CHAPTER 7 QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS

“I’d rather not have shown that note to you,” Mr. DeWitt said quietly. “We found it only a moment ago.”

“How did it get in Dad’s waste-basket?” Penny asked. “Do you suppose he threw it there himself?”

“That’s my guess. Your father never paid any attention to unsigned letters.”

Penny reread the threatening note, trying not to show how much it disturbed her. “I wonder if this came by mail?” she remarked.

“We don’t know,” DeWitt replied. “There was no envelope in the basket.”

“Dad never mentioned such a note to me,” Penny resumed, frowning. “Probably thought I’d worry about it. This makes the situation look bad, doesn’t it, Mr. DeWitt?”

The editor weighed his words carefully before he spoke. “It doesn’t prove that your father was waylaid by enemies, Penny. Not at all. According to reports, Mr. Parker was involved in an ordinary automobile accident, and left the scene of his own free will.”

“With a woman who drove a black car.”

“Yes, according to eye-witnesses she offered to take him to a hospital for treatment.”

“What became of that woman?” demanded Penny. “Can’t the police find her?”

“Not so far.”

Before Penny could say more, Harley Schirr came to the desk, spreading a dummy sheet for the editor to inspect.

“Here’s the front-page layout,” he explained. “For the banner we’ll give ’em, ‘Anthony Parker Mysteriously Disappears,’ and beneath it, a double column story. I dug a good picture out of the morgue—the one with Parker dedicating the Riverview Orphans’ Home.”

DeWitt frowned as he studied the layout. “Parker wouldn’t like this, Schirr. It’s too sensational. Bust that banner and cut the story down to the bare facts.”

“But this is a big story—”

“I’m expecting Mr. Parker to walk in here any minute,” retorted DeWitt. “A ‘disappearance’ spread would make the Star look silly.”

“Mr. Parker’s not going to show up!” Schirr refuted, his eyes blazing. “I say we should play the story for all it’s worth.”

“I’m sure Dad would hate sensationalism,” Penny said, siding with Mr. DeWitt.

The assistant editor turned to glare at her. Although he made no reply, she read anger and dislike in his flashing eyes.

“Cut the story down,” DeWitt ordered curtly. “And try to find a more suitable picture of Mr. Parker.”

Schirr swept the dummy sheet from the desk, crumpling it in his hand. As he started for the morgue where pictures were filed, he muttered to himself.

“Don’t know what’s got into that fellow lately,” DeWitt sighed.

The editor sat down rather heavily and Penny noticed that he looked tired and pale. For fifteen years he had been closely associated with Mr. Parker, regarding his chief with deep affection.

“Do you feel well, Mr. DeWitt?” she inquired.

“Not so hot,” he admitted, reaching for a pencil. “Lately I’ve been having a little pain in my side—it’s nothing though. Just getting old, that’s all.”

“Why not take the day off, Mr. DeWitt? You’ve been working too hard.”

“Now wouldn’t this be a fine time to go home?” the editor barked. “Hard work agrees with me.”

Reminded that she was keeping Mr. DeWitt from his duties, Penny soon left the Star office. Debating a moment, she walked to the nearby police station. There she was courteously received by Chief Jalman, a personal friend of her father’s.

“We’ll find Mr. Parker,” he assured her confidently. “His description has been broadcast over the radio. We’ve instructed all our men to be on the watch for him.”

Penny broached the possibility that her father had been waylaid by enemies.

“Facts fail to support such a theory,” replied Chief Jalman. “It’s my opinion your father will show up any hour, wondering what the fuss is all about.”

Penny left the police station rather cheered. Almost without thinking, she chose a route which led toward the scene of the accident. Reaching the familiar street, she noted that her father’s battered car had been towed away. All broken glass had been swept from the pavement.

“When I was here before I should have questioned more people,” she thought. “It never occurred to me then that Dad would fail to show up.”

Noticing a candy store which fronted the street close to the bent lamp post, Penny went inside. A friendly looking woman with gray hair came to serve her.

“I’m not a customer,” Penny explained. She added that her father had been injured in the car accident, and that she was seeking information.

“I’ve already been questioned by police detectives,” replied the owner of the candy shop. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you very much.”

“Did you witness the accident?”

“Oh, yes, I saw it, but it happened so fast I wasn’t sure whose fault it was.”

“You didn’t take down the license number of the blue hit-skip car?”

“Was it blue?” the woman inquired. “Now I told the police, maroon.”

“My information came from a small boy, so he may have been mistaken. Did you notice the woman who offered my father a ride?”

“Oh, yes, she was about my age—around forty.”

“Well dressed?”

“Rather plainly, I would say. But she drove a fine, late-model car.”

“Would you consider her a woman of means?”

“Judging from the car—yes.”

Penny asked many more questions, trying to gain an accurate picture of the woman who had aided her father. She was somewhat reassured when the candy shop owner insisted that Mr. Parker had entered the car of his own free will.

“Did he seem dazed by the accident?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Well, yes, he did. I saw your father get into the car sort of holding his head. Then he asked the woman to stop at the curb.”

“Why was that?”

“He’d forgotten something—a leather carrying case. At any rate, he returned to his own auto for it. Then he drove away with the woman.”

As puzzled as ever, Penny went out on the street once more. The weather had turned colder, but she scarcely felt the icy blast which whipped her face.

It was silly to worry, she told herself sternly. Why, all the facts supported Police Chief Jalman’s belief that her father soon would return home. Mrs. Weems was confident he would be found safe—so was Mr. DeWitt. After all, only five hours had elapsed since the accident. A disappearance couldn’t be considered serious in such a short period.

But try as she might, Penny could not free her mind of grave misgivings. She could not forget the mysterious telephone call, the threatening letter, and Harley Schirr’s cocksure opinion that her father would not be found.

She stood disconsolate, gazing into the whirling snow storm. At the end of the street the railroad station loomed as a dark blur, reminding her of Jerry. If only he hadn’t gone away! Jerry was the one person who might help her, and she knew of no way to reach him.