisper. “I’ll explain everything later.”

Penny nodded, and for Mr. Judson’s benefit, offered a few remarks about the roses.

“We once had a beautiful garden,” commented Pauletta. “Now it’s in ruin, the same as the yard. Father doesn’t look after the place as he should.”

“The grounds are large,” replied Mr. Judson mildly.

“You shouldn’t try to do the work yourself,” Pauletta protested. “It was foolish of you to let the gardener go.”

Penny felt increasingly ill at ease. As they wandered about the grounds, Pauletta kept making disparaging remarks, thoughtless comments which wounded her father. However, he offered no rebuttal, nor did he reprove his daughter.

“I really must be going,” said Penny at last. “It’s getting very dark.”

Mr. Judson walked with her to the car, closing the gate after she had driven from the grounds. He stood there a moment, the wind rumpling his gray hair. Then he raised his hand in friendly salute and turned toward the house.

“Poor Mr. Judson,” she thought. “So discouraged and yet so gallant! How can Pauletta be completely blind to his suffering? Doesn’t she realize?”

Penny did not regret having kept the young woman’s secret, for she felt that the revelation of their meeting would only add to Mr. Judson’s troubles. Pauletta represented his entire life, and if it developed that she had acted unbecomingly, the shock might be a severe one.

“I can’t believe that Pauletta would steal,” she told herself. “She must have had another reason for wearing the disguise.”

Penny was satisfied that if Mr. Judson had not interrupted, the young woman would have explained her puzzling actions. Therefore, she was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. She made up her mind that she would return as soon as she could to talk privately with Pauletta.

The Parker house was dark and deserted when Penny let herself in with a key. Her father had not expected her home so early and, disliking an empty house, had remained away. There was no telling where he had gone.

After preparing a belated dinner for herself, Penny spent an hour with her studies. However, her mind kept reverting to the events of the day. A great deal had happened. Her meeting with Peter Fenestra had been interesting. Anchor Joe’s mishap worried her, and she remained disturbed by the threatening message left on her desk.

“Could it have been written by a prowler in the building?” she mused. “Ever since we started the paper I’ve felt that someone was hiding there. It may be a scheme to get me away.”

Before dropping off to sleep Penny made up her mind that the following night she would set a trap for the intruder. Taking Louise into her confidence, she made careful plans. Preparing a tasty lunch, the girls wrapped and laid it conspicuously on the counter of the downstairs advertising room.

“Now the stage is set,” declared Penny. “Louise, you go upstairs to my office and tap on the typewriter. I’ll hide here and see what happens.”

After Louise had gone, Penny secreted herself in a storage closet not far from the counter. By leaving the door open she could see fairly well in the dark room for street lights cast a reflection through the plate glass windows.

The minutes stretched into a half hour. Louise’s typewriting, at first very energetic, began to slacken in speed. Penny moved restlessly in the cramped quarters. She had not imagined that waiting could be so tedious.

An hour elapsed. Far down the street a clock struck ten times.

With a weary sigh Penny arose from the floor. Inactivity bored her, and she no longer could sit quietly and wait.

As she started from her hiding place, intending to call Louise, a door opened at the west end of the room. Instantly Penny froze against the wall, waiting.