“We may learn something on the night of the thirteenth,” Penny said hopefully.
“Possibly, but I’m beginning to wonder if everything Davis told you may not have been for the purpose of deception.”
“He seemed sincere. I can’t believe he deliberately lied to me.”
Submerged in gloom, Penny had little to say during the swift ride into Riverview. She could not blame her father for feeling annoyed, because the trip had cost him two hours of valuable time. Clem Davis’failure to appear undoubtedly might deprive the Star of a spectacular scoop.
“Never mind,” Mr. Parker said to comfort her. “It wasn’t your fault. We’ll find another way to get our information.”
The car proceeded slowly through the downtown section of Riverview. Turning her head to read an electric sign, Penny’s attention was drawn to a man in a gray suit who was walking close to the curb.
“Dad, stop the car!” she cried, seizing his arm. “There he is now!”
“Clem Davis?” Mr. Parker demanded, swerving the automobile toward a vacant space near the sidewalk.
“No! No! Ben Bowman! I’m sure it is he!”
Springing from the car, Penny glanced up the street. She had alighted just in time to see the man in gray enter a telegraph office.
“What nonsense is this?” Mr. Parker inquired impatiently. “Why do you think the fellow is Bowman?”
“I’m sure he’s the same man I saw at Claymore. The one who tried to pass a forged cheque! Oh, please Dad, we can’t let him get away!”
Switching off the car ignition, Mr. Parker stepped to the curb.
“If it should prove to be Ben Bowman, nothing would please me better than to nab him,” he announced grimly. “But if you’ve made a mistake—”
“Come on,” Penny urged, seizing his hand. “We can talk about it later.”
Through the huge plate glass window of the telegraph office, the man in gray could be seen standing at one of the counters. His back was to the street and he appeared to be writing a message.
“I’m sure it’s Ben Bowman,” Penny said again. “Why not go inside and ask him if that’s his name?”
“I shall. But I’m warning you again, if you’ve made one of your little mistakes—”
“Go ahead, faint heart!” Penny chuckled, giving him a tiny push. “I’ll stay here by the door ready to stop him if he gets by you.”
With no appearance of haste, Mr. Parker sauntered into the telegraph office. Deliberately taking a place at the counter close beside the man in gray, he pretended to write a message. Actually, he studied his companion, and attempted to read the lengthy telegram which the other had composed. Before he could do so, the man handed the paper to a girl clerk.
“Get this off right away,” he instructed. “Send it collect.”
The clerk examined the message, having difficulty in reading the writing.
“This night letter is to be sent to Anthony Parker?” she inquired.
“That’s right,” the man agreed.
Mr. Parker waited for no more. Touching the man on the arm, he said distinctly:
“I’ll save you the trouble of sending that message. I am Anthony Parker.”
The man whirled around, his face plainly showing consternation.
“You are Ben Bowman I assume,” Mr. Parker said coolly. “I’ve long looked forward to meeting you.”
“You’ve got me mixed up with someone else,” the man mumbled, edging away. “My name’s Clark Edgewater. See, I signed it to this telegram.”
As proof of his contention, he pointed to the lengthy communication which lay on the counter. One glance satisfied Mr. Parker that it was another “crank” message.
“I don’t care how you sign your name,” he retorted. “You are Ben Bowman. We have a few matters to talk over.”
The man gazed uncertainly at Mr. Parker. He started to speak, then changed his mind. Turning, he made a sudden break for the exit.
“Stop him!” Mr. Parker shouted. “Don’t let him get away!”
Penny stood close to the door. As the man rushed toward her, she shot a bolt into place.
“Not quite so fast, Mr. Bowman,” she said, smiling. “We really must have a chat with you.”
CHAPTER 22
THE MAN IN GRAY
With the door locked, the man saw that he could not hope to escape. Accepting the situation, he regarded Mr. Parker and Penny with cold disdain.
“All right, my name is Ben Bowman,” he acknowledged, shrugging. “So what?”
“You’re the man who has been sending me collect messages for the past three months!” Mr. Parker accused.
“And what if I have? Is there any law against it? You run a lousy paper, and as a reader I have a right to complain!”
“But not at my expense. Another thing, I want to know what connection you’ve had with Clyde Blake.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Then you don’t own property in this city?”
“Nor anywhere else. Now if you’re through giving me the third degree, I’ll move on.”
“Not so fast,” interposed Penny, refusing to unbar the door, “if I’m not mistaken you’re the same man who is wanted at Claymore for forging a cheque.”
“Really, this is too much!” Ben Bowman exclaimed angrily. “Unless you permit me to pass, I shall protest to the police.”
“I see an officer just across the street,” Mr. Parker declared. “Penny, will you call him over?”
“Just a minute,” Ben Bowman interposed in an altered tone. “We can settle this ourselves. I’ll admit I was hasty in sending those messages—just a way to let off steam, I guess. If you’re willing to forget about it I’ll repay you for every dollar you spent.”
“I’m afraid I can’t forget that easily,” Mr. Parker retorted. “No, unless you’re willing to come clean about your connection with Clyde Blake I’ll have to call the police.”
“What do you want to know about him?”
“Is he acting as your real estate agent?”
“Certainly not.”
“You do know the man?”
“I’ve done a little work for him.”
“Didn’t he pay you to allow him to use your name on a deed?”
“He gave me twenty-five dollars to make out some papers for him. I only copied what he told me to write.”
“That’s all I want to know,” Mr. Parker said grimly. “Penny, call the policeman!”
“See here,” Bowman protested furiously, “you intimated that if I told what I knew about Blake you’d let me off. Why, you’re as yellow as that paper you run!”
“I make no deals with men of your stamp!” Mr. Parker retorted.
As Penny unlocked the door, Ben Bowman made a break for freedom. However, the editor was entirely prepared. Seizing the man, he held him until Penny could summon the policeman. Still struggling, Bowman was loaded into a patrol wagon and taken to police headquarters.
“I guess that earns me a nice little one hundred dollars!” Penny remarked as she and her father went to their own car. “Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re entirely welcome,” Mr. Parker grinned. “I never took greater pleasure in acknowledging a debt.”
“What’s your next move, Dad? Will you expose Clyde Blake in tomorrow’s Star?”
“I’m tempted to do it, Penny. The evidence still is rather flimsy, but even if Ben Bowman denies his story, I think we can prove our charges.”
“It’s a pity you can’t break the Hood yarn in the same edition,” Penny said musingly. “What a front page that would make!”
“It certainly would be a good three pennies worth,”Mr. Parker agreed. “Unfortunately, it will be many days before the Hoods are supposed to hold their meeting at the Tower.”
“But why wait? We could call that gathering ourselves!”
“Just how?”
“Simple as pie. All we would need to do would be to have the clock strike thirteen instead of twelve.”Penny glan
ced at her wrist watch and added persuasively:“We have several hours in which to work!”
“You’re completely crazy!” accused Mr. Parker. “Just how would you arrange to have the clock strike thirteen?”
“I’ll take care of that part, Dad. All I’ll need is a hammer.”
“To use on the caretaker, Charley Phelps, I suppose,”Mr. Parker remarked ironically.
“Oh, no,” Penny corrected, “I propose to turn all the strong-arm work over to you and your gang of reporters. Naturally, Phelps will have to be removed from the scene.”
“What you propose is absolutely impossible,” the editor declared. “Even so, I’ll admit that I find your idea rather fascinating.”
“This is no time for being conservative, Dad. Why, the Hoods must know you are out to break up their organization. Every day you wait lessens your chance of getting the story.”
“I realize that only too well, Penny. I pinned quite a bit of hope on Clem Davis. His failure to appear puts everything in a different light.”
“Why not test what he told us?” Penny argued. “It will be easy to learn if the striking of the clock is a signal to call the Hood meeting. If the men should come, we’ll have them arrested, and run a big story tomorrow morning!”
“Coming from your lips it sounds so very simple,”Mr. Parker smiled. “Has it occurred to you that if we fail, we’ll probably breakfast at the police station?”
“Why worry about that?” grinned Penny. “You have influence.”
Mr. Parker sat for several minutes lost in thought.
“You know, I’ve ALWAYS been lucky,” Penny coaxed. “I feel a double dose of it coming on tonight!”
“I believe in hunches myself,” Mr. Parker chuckled. “No doubt I’m making the biggest mistake of my life, but I’m going to try your wild scheme. Crazy as it is, it may work!”
“Then let’s go!” laughed Penny.
At the Star office, Mr. Parker hastily summoned a special staff of newspaper men, warning them to hold themselves in readiness to get out a special edition on short notice. From the group he chose Salt Sommers, Jerry Livingston, and two reporters known for their pugilistic prowess.
“Now this is the line up, boys,” he revealed. “We’re going to kidnap Charley Phelps from the Tower. It’s risky business unless things break right for us, so if any of you want to drop out now, this is your chance.”
“We’re with you, chief!” declared Salt Sommers, tossing a pack of photographic supplies over his shoulder.
“Sure, what are we waiting for?” chimed in Jerry.
It was well after eleven o’clock by the time the over-loaded press car drew up not far from the Hubell Tower. Penny parked on a dark side street, and Jerry was sent to look over the situation. Soon he returned with his report.
“Charley Phelps is alone in the Tower,” he assured the editor. “We shouldn’t have any trouble handling him.”
“Okay, then let’s do the job,” Mr. Parker returned. “Remember, if we muff it, we’ll do our explaining to a judge.”
Separating into groups so that they would not attract attention, Penny and the five men approached the Tower. A light glowed from within, and the caretaker could be seen moving about in the tiny living room.
Tying handkerchiefs over their faces, Salt and Jerry rapped on the back door. Charley Phelps opened it to find himself gazing into the blinding light of two flashlights.
“Say, what—” he began but did not finish.
Jerry and Salt had seized his arms. Before he could make another sound, they shoved a gag into his mouth, and dragging him into the Tower, closed the door. Working swiftly, they trussed his hands and feet and pushed him into a machinery room.
“Nice work, boys,” Mr. Parker praised.
“Listen!” whispered Penny, who had followed the men into the Tower.
The clock had begun to strike the hour of midnight.
“Get up there quickly and do your stuff!” her father commanded. “You’ve not much time!”
Two steps at a time, Penny raced up the steep iron stairway which led to the belfry of the Tower. Anxiously, she counted the strokes as they pealed forth loud and clearly. Eight—nine—ten. The clock had never seemed to strike so fast before. Desperately she wondered if she could reach the belfry in time.
The stairway was dark, the footing uncertain. In her nervousness, Penny stumbled. Clutching the handrail, she clung to it a moment until she had recovered balance. But in that interval the clock had kept striking, and she was no longer sure of the count.
“It must be eleven,” she thought, running up the remaining steps. “The next stroke will be the last.”
Penny reached the great bell just as the clapper struck against the metal. The sound was deafening.
“Now!” she thought excitedly. “This is the moment, and I dare not fail!”
Balancing herself precariously, Penny raised a hammer high above her head. With all her strength she brought it down hard against the bell.
CHAPTER 23
A TRAP SET
To Penny’s sensitive ears, the sound which resulted from the hammer blow, seemed weak and lacking in resonance. She sagged back against the iron railing, feeling that she had failed.
“That was swell!” a low voice said in her ear. “A perfect thirteenth stroke!”
Turning around, Penny saw that Jerry Livingston had followed her into the belfry.
“Did it really sound all right?” she inquired anxiously.
“It was good enough to fool anyone. But the question is, will it bring the Hoods here?”
In the room far below, Mr. Parker had lowered the blinds of the circular windows. Making certain that Charley Phelps was securely bound and gagged so that he could make no sound, he opened the front door a tiny crack and left it that way.
“How about the lights?” Salt Sommers asked.
“Leave them on. Shove that sound apparatus under the daybed. Now I guess everything’s set. Upstairs, everyone.”
Mr. Parker, Salt, and the two reporters, joined Penny and Jerry on the iron stairway.
“We may have a long vigil,” the editor warned. “In fact, this whole scheme is likely to turn out a bust.”
Few words were spoken during the next twenty minutes. Penny stirred restlessly, and finally went to join Jerry who was maintaining a watch from the belfry.
“See anyone?” she whispered, scanning the street below.
“No sign of anyone yet.”
At intervals automobiles whizzed past the tower, and presently one drew up not far from the building. Immediately, Jerry and Penny focused their attention upon it. The headlights were turned to parking, then a man alighted and came toward the Hubell Tower.
“Who is he?” Jerry whispered. “Can you tell?”
“I’m not sure,” Penny said uncertainly. “It may be Hank Holloway.”
As the man stepped into the light, they both saw that her identification had been correct. The man rapped on the door several times. Receiving no answer, he finally entered.
“Charley!” those on the iron stairway heard him call. “Where are you?”
The brilliantly lighted living room combined with the absence of the caretaker, seemed to mystify the newcomer. Muttering to himself, he moved restlessly about for a few minutes. Finally seating himself, he picked up a newspaper and began to read.
From their post in the belfry, Penny and Jerry soon observed two other men approaching the tower. One they recognized as a workman who had sorted melons at the Davis farm, but his companion was unknown to them. Without rapping, they too entered the building.
“Where’s Charley?” inquired one of the men.
“That’s what I was wondering,” Hank Holloway replied, tossing aside his paper. “For that matter, I can’t figure out why this special meeting was called. Something important must have come up.”
Within ten minutes, three other men had arrived. Jerry was able to identify two of them by name, but he dared not risk wh
ispering the information to Mr. Parker who crouched on the stairway.
“There’s something mighty queer about this meeting,”Hank Holloway growled. “Where is the Master? And what’s become of Charley?”
From the machinery room in which the caretaker had been imprisoned came a slight thumping sound.
“What was that?” Hank demanded suspiciously.
“I didn’t hear anything,” answered one of the other men. “Maybe it was someone at the door.”
Hank tramped across the room to peer out into the night. As the door swung back, a dark figure moved swiftly along the hedge, crouching low.
“Who’s there?” Hank called sharply.
“Quiet, you fool!” was the harsh response.
A man wearing a dark robe and a black hood which completely hid his face, brushed past Holloway, and entered the Tower living room.
“Close the door!” he ordered.
Holloway hastened to obey. An expectant and rather tense silence had fallen upon the men gathered in the room.
“Now what is the meaning of this?” the Master demanded, facing the group. “Who called this meeting?”
“Why, didn’t you?” Holloway asked blankly.
“I did not.”
“All I know is that I heard the clock strike an extra stroke,” Holloway explained. “I thought it was queer to be having another meeting so soon. Then I found Charley wasn’t here—”
“Charley not here!” the Master exclaimed.
“He must have stepped out somewhere. The lights were on, and the door partly open.”
“I don’t like this,” the Master said, his voice harsh. “Charley has no right to call a meeting without a special order from me. It is becoming increasingly dangerous for us to gather here.”
“Now you’re talking!” Holloway nodded. “Anthony Parker of the Star is on the warpath again. One of his reporters has been prying into the books of the County Cooperative.”
“He’ll learn nothing from that source, I trust.”
“Not enough to do any harm.”
“You act as though you had a grievance, Holloway. Any complaints?”
“Why, no, the Cooperative has made a lot of money since you’ve taken over. We want to go along with you, if your flare for the dramatic doesn’t get us in too deep.”
The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels Page 66
