Part 9

"Ropes Mollinberg!" exclaimed Salt Sommers who had listened quietly to the story. "Why, he's one of the lowest rats in this town! Connected with the numbers racket and I don't know what else!"

"Why did you summon those men, of all persons?" Mr. Deming questioned.

"Well, I found their addresses in the portfolio. I had to get rid of Mr. Parker before you came and I was afraid to call his house."

"You're a cruel, heartless woman!" accused Penny. "You sent my father away with two of the most notorious rascals in Riverview. Why, those men have been waiting for a chance to waylay him! They wanted to get possession of vital evidence Dad had in his portfolio."

"I didn't know," murmured Mrs. Botts. "When they came in the taxi, they offered me money."

"And you took it?"

"I tried not to, but they forced it on me."

Penny sprang to her feet. Only by the greatest effort of will could she keep from telling the housekeeper what she thought of her contemptible actions.

"You sent Dad away with those men," she repeated mechanically. "Didn't he realize who they were?"

"I told him they were his friends. I really thought so. He went willingly enough."

Penny was sick with despair. From the first, the situation had been grave, but now there seemed little hope. From Mrs. Botts' story she could only conclude that her father suffered from a brain injury. Even if she were fortunate enough to find him, he would not be likely to recognize her as his daughter.

"Oh, Salt," she pleaded, turning to the photographer. "What are we to do? What can we do?"

His reply though prompt, was not completely reassuring.

"We've already put every policeman in Riverview on the trail of those men!" he answered soberly. "And we'll scour every nook and cranny of this town ourselves! Chin up, Penny! Why, we've only started to fight!"

CHAPTER 22 _A PARK BENCH_

Penny and her friends were heartsick with the knowledge that Mr. Parker had fallen into the hands of ruthless members of the tire-theft gang. The taxi which had borne him away had left the mansion fully an hour earlier. There seemed little likelihood that the trail could be picked up quickly.

"I'll telephone the boys at the newspaper office," Salt offered. "The police too! We'll put a description on the radio. We'll have everybody in Riverview watching for that yellow taxi."

"Call the cab companies too," urged Penny. "We may be able to trace it through the driver."

Salt made good use of the Deming telephone which had not been disconnected during the winter months. While he phoned, Penny ran outside to find the policeman assigned to guard the mansion. She soon returned with him and placed Mrs. Botts in his custody.

"Oh, Mr. Deming, don't let them take me to jail," the housekeeper pleaded. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong."

"Mrs. Botts, I can't help you," her employer returned coldly. "Your offense is a very serious one. The court must decide your fate."

The housekeeper broke into tears again and for several minutes was quite hysterical. When her act moved no one, she resigned herself to the inevitable. Packing a few articles in a bag, she prepared to leave the house in the custody of the policeman.

"I'm sorry about everything," she said as she bade the girls goodbye. "I hope Mr. Parker is found. I really do."

After Mrs. Botts had gone, Penny was too upset to remain quietly in a chair. She longed to join in an active search for the yellow taxi. Common sense told her that the cab undoubtedly had reached its destination, yet she hoped she might pick up a clue.

"By questioning filling station attendants, we may be able to learn which way it went from the crossroads," she urged.

"Come on, then," said Salt.

Joe, faithful as ever, waited in his cab outside the mansion. Penny chose to ride beside him, as the front seat offered an unobstructed view of the road.

The cab turned away from the mansion and swept down the familiar twisting highway. At the first bend, the bright headlights illuminated a patch of snow along the ditch. Penny thought she saw a small, dark object lying on the ground.

"Stop the car!" she cried.

Joe brought the cab to a standstill a little farther down the road.

Penny leaped out and ran back to the ditch. Lying just at its edge was a leather portfolio. A glance satisfied her that it had belonged to her father.

"Salt! Louise!" she shouted. "I've found Dad's satchel!"

The others came running. By that time Penny had examined the portfolio. It was empty.

"Just as I thought," she muttered. "Those men were after the evidence Dad carried! And they got it, too!"

Salt and Joe examined the snowy ditches for a long distance. There were no footprints. They could only conclude that the portfolio had been thrown from a window of the moving cab. Evidently Mr. Parker remained a prisoner.

"Now that those men have what they want, maybe they'll release Dad," Penny said hopefully. "Don't you think so, Salt?"

The photographer glanced at Joe. Neither spoke.

"You believe they'll harm Dad!" Penny cried, reading their faces. "Maybe I'll never see him again--"

"Now Penny," Salt soothed, guiding her toward the taxi.

The cab rolled on, its tires crunching the hard-packed snow. At the crossroads, they met a police car and hailed it. Penny turned the empty portfolio over to one of the officers, explaining where it had been found.

"Every road is being watched," she was told in return. "The alarm has been broadcast throughout the State, too. If that yellow cab still is on the road, we'll get it."

For an hour longer, Penny and her party scoured roads in the vicinity of Riverview. Many times they stopped at filling stations and houses to inquire if a yellow cab had been seen to pass. Always the answer was in the negative.

"Don't you think we ought to go home?" Salt suggested at length. "For all we know, police may have found Mr. Parker by this time. We'd never learn about it while we're touring around."

"All right, let's go home," agreed Penny.

The taxi turned toward Riverview. Arriving at the outskirts, Joe chose a boulevard which wound through the park. The trees, each limb and twig glistening with ice, were very beautiful.

Penny gazed absently toward the frozen lake where a few boys were skating. Suddenly her gaze fastened upon a man who sat on a park bench beneath a street lamp. He wore no hat. His overcoat was unbuttoned.

"That man!" she cried. "Salt, it looks like Dad! And it is he! It is!"

The man on the bench had turned slightly so that she was able to see his face.

Joe brought the cab to a halt with a jerk. Penny leaped out, followed by the others. The first to reach the bench, she fairly flung herself headlong at the disheveled man who sat so dejectedly alone.

"Oh, Dad, I've found you at last! How thankful I am you're safe!"

The man on the bench stared blankly at her.

"Who are you?" he asked in a dazed voice.

"Why, I'm Penny--your daughter."

"I have no daughter," the man answered bitterly. "No home. Nothing. Not even a name."

Salt, Louise and Joe reached the bench.

"Who are these people?" the man asked. "Why do they stare at me?"

"Why, Mr. Parker," said Salt, taking his arm. "You remember me, don't you?"

"Never saw you before in my life."

"You're my father--Anthony Parker," Penny said desperately. "You were in a bad accident. Don't you remember?"

"I remember that I was taken by two men in a taxicab. They pretended to be my friends. As soon as we were well away from Mrs. Botts' home, they robbed me of my money and portfolio. Then they pushed me out of the cab. I started walking. I kept on until I came here."

"You're cold and tired," said Salt, trying to guide him toward the taxi.

"Who are you?" Mr. Parker demanded suspiciously. "Why should I let you take me away? You'll only try to rob me--"

"Oh, Dad, you don't understand," Penny murmured. "You're sick."

"Come along, sir," urged Salt. "We're your friends. We'll take you to the doctor."

Mr. Parker planted his feet firmly on the ground.

"I'm not going a step!" he announced. "Not a step!"

"Sorry, sir, but if you're so set about it, we'll have to do it this way."

Salt nodded to Joe. Before Mr. Parker knew what was coming, they caught him firmly by the arms and legs. Although he resisted, they carried him to the cab.

"Take us home as fast as you can!" Penny directed Joe. "Then I'll want you to go for Doctor Greer, the brain specialist. Dad's in very serious condition."

"Serious, my eye!" snorted the publisher. He struggled to free himself from Salt's grip. "Let me out of here!"

"Dad, everything will be all right now," Penny tried to soothe him. "You're with friends. You're going home."

"I'm being kidnaped!" Mr. Parker complained. "Twice in one night! If I were strong enough to get out of here--"

Again he tried to free himself. Failing, he edged into a corner of the seat and averted his face.

CHAPTER 23 _FORGOTTEN EVENTS_

In the upstairs bedroom, Penny moved with velvet tread. Noiselessly she rearranged a vase of flowers and closed the slat of a Venetian blind.

"You needn't be so quiet," said Mr. Parker from the bed. "I've been awake a long time now."

Penny went swiftly to his side. "How are you feeling this afternoon, Dad?"

"Afternoon?" Mr. Parker demanded, sitting up. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Roughly, about two days."

Mr. Parker threw off the covers.

"Oh, no, you don't," said Penny, pressing him back against the pillow. "Doctor Greer says you are to have absolute bed rest for several days. It's part of the treatment."

"Treatment for what?" grumbled Mr. Parker. "I feel fine!"

"That's wonderful," declared Penny, with a deep sigh of relief. "I'll have Mrs. Weems bring up something for you to eat."

She called down the stairway to the housekeeper, and then returned to the bedside. Her father looked more like his former self than at any time since the strange motor accident which had caused him to lose his memory. His voice too, was more natural.

"Guess I must have had a bad dream," Mr. Parker murmured, his gaze roving slowly about the room. "I seem to recall riding around in a taxi, and being pushed out into the snow."

"You know where you are now, don't you?" asked Penny.

"Certainly. I'm at home."

Mrs. Weems came into the room bearing a tray of food. Hearing Mr. Parker's words, she looked at Penny and tears sprang to her eyes.

"Doctor Greer was right," she whispered. "His memory is slowly coming back. How thankful I am!"

"What's all this?" Mr. Parker inquired alertly. "Will someone kindly tell me why I am being imprisoned in this bed?"

"Because you've been very, very sick," Penny said, arranging the food in front of him. "You know who I am now, don't you?"

"Why, certainly," replied Mr. Parker indignantly. "You're my daughter. Your name is--now let me think--"

"Penny."

"To be sure," agreed Mr. Parker, in confusion. "Fancy forgetting my own daughter's name!"

"You've forgotten a number of other things too, Dad. But events gradually are coming back to you. Suppose you tell me your name."

"My name?" Mr. Parker looked bewildered. "Why, I don't remember. It's not Jones. I took that name because I couldn't think of my own. What's wrong with me?"

Penny tucked a napkin beneath her father's chin and offered him a spoonful of beef broth.

"What's wrong with me?" Mr. Parker demanded again. "Am I a lunatic? Can't either of you tell me the truth?"

"You're recovering from a severe case of amnesia," revealed Penny. "The doctor says it was brought on by overwork in combination with the shock of being in an auto accident. Since you were hurt you've not remembered what happened before that time."

"I do recall the auto mishap," Mr. Parker said slowly. "Another car crowded me off the road. The crash stunned me, and my mind was a sort of blank. Then a pleasant woman took me to her home."

"A pleasant woman, Dad?"

"Why, yes, Mrs. Botts gave me a nice room and good food. I liked it there. But one night a girl broke in--could that have been you, Penny?"

"Indeed, it was."

"When Mrs. Botts came home she was very excited," Mr. Parker resumed meditatively. "She said I had to leave. She hustled me out of the house with two strangers."

"One of the men was Ropes Mollinberg, a member of the tire-theft gang."

"Yes, that was his name!" Mr. Parker agreed. "Speaking of tire thieves, I've been intending to write an editorial for the paper. Penny, please have my secretary come in. I'll dictate the material while it is fresh in my mind."

Mrs. Weems looked slightly distressed. Penny, however, whisked away the tray of food. Getting pencil and paper she again sat down beside her father.

"Your secretary isn't available just now, but I'll take down what you want to say."

Penny could not write shorthand so she only pretended to jot down notes. Mr. Parker led off with a few crisp sentences, then wandered vaguely from one idea to another.

"I can't seem to think straight any more," he complained. "Type that up please and let me see it before it goes to the compositors."

"How shall I sign the editorial?" Penny inquired.

"Why, with my name--Anthony Parker."

Penny jumped up and fairly laughed with joy.

"Dad, events are coming back to you! You've just recalled your name and that's a big step forward."

"Anthony Parker," the publisher murmured. "Yes, that's it! Now there's another matter that troubles me. I had a brief case--"

"It was stolen by those men who took you away," Penny supplied eagerly. "Dad, if only you could remember what those lost papers contained, we'd expose the entire tire-theft gang!"

Mr. Parker thought for a long while, then shook his head.

"Mind's a blank, Penny. What does the doctor say? Is there a chance my memory ever will return?"

"Of course," returned Penny heartily. "You've already recalled a number of important things. Me, for instance! Doctor Greer thinks that with rest, events will gradually return to mind. Or another shock, perhaps a blow somewhat similar to the one you had, might bring everything back."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Mr. Parker joked. "Go get the sledge hammer!"

"It's not that easy, I'm afraid."

"I'm afraid not, either," sighed Mr. Parker wearily. "Guess I'll sleep some more now. I feel pretty tired."

During the days that followed, the publisher made a slow but steady recovery. At first Penny did not worry him by mentioning how matters had gone at the _Star_ office. Only after Mr. Parker was well enough to spend several hours a day at the plant, did she reveal how Harley Schirr had sought to establish himself as editor of the paper.

"That fellow!" exclaimed Mr. Parker in annoyance. "Why, I meant to discharge him and he knew it. I have evidence in my safe showing that Schirr accepted money from a local politician."

"You did have evidence," Penny corrected. "While you were away, Mr. Schirr went through your safe."

Amazed by the boldness of his former employee, Mr. Parker immediately examined the contents of both his desk and strongbox. To his chagrin he found that Penny was right. Every document pertaining to Schirr was missing.

"Well, it doesn't matter," the publisher said philosophically. "He'll never set foot in this office again, nor in any other Riverview newspaper!"

"Dad," said Penny, "I've wondered if Schirr may not be hooked up with the tire-theft gang. What do you think?"

"My poor thinker isn't much good these days. However, I very much doubt it, Penny. Schirr always was a snoop and not above taking money for writing biased stories. My judgment would be that he has no connection with the Mollinberg outfit."

"If only you could remember what was in your stolen portfolio!" Penny sighed.

"If only I could!" agreed Mr. Parker. "Sometimes I doubt I'll ever fully recover my memory."

"Oh, you will, Dad. You're doing better every day."

Penny seldom spoke of the automobile accident which had caused her father's trouble for the subject was a painful one to them both. Although the publisher had been absolved of all blame, police had not succeeded in tracing the hit-skip driver.

Mr. Parker seemed well and strong. Each day he went to the office for longer and longer periods. Gradually his memory was returning, yet he had been unable to recall data which might bring about the capture of the tire-theft gang. Strangely, he could remember nothing of his intention to call at the State Prosecutor's office. Nor could he disclose a scrap of evidence which had been carried in the stolen portfolio.

"If only Jerry would wire or return from his vacation!" Penny commented anxiously. "I can't understand why he doesn't reply to my message."

The reporter's long absence had caused considerable worry at the _Star_ office. Jerry was the one person who could divulge the contents of the stolen portfolio documents, but repeated wires failed to bring any response.

"Jerry will show up one of these days," Mr. Parker said confidently. "The only trouble is, by that time the higher-ups of the tire-theft gang may have skipped town."

"Dad, can't you remember the men who took you away in the taxi?"

"Only vaguely. I've described them to police as best I can. So far, no action."

Penny was silent for a moment. In her mind she had been turning over a way to bring the crooks to justice. It seemed to her that the men might be identified through Black Market operators with whom they must have dealings.

"Now what are you keeping from me?" inquired Mr. Parker lightly.

"I was thinking about a place known as Mattie Williams' garage," replied Penny. "I've good reason to suspect it deals in stolen tires."

She went on to tell of her recent adventure in the storage room of the garage. The information did not excite Mr. Parker as she had feared it might. Instead, it fired him with a determination to get at the truth of the matter.

"Penny, we'll break our story yet!" he exclaimed, reaching for his hat. "Let's go to Mattie's place now!"

"Unless we actually see the inside of the storage room we'll learn nothing. You may be sure Mattie and her partner won't cooperate."

"We'll get into that room somehow," returned Mr. Parker grimly. "I'll take along a few pet skeleton keys just for luck."

At the Williams' garage an hour later, they found Mattie and Sam busy with repair work.

"Be with you in a minute," the woman called to Mr. Parker.

"No hurry," replied the publisher. "No hurry whatsoever."

He and Penny wandered aimlessly about. Choosing a moment when both Sam and Mattie were inside the office, they slipped unnoticed into the room where the empty boxes had been stored.

"Now show me the tunnel," urged the publisher. "We'll have to work fast!"

Penny swung back the hinged boards of the big box. She led her father between a high aisle of crates to the locked door of the inner room.

"Now if only I have a key that will unlock it!" muttered Mr. Parker.

He tried several. At length one did fit the keyhole, the lock clicked, and he was able to push open the door.

In the little storage room close to the outside building wall were tires of all sizes and description. Some were new, still wrapped in clean paper. Others appeared slightly used.

"See, Dad!" Penny cried triumphantly. "I was right!"

"We still have no proof this rubber was illegally obtained."

Penny darted forward to inspect a stack of tires which rose half way to the ceiling.

"Here's one that might have come off my car!" she cried. "See! Mine had a tiny cut place where I rammed the maple tree backing out of our garage!"

"All tires look alike, Penny. Without the serial number--"

"I do remember part of it. One was 8910 something."

"Then this isn't your tire," replied Mr. Parker, reading the number. "However, I shouldn't be surprised that these are stolen tires."

Penny held up her hand as a signal for silence.

"Quiet, Dad!" she whispered.

Footsteps had sounded in the tunnel between the boxes. The next instant the door was flung open. Penny and her father stood face to face with Sam Burkholder.

CHAPTER 24 _TRICKERY_

"What d'you think you're doing in here?" demanded Sam Burkholder harshly. "Snoopers, eh?"

"Call us that if you like," retorted Mr. Parker. "How long have you been dealing in stolen tires?"

The shot hit its target. Sam started to speak but no words came. He looked badly frightened. Convinced that his suspicion was correct, Mr. Parker added sternly:

"Naturally, I'll report this to the police. You and your partner will have to face charges."

"Keep Mattie out of this," growled Sam. "She had nothing to do with the tire business."

"So you carried on crooked operations all by your lonesome?"

"I've bought and sold a few tires," Sam said sullenly. "All these government regulations give me a pain. A guy can't make any money these days."

"So you admit you've been doing an illegal business?"

"Maybe," said Sam, watching Mr. Parker craftily. "But what's it to you? I take it you're not a government agent?"

"I'm interested in breaking up a gang of leeches--the men who've been cleaning this town of tires for the past three months."

"Those guys are crooks all right," agreed Sam. "Why the last time they sold me a bunch of tires they charged double. When I wasn't going to take 'em they said, 'Either you do, or else!'"

"Did you deal with Ropes Mollinberg?"

"He's just one of the little fry. What will you give me to spill?"

"Nothing."

"Will you keep Mattie out of this?"

"If she's innocent."

"She is," insisted Sam. "Supposin' I tell you how to get the whole gang, will you forget what you've seen here?"

"I make no bargains with Black Market dealers," retorted Mr. Parker. "Either you tell what you know, or I'll have you and Mattie hauled into court."

Sam Burkholder was silent a moment.

"Okay," he said abruptly. "I've had enough of this business anyhow. I'll tell you what I know, and it won't take me long. I've never seen nor dealt direct with the big shots."

"Then how do you get your tires?"

"A trucker by the name of Hank Biglow delivers them to me."

"Louise and I know that man!" cried Penny. "For whom does he work?"

"I've never asked. But from something Hank dropped I kinda suspect the boys are having a meeting tonight."

"Where?" Mr. Parker demanded eagerly.

"I'll tell you on one condition. You've got to keep Mattie out of this. So far as she knows this garage has been run pretty much on the square."

Mr. Parker was unwilling to make any sort of agreement with the man. Nevertheless, he realized that Sam had it within his power to withhold vital information.

"Very well," he said, "I'll take your word for it that Mattie is innocent. Now where is the meeting to be held?"

"At Johnson's warehouse."

"Isn't that along the river?"

"Yeah, about eight miles from here. The boys will be loading some tires there. If you're willing to take the risk, you may learn something. Meeting's at seven."

Penny glanced at her wrist watch.

"It's after six now!" she exclaimed in dismay. "Dad, if we are to get there in time, we've got to step!"

"Right you are," he agreed.

Before leaving the garage, Mr. Parker telephoned Central Police Station. Without mentioning Sam's name, he revealed a little of what he had learned and requested an immediate investigation of the Johnson Warehouse. Then, intending to meet officers there, he and Penny taxied along the winding river road.

Although not yet seven o'clock, it was darkening fast. The driver switched on headlights, illuminating a long stretch of icy pavement.

"Can't you go faster?" Mr. Parker urged impatiently.

"Don't dare, sir," replied the driver.

Even as he spoke, a crossroads traffic light flashed red. Though the driver applied the foot brake with quick stabs, the car went into a disastrous skid. Out of control, it slid crosswise in the narrow road. The front wheels rolled into a deep, slippery ditch.