CHAPTER 18 THROUGH THE CELLAR WINDOW

Penny returned to the front porch and rang the doorbell many times. No one came to admit her. She tested the door, finding it locked. Windows above the porch level could not be raised.

“I’ll try the back door,” she said, refusing to accept defeat.

Louise and Joe followed her to the rear of the dwelling, but remained on the outside of the fence.

As Penny had feared, the back door also was locked. She tested eight windows. Finally she found one which opened into the cellar. To her delight the sash swung inward as she pushed on it.

“Here I go!” she called to Louise. “You and Joe stay where you are and keep watch.”

Penny crawled through the narrow opening and swung herself down to the cellar floor. She landed with a thud beside a laundry tub. The room was dark. Groping her way toward a stairway, she tripped over a box and made a fearful clatter.

“I’ve certainly advertised my arrival!” she thought ruefully.

At the top of the stairway Penny found a light switch and boldly turned it on. The kitchen door was not locked. She opened it and stepped out into another semi-dark room.

A doorbell at the front of the house began to ring. Penny was dumbfounded. Then she became annoyed, thinking that Louise and the cab driver were trying to get in.

Groping her way through the house, she unlocked the door and flung it open.

“For Pity Sakes!” she exclaimed, and then her voice trailed off.

A uniformed messenger boy stood on the porch.

“Mrs. Botts live here?” he asked, taking a telegram from his jacket pocket.

Penny did not know what to answer. Thinking quickly, she replied: “This is the Deming estate.”

The messenger boy turned the beam of his flashlight on the telegram. “Mrs. Lennie Botts, Stop 4, Care of G. A. Deming,” he read aloud. “This is the place all right.”

“But Mrs. Botts isn’t at home now.”

“I’ve had a lot of trouble getting here,” the boy complained. “Even had to climb over the gate. How about signing for the telegram?”

“Oh, all right,” agreed Penny, accepting the pencil. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that idea myself!”

In return for the telegram she gave the boy a small tip. The moment he had gone, she closed the front door and switched on a table lamp.

Penny found herself in a luxuriously furnished living room. The rug underfoot was Chinese, the furniture solid mahogany, hand carved. However, she had no interest in her surroundings. Rather tensely, she examined the telegram. Dared she open it?

“What’s ten years or so of jail in my young life?” she cajoled herself. “I’m willing to spend it in Sing Sing if only I can find Dad!”

Penny ripped open the envelope. The message, addressed to Mrs. Lennie Botts was terse and none too revealing:

“HAVE CHANGED PLANS. WILL RETURN THE TWENTY-SEVENTH BY PLANE. PLEASE HAVE EVERYTHING IN READINESS.”

The telegram was signed by the owner of the estate, G. A. Deming.

“Today is the twenty-seventh of the month,” thought Penny. “This message must have been several hours delayed.”

The telegram had provided little information. Evidently the woman who had refused to tell her name was Mrs. Lennie Botts. Regretting that she had opened the message, Penny tossed it carelessly on the table.

Footsteps sounded on the floor directly above. Penny had taken no pains to be quiet. Nevertheless, her pulse quickened as she heard someone pad to the head of the stairway. A muffled voice called: “Who’s there?”

Penny’s heart leaped for she was sure she recognized the tones. Fairly trembling with excitement, she darted to the foot of the circular staircase. On the top landing in the heavy shadows stood a man whose face she could not see.

“Dad!” she cried. “I’m Penny.”

“Penny?” the man demanded impatiently as if the name meant nothing to him. “Where is Mrs. Botts?”

“Why, she went away.”

“And how did you get into the house?”

“Through a cellar window.”

“I thought so! Young lady, I don’t know what you’re doing here in Mrs. Bott’s absence. Unless you leave at once I’ll summon the police.”

Penny was not to be discouraged so easily. She started slowly up the stairway.

“Stand where you are!” the man ordered sharply. “I’ve been sick, but I’m still a match for any house-breaker. I have a revolver—”

So dark was the stairway that Penny could not know whether or not the man was bluffing. His voice, startlingly similar to her father’s, sounded grim and determined. Knowing that a stranger would have good reason to treat her as a burglar, she was afraid to venture further.

“Dad—” she began.

“Don’t keep calling me Dad!” he snapped.

“Who are you?” asked Penny, completely baffled.

“Who am I?” the man repeated. “Why, I’m Lester Jones, a salesman. I room here.”

The answer dumbfounded Penny. “Then you’re not being held a prisoner by Mrs. Botts?” she faltered.

“On the contrary, Mrs. Botts has been very kind to me. Especially since I’ve been sick.”

Penny’s perplexity increased. “But I’ve seen you wandering in the garden at night,” she murmured. “Why do you do it?”

“Because—oh, hang it! Do I have to explain everything to you? My head’s aching again. Unless you go away and stop bothering me, I’ll call the police.”

Penny was completely crushed. She had been so sure that the man was her father! Seemingly she had made a very stupid mistake.

“I’ll go,” she said quietly.

Retreating down the stairway, she left the opened telegram on the living-room table and switched off the light. Then unlocking the kitchen door, she rejoined Louise and Joe.

“I guess you didn’t have any luck,” her chum commented, observing her downcast face.

Penny ruefully admitted that the man who had been seen in the garden was Lester Jones.

“I knew he wasn’t your father,” Louise replied. “You wouldn’t listen to reason—”

“All the same, his voice was similar,” Penny cut in. “Why, the man even used one of Dad’s pet expressions.”

“What was it?” Louise inquired curiously.

“‘Oh, hang it!’ That’s the expression Dad uses when he’s irritated.”

Louise helped her chum over the back fence and guided her toward the parked taxi. Midway there Penny paused to stare up at the dark windows of the second floor.

“Lou!” she exclaimed. “That man must have been Dad even if he didn’t know me!”

“Oh, Penny, don’t start that all over again,” Louise pleaded. “You’re only torturing yourself.”

“I’m going back!”

“No, we can’t let you, Penny.”

Louise held her chum’s arm firmly. Joe opened the door of the taxi and they pushed her in. Penny protested for a moment, then submitted.

“All right, but we’re going straight to the police station!” she announced. “I’ll not be satisfied until that man positively is identified as Lester Jones.”

A few minutes later, at the police station, Detective Fuller heard the entire story. It was the first he had learned about Mrs. Botts, for Penny’s earlier message had not been delivered by Policeman Burns.

“For that matter, I’ve not seen Burns today,” the detective explained. “I’ll go to the estate at once and question the woman.”

Again Penny and Louise taxied to the estate, this time trailed by a police car. Detective Fuller broke the padlock on the gate and led the party to the front door.

A light now burned in the living room. To Penny’s astonishment, the door was opened by Mrs. Botts.

“Good evening,” she greeted the visitors pleasantly.

Detective Fuller flashed his badge. “We want to ask you a few questions,” he said. “May we come in?”

With obvious reluctance the woman stepped aside, allowing the party to enter the living room. Penny’s gaze roved to the center table. The telegram which she had opened no longer was there.

Mrs. Botts did not offer chairs to the callers. Glaring at Penny with undisguised dislike, she said coldly: “I suppose I am indebted to you for this visit. What is it you want?”

“I understand you have a roomer here,” began Detective Fuller.

“A roomer?” Mrs. Botts echoed blankly.

“Yes, a man by the name of Lester Jones.”

“Ridiculous! You don’t seem to realize that this is the Deming estate.”

“Are you an employee here?”

“I am the housekeeper. During Mr. Deming’s absence I look after the property. I assure you no one but myself lives in the house at present.”

“No roomer ever has stayed here?”

Mrs. Botts drew herself up proudly. “Would Mr. Deming be likely to annoy himself with roomers? He has a very substantial fortune.”

“You might try to pick up a few dollars yourself.”

“Mr. Deming would not hear of such a thing! He pays me well.”

Detective Fuller asked additional questions, trying to learn whether or not the woman was the one who had fled from the cemetery. Mrs. Botts frankly admitted that she had taken Mr. Parker to the hospital, but she denied ever trying to collect a ransom.

“What you say now doesn’t agree with your original story,” Penny protested. “You admitted to me—”

“I admitted nothing,” Mrs. Botts broke in indignantly. “I have no secrets to hide!”

“But I’m sure Mr. Jones is living in this house,” Penny said stubbornly. “He’s upstairs.”

“Indeed?” mocked Mrs. Botts. “Perhaps you’d like to search the house.”

“Yes, we would,” said Detective Fuller.

Mrs. Botts remained undisturbed. Bestowing upon Penny a look of deep contempt, she motioned toward the stairway.

“Very well, search the house,” she invited with cool assurance. “I’ve told you the truth. You’ll find no one here but myself.”