The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels (73 page)

“No,” agreed Penny, her eyebrows knitting in a frown, “it would lead to legal trouble.”

Deciding that nothing more could be learned by waiting, the girls returned to the parked car. Motoring toward Louise’s home, they discussed various angles of the baffling case. Confronting them always was the fact that Peter Fenestra’s reputation in Riverview was excellent, while Anchor Joe and John Munn appeared to be persons of questionable character.

“You never learned why Joe was wanted by the authorities?” Louise inquired, alighting at her doorstep.

“No, I haven’t seen Mr. Moyer since that day at the cottage. I’m reasonably sure Joe is still at liberty.”

“He may be the one at the bottom of all the trouble,” declared Louise. “We tend to suspect Fenestra of evil doing because we dislike him so heartily.”

“That’s so, Lou. The best way is to have no opinions and wait for facts. But waiting wears me to a frazzle!”

After parting from her chum, Penny did not drive home. Instead, she turned into Drexel Boulevard, and presently was ringing the doorbell of the Judson home.

The door was opened by Matthew Judson. Penny had not expected to meet the former publisher. Somewhat confusedly she inquired for Pauletta.

“My daughter isn’t here now,” replied Mr. Judson. “I expect her home within a few minutes. Won’t you wait?”

“No, thank you,” Penny declined. “I’ll drop in some other time.”

“I wish you would stay,” urged Mr. Judson. “I find an empty house so depressing.”

Penny hesitated, and then followed the former publisher to the living room. Mr. Judson had been reading the newspaper. He swept it from a chair so that the girl could sit opposite him.

“Tell me how you are getting on with your newspaper,” he urged in a friendly tone.

Penny talked entertainingly, relating the various difficulties which beset a young publisher.

“I’ve even received threatening notes,” she revealed. “Or rather, one. I think it was left on my desk by a man named Peter Fenestra.”

“Fenestra?” Mr. Judson’s face darkened.

“Yes,” answered Penny, watching the publisher attentively. “Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation. He’s a scoundrel!” His voice grew quite intense.

“Can you tell me anything definite against him?”

“No—no, I can’t. I only advise you to have nothing whatsoever to do with him.”

The telephone rang and Mr. Judson arose to answer it. During his absence, Penny thought swiftly. Dared she mention the clipping which she had found in the publisher’s desk? She did not wish to antagonize him, yet there were many questions she longed to ask.

Mr. Judson presently returned. Penny decided to risk his anger.

Casually she introduced the subject by mentioning that she was using Mr. Judson’s former office and desk as her own.

“Yesterday I came upon a clipping caught beneath the lower drawer,” she said quietly. “It concerned a man named Matthew Jewel. He bore a striking resemblance to you.”

The publisher raised his eyes to stare intently at Penny. His hands gripped the chair arms so hard that the knuckles became a bluish-white. Splotches of red appeared on his forehead.

“Matthew Jewel?” he murmured at last.

“Yes, Mr. Judson, but you have nothing to fear from me. I shall not expose you.”

“Then you know?”

“The likeness was unmistakable. I read the clipping, too.”

The publisher arose, nervously walking to the fireplace. His hands trembled as he fingered an ornament on the shelf.

“I searched everywhere for that clipping when I cleaned out my desk,” he mumbled. “I’ve gone through every imaginable torture fearing it would be found. And now I am to be exposed!”

“But I assure you I have no intention of telling anyone,” said Penny earnestly. “Your past is your own.”

“A man’s past never is his own,” responded Mr. Judson bitterly.

“I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I hoped I might be able to help you.”

“You haven’t told Pauletta?”

“No, nor any other person.”

Mr. Judson’s tenseness relaxed slightly. He paced across the room and back, then faced Penny.

“All my life,” he said very quietly, “I have tried to spare Pauletta the knowledge that her father was—a convict. I haven’t much to offer, but I’ll give anything within reason to keep the story out of the paper.”

“You don’t understand,” interrupted Penny. “I have no intention of printing the information, or of telling anyone. I want nothing from you. But I do wish you would tell me the true story. I am sure there were extenuating circumstances.”

Mr. Judson sagged into an armchair. “None,” he said. “None whatsoever. I used money which did not belong to me. My wife was desperately sick at the time and I wanted her to have the care of specialists. She died while I was serving my sentence.”

“Why, you did have a reason for taking the money,” said Penny kindly. “You should have been granted a pardon.”

“A theft is a theft. When I left prison, I made a new start here, and devoted myself to Pauletta who was then a little girl.”

“How old was she?” inquired Penny.

Mr. Judson gave no indication that he heard the question. He resumed:

“The truth had been kept from Pauletta. She believes that I was abroad during those years I spent in prison. Here in Riverview I prospered, people were kind to me. I made money and made it honestly. The future was very bright until a year ago.”

“Then you gave up your newspaper,” commented Penny. “Why?”

“Can’t you guess?”

“Blackmail?”

Mr. Judson nodded. “One day a man came to me, a man I had known in prison. He threatened to expose me unless I paid him a large sum of money.”

“And you agreed?”

“I did.”

“Wasn’t that rather foolish? People would have been charitable if you had admitted the truth.”

“I considered it from every angle, particularly from Pauletta’s standpoint. I gave the man what he asked, although it cost me the
Morning Press
. But that was not the end.”

“He still bothers you?”

“Yes, I’ll pay as long as I have a penny. I’ve thought of taking Pauletta and going away, but he would trace me.”

“Who is the man, Mr. Judson?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Is it either Anchor Joe Landa or Peter Fenestra?”

Mr. Judson’s face did not alter. “I can’t tell you,” he repeated.

“I wish you would talk to Dad,” Penny said after a moment. “He might be able to help you.”

“No,” returned Mr. Judson, growing agitated again,“you gave your promise that you would not tell.”

“Of course, I’ll keep it,” responded Penny. “It does seem to me, though, that the easiest thing would be to admit the truth and be rid of the man who robs you. Pauletta would understand.”

Mr. Judson shook his head. “I have made my decision,” he said. “As long as I can, I shall abide by it.”

There was nothing Penny could do but bid Mr. Judson good evening and leave the house. His secret troubled her. If he had told her the entire truth, it seemed very foolish of him to meet the demands of a blackmailer.

“I wonder if Mr. Judson did tell me everything?” she mused. “I had a feeling that he was keeping something back.”

The car rolled into the driveway of the Parker home. As Penny jumped out to open the garage doors, a man, who had been sitting on the back doorstep, arose. His face was hidden, but she knew it was not her father.

“Who is it?” she called uneasily.

The voice was reassuring. “It’s Horney, Miss Penny. I’ve been waitin’ for you.”

“What brings you here?” she asked, hurrying to meet him. “I hope nothing bad has happened at the
Times
.”

“Everything’s fine there. I’ve got a letter I thought you would want to see right away. Found it tonight when I was sweeping up. It answers a lot of questions you’ve been askin’.”

Penny took the paper from Old Horney’s gnarled hand. “Not about Matthew Judson?” she asked.

“Read it and you’ll see,” encouraged the pressman. “Judson was blackmailed just as I always thought. And by the man who signed this letter.”

CHAPTER 23

PENNY’S PLIGHT

It was too dark for Penny to read the letter. Stepping to the car, she switched on the headlights and held the paper in its brilliant beam.

The letter read:

Dear Matthew:

Sorry to bother you again, Old Pal, but I know you’re always willing to give an old buddy and cellmate a helping hand. I don’t want to tip off the New York cops where you are, and you can trust me to keep mum if you come through with another six thousand. This is my last request.

Peter F.

“Peter Fenestra!” exclaimed Penny. “And it’s no surprise either! Horney, where did you find this letter?”

“It was in a pile of rubbish down in the basement. I don’t know how it got there.”

“Peter Fenestra has a habit of leaving notes on Mr. Judson’s desk,” declared Penny. “This one may have blown off and been swept out without the publisher seeing it!”

“Don’t you figure it’s a blackmail attempt?”

“Of course it is, Horney. You’ve not shown the letter to anyone?”

“Only to you. From the threat I dope it out that Judson was sent to prison years ago, and he’s still wanted.”

Penny nodded as she placed the letter in her pocketbook. His guess was a shrewd one, but she could tell him nothing without breaking her promise to Mr. Judson.

“Horney,” she said, “a great deal hinges upon this letter. You’ll not tell anyone what you’ve learned?”

“Oh, I’ll keep it to myself. I’m not one to get Judson into trouble. He’s had enough of it already.”

Penny noticed that her father’s car was not in the garage. She reasoned that since he had not come home he must be working late at the
Star
office as he frequently did.

“Jump in, Horney,” she invited, swinging wide the car door. “I’m going downtown to find Dad. I’ll give you a ride.”

She was grateful that the pressman had little to say as they sped through dimly lighted residential streets.

How much he suspected she could only guess. But the letter had made it clear to her that the former publisher never had completed his prison sentence.

“That was why he didn’t answer me when I asked about Pauletta’s age!” she thought. “He must have escaped from prison soon after he was sent there!”

No longer did Penny wonder why Mr. Judson had not refused Peter Fenestra’s repeated demands for money. Obviously he had feared a far worse fate than exposure—return to the New York state prison.

The car turned into the deserted
Star
loading dock. Few lights were visible in the building, for the day staff had gone home and only the scrub women were at work. Penny could not see the windows of her father’s office from the street. Nor did she observe a man who slouched against a wall, not far from where the car had stopped.

Old Horney stepped from the running board, thanking Penny for the ride.

“Guess I’ll amble up the street and get a cup of coffee.”

“You’ll be sure not to mention the letter?” Penny reminded him.

“I won’t tell a soul. You know, I was thinkin’ about it as we rode downtown. Peter Fenestra came into the office a couple of times just before Judson closed the plant. He was a dirty blackmailer, all right! Wouldn’t that letter I gave you be enough to send him up?”

“I should think so, Horney. But the problem is how to take care of him without ruining Mr. Judson.”

“Better show the letter to your father,” advised the pressman. “Maybe he’ll have some ideas.”

Tipping his hat, Old Horney moved briskly away.

Penny entered the rear vestibule, speaking to three scrub women who were locking up their cleaning equipment before leaving the building. Not even the elevator man was on duty, so she climbed the stairs. Switching on a light in the newsroom, she passed through it to her father’s office.

The room was dark.

“Not here,” thought Penny. “I was afraid of it.”

Deciding to telephone home, she entered one of the glass enclosed booths at the end of the newsroom. As she lifted the receiver, a voice from behind her said distinctly:

“Put that down!”

Startled, Penny whirled around. Peter Fenestra stood in the doorway of the booth.

“Come out of there!” he ordered harshly.

Penny obeyed with alacrity as she tried to gather her wits. The building was practically deserted, and Fenestra took care to stand between her and the outside door.

“What do you want here?” she demanded coldly.

“The letter.”

Penny stared at him blankly. Her astonishment was genuine.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Fenestra said harshly. “I want the letter you and that old man were talking about.”