CHAPTER 9 AN OPEN SAFE

Rather flattened by the interview with Mr. Schirr, Penny was glad to leave the Star plant. Going down in the elevator, she requested Charley to tell Mose Johnson that he had been restored to his old job.

“That’s fine!” the janitor beamed. “Mighty glad to hear it.” Opening the cage door, he inquired: “Will you be going to see Mr. DeWitt?”

“I thought I would.”

“He’s at City Hospital. You might tell him that we all miss him around here.”

“I’ll certainly deliver the message,” promised Penny.

City Hospital was only six blocks away. Penny bought flowers and then presented herself at the institution. After a brief wait in the lobby, she was allowed to see Mr. DeWitt for a few minutes.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully, handing the box of flowers to a nurse.

Mr. DeWitt, pale and weak, stirred and turned his head so that he could see her.

“What’s good about it?” he muttered with a trace of his old spirit. “They won’t even let me sit up!”

“I should think not,” smiled Penny. She sat down in a chair beside the bed.

“Of all times to get laid up!” the editor went on. “Heard from your father?”

Penny shook her head. A long silence followed, and then she said brightly:

“But he’ll be found—probably today.”

Mr. DeWitt lay with his eyes closed. “I’ve been thinking—” he mumbled drowsily.

“Yes?” Penny waited.

“Mind’s still fogged with that blamed ether,” DeWitt muttered. “About your father—” His voice trailed off.

“Do you think he could have been waylaid by enemies?” Penny asked after a moment. “Mr. Schirr believes his disappearance has a connection with the tire-theft gang.”

Mr. DeWitt’s eyes opened again. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Your father was planning to break a big story—didn’t tell me much about it.”

“You don’t know what evidence he carried in the portfolio when he went to see the State Prosecutor?”

DeWitt shook his head. “Jerry’ll know.”

“But how can I reach him?”

“Didn’t he leave an address at the office?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then there’s no way to reach him.” Exhausted from so much talking, DeWitt fell silent. At length however, he aroused himself and asked: “Have you tried your father’s safe?”

“For Jerry’s address?”

“No, the names of the tire-theft gang. If the police had something to work on—”

“Dad took a lot of papers out just before he started for the Prosecutor’s office,” Penny replied thoughtfully. “But some of the evidence may have been left. It’s worth investigating.”

The nurse returned to the room with a vase for the flowers.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to remain much longer,” she said regretfully.

As she arose to go, Penny remembered to deliver Old Charley’s message.

“How’s everything at the office?” Mr. DeWitt asked. “Who’s in charge?”

“Harley Schirr.”

Mr. DeWitt’s forehead wrinkled. “Now I know I’ve got to roll out of here!” he declared. “Things will be in a nice state by the time I get back.”

Penny did not wish to worry him. “Oh, everything will go along,” she soothed. “Mr. Schirr is very efficient in his methods.”

“And opinionated,” muttered DeWitt. “Oh, well, I’ll be back on the job in ten days.”

Penny did not disillusion him. Saying goodbye, she returned to the newspaper office. Pausing at the downstairs advertising department, she talked to Bud Corbin, a close friend of Jerry’s.

“This is the only address Jerry gave me,” Mr. Corbin said, taking a card from his billfold. “A wire might reach him. But there’s a good chance it won’t. When he left here, he wasn’t sure he’d stop at Elk Horn Lodge.”

Grateful for the address, Penny composed a telegram which the advertising man offered to send for her. In the message she not only told of her father’s strange disappearance, but asked for a complete duplication of material lost in the portfolio.

“At least I’ve started the ball rolling,” she thought, with renewed hope in her efforts. “I believe Jerry can help if only he gets the wire.”

Penny had not forgotten Mr. DeWitt’s suggestion that some evidence against the tire-theft gang might be found in Mr. Parker’s safe.

“I hate to open it while Dad is away,” she reflected. “Still, I know the combination, and I’m sure he would want me to do it.”

To brave Harley Schirr a second time was a duty not to Penny’s liking. She debated waiting until after four o’clock when the editor doubtless would leave the building. But time was precious and she could not afford to wait.

“What am I, a coward?” she prodded herself. “Why should I be afraid of Harley Schirr? When Dad gets back on the job, he’ll bounce him back where he belongs.”

Penny’s reappearance in the newsroom created a slight stir. However, no one spoke to her as she walked straight to her father’s office. The door was closed.

“Mr. Schirr isn’t in conference?” she asked one of the copy readers.

“No, just go right on in,” the man returned carelessly.

Without knocking, Penny opened the door. On the threshold, she paused, startled. Harley Schirr was down on his knees in front of the open safe. Evidently he had been going through Mr. Parker’s private papers in systematic fashion for he was circled by little piles of manila envelopes.

Mr. Schirr was even more startled than Penny. He sprang to his feet, the picture of guilt. Then, recovering his poise, he scowled and demanded: “Here again?”

Penny carefully closed the office door before she spoke. Then her words were terse.

“Mr. Schirr, kindly explain what you are doing in my father’s safe.”

“Looking for information about the tire-theft gang.”

“A story you say the Star never should print.”

“That’s neither here nor there.” A deep flush had crept over Schirr’s cheeks but his manner remained confident. “As editor I have to know what’s going on.”

“Who gave you permission to open the safe?”

“You forget that I am editor here, Miss Parker.”

“At least I’ve been reminded of it enough times,” Penny retorted. “How did you learn the combination?”

“I’ve known it.”

“You saw the numbers written on Dad’s desk,” Penny accused.

Mr. Schirr did not deny the charge. Turning his back, he started to remove a rubber band from a small stack of yellowed letters. The act infuriated Penny, for she recognized the packet. Years before, the letters had been written by her own mother, and Mr. Parker always had treasured them.

“Don’t you touch those!” she cried, darting forward. “They’re personal.”

Snatching the packet from Mr. Schirr, she gathered up the other papers and envelopes from the floor. Thrusting everything into the safe, she closed and locked the door.

“Well!” commented the editor scathingly.

“You’re through here!” said Penny, facing him with blazing eyes. “Do you understand? I’m discharging you.”

Mr. Schirr looked stunned. Then he laughed unpleasantly.

“So you’re discharging me,” he mocked. “By what right may I ask?”

“This is my father’s plant.”

“Which doesn’t necessarily make you the editor or the owner, Miss Penelope Parker. You’re a minor as well as a nuisance. If your father proves to be dead, the court will step in—”

“Get out!” cried Penny, fighting to keep back the tears. “You don’t care about Dad, or anything but your own selfish interests!”

“Now you’re hysterical.”

Penny’s anger subsided, to be replaced by a cool determination that Harley Schirr should not remain in charge of the Star another hour.

“I meant just what I said,” she told him quietly. “Please go.”

Schirr smiled grimly. Seating himself at the desk, his eyes challenged hers.

“I remain as editor here,” he announced. “If you wish to contest my right, take your case to court. In the meantime, keep out of my private office.”