Part 9

"You're not thinking of investigating it tonight?"

Penny shook her head. "I can't without Dad's permission. It's a pity, too, because I know a big story is awaiting me, if only I could go out there and get it."

"I'm sure of one thing. We'll never dare print a word against Fenestra without absolute proof."

"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."

"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. Parker 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 interior 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.