CHAPTER 11 BY A CEMETERY WALL

Penny and Mrs. Weems reread the anonymous message many times, analyzing every word.

“Plainly this note was written by a woman of some means for the paper is fine quality,” Penny commented. “She must have sneaked up on the porch about an hour ago.”

“Call the police at once,” urged Mrs. Weems. “They’ll tell us what we should do.”

“Whoever left the note may be watching the house.”

“We must risk that, Penny. I’ll call the station myself.”

While Mrs. Weems busied herself at the telephone, Penny switched off the living-room light. She could see no one loitering anywhere near the house. Slipping on her coat, she went outside to inspect the footprints left on the porch. Only a few remained uncovered by snow. There was no way to tell in which direction the writer of the anonymous message had gone.

Mrs. Weems had completed her telephone call by the time Penny reentered the house.

“Two detectives will be here in a few minutes,” she revealed. “You keep watch for them while I run upstairs and get into something more suitable than a lounging robe.”

Within ten minutes a car drew up in front of the house. Penny already was acquainted with Detectives Dick Brandon and George Fuller, and had great confidence in their judgment. Anxiously she and Mrs. Weems waited while the men scanned the anonymous message.

“This might be only a crank note,” commented Brandon. “Someone who’s read of Mr. Parker’s disappearance, and hopes to pick up a little cash.”

“Then you don’t think it came from the tire-theft gang?” Penny asked.

“Not likely. A professional kidnaper never would have sent a note like this. The handwriting hasn’t even been disguised.”

“Will it be possible to trace the person?”

“It should be if we have a little luck.” Detective Brandon pocketed the letter. “Now this is what you must do, Miss Parker. Offer a reward—say five thousand dollars—for information about your father.”

“I’ll get the story in every edition of the Star tomorrow. And then what am I to do?”

“You’ll likely hear from the writer of this anonymous message, either by letter or telephone. If you contact the woman, arrange a meeting. Then notify us immediately.”

The discussion went on. When at length the two detectives left, Penny and Mrs. Weems were hopeful that within another twenty-four hours they might know Mr. Parker’s fate.

In the morning, after only five hours of sleep, Penny was back at her desk. Her first act was to dictate the story offering a five-thousand-dollar reward for information about her father. Not even to Salt Sommers did she confide that she had received an anonymous message.

“Everything’s going well here at the plant,” he assured her. “Harley Schirr hasn’t so much as stuck his nose through the door.”

“I hope we’re through with him,” replied Penny soberly. “However, I don’t feel that we are. By the way, no telegram has come from Jerry?”

“No message yet. Guess he didn’t get your wire.”

Throughout the morning, Penny worked tirelessly at her desk. Although her father’s office now was vacant, she did not take possession. Even when she occasionally entered to get papers from the file, it gave her a queer, tight feeling. Her father’s old neck-scarf still hung on the clothes tree. The rubbers he hated to wear stood heel to heel against the wall.

“Dad is alive and well,” she told herself whenever her courage faltered. “By tomorrow he’ll be back. I know he will.”

At noon Salt brought Penny a sandwich which she ate without leaving her desk. As she struggled with the last mouthful, the telephone rang.

“Is this Miss Parker?” inquired a woman’s voice.

Penny gripped the receiver tightly. Her pulse began to pound. Although she had no real reason for thinking so, she suddenly knew that she was in contact with the mysterious writer of the anonymous message.

“Yes,” she replied, keeping her voice calm.

“You offered a reward in your paper today. Five thousand dollars for information about Mr. Parker.”

“True. Can you tell me anything about his disappearance?”

“I can if you’re willing to pay the money.”

“I’ll be glad to do it.”

“And no questions asked?”

“No questions,” Penny promised. “If you actually can provide information that will help me find my father, I’ll be happy to give you the money.”

There was a long silence. Fearful lest the woman had lost her nerve and was about to hang up, Penny said anxiously:

“Where shall I meet you? Will you come to my home?”

“That’s too risky.”

“Then where shall I meet you?”

“Tonight at eight. You know the cemetery out on Baldiff Road?”

“Baldiff Road?” Penny repeated doubtfully.

“You’ll find it on a county map,” the woman instructed. “Meet me at the cemetery wall promptly at eight. And don’t bring anyone with you. Just the money. I’ll guarantee to tell you where you can find your father.”

The receiver clicked.

Greatly excited, Penny made a futile attempt to trace the telephone call. Failing, she set off for the police station to talk to Detectives Fuller and Brandon.

“The woman must be a rank amateur or she wouldn’t have arranged a meeting in the way she did!” Detective Brandon assured Penny. “Now let’s find out where Baldiff Road is located.”

Using a large map, he circled an area several miles south of Riverview. Penny was surprised to note that Baldiff Road branched off from the same deserted thoroughfare which she and Louise had followed on the night of the blizzard. The cemetery, Oakland Hills, was situated perhaps a mile from the old Harrison place where Mose Johnson had claimed to have seen a ghost.

“It shouldn’t be hard to nab the woman when she shows up,” Detective Fuller declared. “Dick and I will get there early and keep watch.”

“Just what am I to do?” Penny inquired. “Shall I take the reward money with me?”

“We’ll give you a package of fake money,” the detective answered. “Drive to the cemetery alone at the appointed hour. If the woman shows up, talk to her, try to learn what she knows. We’ll attend to the rest.”

Penny returned home to consult with Mrs. Weems. How to reach the cemetery was something of a problem. Her own car, minus its wheels, remained at the Yacht Club, and Mr. Parker’s automobile had been hauled to a garage for extensive repairs.

“Can’t you borrow a car from someone at the Star office?” suggested the housekeeper. “And do take a man with you when you drive to the cemetery.”

“No, I must go alone,” insisted Penny. “That part is very important.”

In the end she was able to borrow Salt Sommer’s coupe. A little after seven o’clock she set off for Baldiff Road with the package of fake money in her possession. The night was not cold, but a stiff wind blew through the evergreens; whirlwinds of snow chased one another across the untraveled road.

“What a dreary place for a meeting,” Penny shivered as she glimpsed the bleak cemetery on a hilltop.

The area, a full half-mile from any house, was bounded by a high snow-covered brick wall. Beyond the barrier, starlight revealed a cluster of rounding tombstones layered with white. No one was visible, neither the woman nor members of the police force.

Penny glanced at her watch. It lacked ten minutes of eight o’clock. She parked not far from the cemetery entrance and switched off the engine.

Twenty minutes elapsed. Nervous and cold, Penny climbed from the car and tramped back and forth to restore circulation. She had begun to doubt that the woman would keep the appointment.

Then, coming swiftly down the road, she saw a strange looking figure. The one who approached wore a long, tight-fitting coat. A hat with a dark veil covered the woman’s face.

“There she is!” thought Penny, every nerve tense.

The woman came closer. While still some distance from the cemetery entrance, she suddenly paused. Her head jerked sideways. Then to Penny’s dismay, she turned and fled toward the woods.

“Wait!” Penny shouted. “Don’t be afraid! Wait!”

The woman paid no heed. Lifting her coat the better to run, she disappeared among the trees.