The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

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.”

  “Oh!” Light broke upon Penny. “So you heard our conversation! You were listening!”

  “I happened to be standing in the loading dock. I know you have the letter. Hand it over.”

  Penny backed a few steps away toward her father’s office. “So you admit you wrote it?” she challenged.

  “I admit nothing. But I want that letter.”

  “You’ll not get it,” Penny defied him. “Peter Fenestra, you were the one who put that warning note on my desk a few days ago! And I know why, too! You were afraid I’d learn too much about the octopus tattoo. Well, I’ve learned plenty!”

  Fenestra’s face became contorted with rage. He choked, “You’ve been down in the cave!” and started toward Penny.

  Thoroughly frightened, she eluded his grasp. Running into her father’s office, she slammed the door. Bracing her body against it, she managed to turn the key before Fenestra could force it open.

  “Come out of there!” he shouted furiously. “Come out, I say!”

  “And I say I won’t!” retorted Penny. “Just try to get in!”

  She pushed her father’s heavy desk across the room, placing it in front of the door.

  Fenestra rattled the handle several times, and threw his body against the panel once or twice. Then she heard footsteps as he walked away.

  “That’s only a trick to get me to come out,” thought Penny. “I won’t be stupid enough to fall into his trap. I’ll stay right here.”

  Walking to the window, she gazed down. Cars were passing along the street. If she shouted for help someone might hear her. However, to explain her predicament would be rather awkward.

  Penny’s gaze fell upon the telephone which had fallen from the desk to the floor. Picking it up, she dialed the number of her own house. Mrs. Weems answered.

  “Hello,” said Penny cheerfully, “Dad hasn’t come home yet by any chance?”

  “He’s just now driving into the garage,” the housekeeper replied. “I’ll call him.”

  A moment later Penny heard her father’s voice at the other end of the wire.

  “Dad,” she said, “I’m down at your office, sitting behind some barbed wire entanglements. I wish you’d get a policeman and see what you can do about rescuing me.”

  “Is this one of your jokes?” Mr. Par
ker demanded.

  Fearful that her father would hang up the receiver, Penny talked fast and to the point. Mr. Parker assured her he would come without a moment’s delay.

  “I guess that will teach Peter Fenestra not to get funny with me!” she congratulated herself. “It pays to do a little thinking. Fenestra will be arrested, and then I’ll drive out and learn what he hides in his cave.”

  Penny sniffed the air. She could smell smoke, and she thought it must be coming from a cigarette. Evidently Fenestra had stolen to the door and was patiently waiting for her to emerge.

  “He’ll have a long wait,” she chuckled.

  Gradually her elation died. The odor of smoke had grown stronger. She saw a wisp of it filter beneath the door crack. Penny’s heart caught in her throat. Tensely she listened. Was it imagination or could she hear the crackle of flames?

  “Fenestra may be burning the papers of a scrap basket just to smoke me out,” she thought. “Probably that’s just what he’s doing.”

  Pulling the heavy desk away from the door, she stood with her ear against the panel. Distinctly she could hear the crackle of flames. The wood felt warm to her cheek.

  Suddenly Penny was afraid. Frantically she turned the key in the lock.

  The door swung outward to the pressure of her shoulder. A wave of heat rushed in.

  Penny staggered backward, horrified by the sight which met her eyes. At the end of the newsroom, where the exit should have been, rose a towering barrier of flames.

  CHAPTER 24

  A BARRIER OF FLAMES

  Escape through the newsroom was cut off. Panic seized Penny, but only for an instant. Retreating, she telephoned the fire department. Then finding a chemical extinguisher, she began fighting the flames.

  Black, rolling smoke billowed into her face, choking and blinding her. The heat drove her back.

  From far down the street came the wail of a siren. Penny rushed to a window. A pumper and a hook-and-ladder truck swung around the corner, lurching to a stop.

  Raising the sash, she stepped out onto the ledge, waving to the men below.

  “Stay where you are!” shouted a fireman. “We’ll get you!”

  A ladder shot up, but Penny did not wait to be carried to safety. Before a fireman could mount, she scrambled down with the agility of a monkey.

  “The fire started in the newsroom,” she gasped. “But it’s already spread into the composing department.”

  “Anyone else in the building?”

  “I don’t think so. There were three scrub women, but they’re probably out now.”

  Lines of hose were stretched to the hydrants, and streams of water began to play on the flames. A crowd, following in the wake of the fire engines, was ordered back by the police. One young man broke through, darting to Penny’s side.

  “Jerry!” she exclaimed.

  “Gosh, how did it start?” he demanded. “Why, Penny, your hair is singed!”

  “I was in it,” she said briefly. “I can’t explain now, but the fire was started by Peter Fenestra.”

  “On purpose?”

  “I don’t know about that. He was smoking a cigarette.”

  “Have you told the police?”

  “Not yet. I’m waiting for Dad.”

  A car inched through the crowd, stopping a few yards away. Mr. Parker leaped out and ran toward the burning building. He was stopped at the entrance by a fireman.

  “Let me in there!” the publisher shouted, trying to free himself. “My daughter’s inside!”

  “No, here I am, Dad!” Penny cried, grasping his hand.

  Mr. Parker said no word, but he pulled her to him in a rough embrace. The next moment he was trying once more to enter the building, intending to save important papers.

  “Take it easy, Parker,” advised the fireman, barring the door with his hose. “The smoke’s bad in there.”

  “Will the building go?”

  “We’ll save most of it,” the fireman assured him confidently.

  Penny plucked at her father’s sleeve. “Dad, oughtn’t the police be sent after Peter Fenestra? He’s responsible for this, and a lot of other things, too!”

  “You mean Fenestra set the fire?”

  Above the roar of flames, Penny tersely disclosed how the man had compelled her to take refuge in the inner office room. Jerry also heard the story, and when she had finished, he said to Mr. Parker:

  “Chief, let me take a couple of policemen and nail that fellow! Maybe we can arrest him at the farm before he makes a get-away.”

  “Go ahead,” urged Mr. Parker.

  “I’m going along,” declared Penny, and darted away before her father could stop her.

  Twenty minutes later, with a police cruiser dispatched to Fenestra’s place, she and Jerry drove there in Mr. Parker’s car. Parking some distance down the road, they walked cautiously toward the farmhouse which loomed dark against the sky. No lights burned in the windows. The grounds appeared deserted.

  “Looks as if Fenestra isn’t here,” observed Jerry. “No use waiting for the police.”

  Boldly going to the front door he pounded on it, ordering in a loud voice: “Open up!”

  “He’s not here,” said Penny after a moment. “Unless perhaps he’s hiding.”

  “The place looks deserted to me.”

  Penny glanced toward the storm cave, remembering that she had the key to the padlock in her pocket. Jerry read her thought, and followed as she went quickly toward the mound.

  “It’s locked,” he said, indicating the padlock.

  “Here’s the key.” Eagerly Penny offered it to Jerry. “I’m sure this must be the one.”

  The reporter gave her a flashlight to hold while he tried to fit the key into the lock.

  “It’s no go, Penny.”

  “But I was so sure, Jerry.” She stooped to examine the padlock. “Well, no wonder! It’s been changed.”

  “Then we’re out of luck until the police get here.”

  “Isn’t there any way we can open it ourselves?”

  “Maybe I can break it.”

  “There should be tools in the barn, Jerry.”

  “I’ll see what I can find.”

  Leaving Penny, the reporter disappeared in the direction of the barn. Extinguishing the flashlight, she patiently waited.

  Suddenly she was startled to hear running footsteps. Barely had she crouched behind the storm cave before a man emerged from among the pine trees adjoining the road. It was Peter Fenestra and he was breathing hard.

  Straight toward the cave he ran. Pausing at the slanting door, he peered quickly about, and then fumbled with the padlock. In desperate haste he jerked it loose, swung back the hinged door, and descended the stone steps.

  Penny waited a moment, then crept to the entrance.

  Fenestra had not taken time to lower the door behind him. A light shone from an underground room at one side of the main passageway, and she could hear the man’s heavy boots scuffing on a cement floor.

  Penny considered going after Jerry and decided against it. Fenestra’s frantic haste suggested that he might not linger long in the cave. What could he be doing beneath ground?

  With Jerry so near, she felt that it would not be too dangerous to investigate. Warily she tiptoed down the steps.

  A low, rounding doorway opened from the descending passage. Peering into the dimly lighted room, Penny did not immediately see Peter Fenestra.

  Instead her gaze roved about the walls of what appeared to be a workshop. Tools were neatly arranged over a bench, while a cupboard of shelves contained miscellaneous mechanical parts.

  At the far end of the cave stood an urn-like contrivance which the girl took to be an electric furnace. An armored cable ran from it to a heavy wall switch having two blades and a sizable wooden handle. Plainly it was designed to carry a very heavy current.

  Peter Fenestra came from behind the furnace. Penny saw him throw the switch. Almost immediately she heard a low hissing sound from the i
nterior of the metal oven. Slowly the furnace heated, and soon glowed weirdly.

  As she pondered what the man could be intending to do, she heard a slight sound at the stairway entrance. Thinking that Jerry had returned, she started up the steps. Not one figure but three loomed in the doorway!

  Penny flattened herself against the dirt wall. But she could not avoid being seen. A flashlight beam focused upon her, and the next instant a revolver muzzle bit into her side.

  “Keep quiet!” she was ordered in a whisper. “You won’t be hurt!”

  Penny stared into the grim face of Anchor Joe. Behind him came John Munn, and a man she had never seen before. In a flash she knew why they were there—to avenge themselves upon Peter Fenestra.

  Quietly as the men had moved, they had been heard in the next room.

  “Who’s there?” Fenestra called sharply.

  John Munn and Anchor Joe stepped into the rectangle of light, their revolvers trained upon the man.

  “Just three of your old pals, Otto,” drawled Anchor Joe. “Reach!”

  “Listen, Joe, you got me all wrong,” Peter Fenestra whined. “I can explain why I kept the gold. I’ll give it all to you if that’s what you want. I’ll do anything—don’t shoot.”

  “Shootin’ would be too good for you,” retorted Anchor Joe. “We got other plans.” His face was dark with rage.

  “Sure, we know how to deal with a traitor,” added John Munn, deftly whisking a revolver from Fenestra’s hip pocket. “You thought you could hide from us. You thought by changing your name, and coming to this out-of-the-way town you could fool us. Why, you dirty rat, you even thought you could get by with pushing me off a bridge!”

  “Your greed kept you here,” taunted Anchor Joe. “You couldn’t bear to leave any of those gold bars behind.”

  “You thought you’d melt down the last of ’em tonight and skip,” added John Munn. “You’re goin’ on a long trip all right, but with us!”

  A pair of steel cuffs were slipped over Fenestra’s wrists. Speedily, the sailors searched the cave, gathering up several bags of what Penny assumed to be gold.

  “How about this bar?” John Munn asked his companions. “Can we handle it?”

  “Too heavy,” answered Anchor Joe. “With Moyer hot on our trail, we’ve got to travel light. Get going and I’ll follow.”