CHAPTER 25 EXTRA!

Penny stood at the window of her father’s office, listening to the newsboys crying their wares on the street.

“Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Police Capture Three in Raid on Celestial Temple! Extra! Extra!”

Mr. Parker rocked back in his swivel chair, smiling at his daughter.

“Your story was first-class, Penny,” he said. “Thanks to you we scooped the Record. Tired?”

“I do feel rather washed out,” Penny admitted. “Writing at high speed with a deadline jabbing you in the back is worse than facing a gang of crooks. But it was exciting.”

“You turned in a good story,” her father praised again. “In fact, you may as well take credit for breaking up that outfit of fake spiritualists.”

“So far the police have only captured Al Gepper, Slippery and Pete. There’s not much evidence against the others.”

“True, but rest assured those who aren’t rounded up will leave Riverview. The backbone of the organization has been smashed.”

Penny sank wearily into a chair, picking up a copy of the Star which lay on her father’s desk. Two-inch, black headlines proclaimed the capture, and opening from the banner was her own story tagged with a credit line: by Penelope Parker. Salt Sommer’s photographs had made the front page, too, and there was a brief contribution by Jerry telling of Al Gepper’s attempted flight in Leaping Lena.

“Dad, you must admit that it was a stroke of genius when I bought back that old car,” remarked Penny. “Why, if it hadn’t been for Lena, Al Gepper surely would have escaped.”

“That and the fact you always run your cars on an empty tank,” responded Mr. Parker. “I suppose you foresaw the future when you made your brilliant purchase?”

“Not exactly. It was just a feeling I had—the same sort of hunch which came to me when I found the silken ladder at Kano’s Curio Shop. If I depended upon a mere brain to solve mysteries, why I’d be no better than the police.”

“Your modesty overwhelms me,” chuckled her father. “I’m thankful my other reporters aren’t guided by their instincts. Otherwise I might have a scoop a day.”

“There’s one thing which annoys me,” Penny said, frowning.

“And what is that?”

“Two of Al Gepper’s tricks haven’t been explained. How was he able to raise a table and read a message in a sealed envelope?”

“I was talking to the Chief of Police about that letter trick only this morning, Penny. Magicians often employ it. Wasn’t the message written on a pad of paper before it was placed in the envelope?”

“Yes, it was.”

“Then very likely Gepper read the message from the pad. He could have placed carbon paper beneath the second or third sheets. Possibly he resorted to a thin covering of paraffin wax which would be less noticeable.”

“Now that I recall it, he did glance at the pad! How would you guess he lifted the table?”

“Were his hands held high above it, Penny?”

“Only an inch or two. However, he never touched the table. I was able to see that.”

“Could he have used sharp, steel pins held between his fingers?”

“I doubt it. But I think I know what he may have used! Did you notice two small suction cups which were taken from his pockets by the police?”

“Well, no, I didn’t, Penny.”

“The longer I mull over it, the more I’m convinced he used them to raise the table. They could be held between the fingers and wouldn’t be observed in a darkened room. Dad, if I can get those rubber cups from the police, I’ll have some fun!”

The telephone rang. It was Mrs. Weems calling to ask if Penny were safe. Mr. Parker replied in the affirmative and handed the receiver to his daughter.

“Penny, I just read your story in the paper,” the housekeeper scolded. “You never should have pitted yourself against those dangerous men! I declare, you need someone to watch you every minute.”

“I need you,” said Penny. “And so does Dad. Why not promise to stay with us instead of going away on a trip?”

“Of course, I’ll remain,” came Mrs. Weems’ surprising answer. “I made up my mind to that two days ago. You and your father never could take care of yourselves.”

“What will you do with your inheritance, Mrs. Weems?”

“I hope your father will invest it for me,” replied the housekeeper meekly. “One thing I know. No medium will tell me what to do with it.”

The hour was late. Penny felt relieved when her father locked his desk in preparation for leaving the office.

They walked through the newsroom, down the stairway to the street. A middle-aged man in a brown suit and derby hat alighted from a taxi, pausing as he saw them.

“Mr. Parker!” he called. “May I speak with you?”

The publisher turned, recognizing him. “Mr. Henley!” he exclaimed.

“I have just come from the police station,” the advertiser said in an agitated voice. “I was told that your daughter is responsible for the capture of the men who robbed our home tonight.”

“Yes, Penny managed to have a rather busy evening,” smiled Mr. Parker. “I hope you suffered no loss.”

“Everything was recovered, thanks to your daughter. Miss Parker, I realize I never can properly express my appreciation.”

“I was sorry I couldn’t prevent the burglary,” replied Penny stiffly. “As it turned out, the capture of the crooks was mostly due to luck.”

“You are too modest,” protested Mr. Henley. “I’ve talked with the police, you know. I am truly grateful.”

The man hesitated, evidently wishing to say more, yet scarcely knowing how to shape his words. Penny and her father started to move away.

“Oh, about that contract we were discussing today,” the advertiser said quickly.

“Yes?” Mr. Parker paused.

“I’ve been thinking it over. I acted too hastily in deciding to cancel.”

“Mr. Henley, please do not feel that you are under obligation,” said the publisher quietly. “Even though Penny accidentally did you a favor—”

“It’s not that,” Mr. Henley interrupted. “The Star is a good paper.”

“The best in Riverview,” said Penny softly.

“Yes, it is!” Mr. Henley declared with sudden emphasis. “I tell you, Parker, I was irritated because of a trivial mistake in my firm’s copy. I’ve cooled off now. Suppose we talk over the matter tomorrow at lunch.”

“Very well,” agreed Mr. Parker. “The Commodore Hotel at one.”

Bowing to Penny, Mr. Henley retreated into a waiting taxi and drove away.

“How do you like that, Dad?” Penny inquired after a moment’s silence.

“I like it,” answered Mr. Parker. “The Star could have limped along without Mr. Henley. But the going would have been tough.”

“He’ll renew the old contract?”

“Oh, yes, and probably give us a better one. Stealing Mr. Henley’s words, I am truly grateful.”

Penny gazed at her father with twinkling eyes.

“Are those idle words, Dad? Or are you willing to back them in a material way?”

“I might,” grinned Mr. Parker. “Present your bill.”

“Well, Dad, I’ve discovered to my sorrow that I can’t support two cars on my present allowance. I need a generous raise.”

“You could get rid of Lena.”

“Why, Dad! After her noble work tonight!”

“No, I suppose not,” sighed Mr. Parker. “You’ve earned an increase, and I may as well grant it.”

“Retroactive to the time I started working on the story,” added Penny. “I figure if you pay back allowance, I’ll be solvent once more!”

“You drive a hard bargain,” chuckled the publisher. “But I’ll agree.”

Arm in arm, they started on down the street. Rounding a corner of the Star building they abruptly paused before the plate-glass window to watch a long, unbroken sheet of white paper feed through the thundering press. Freshly inked newspapers, cut and folded, slid out one upon the other to be borne away for distribution.

“It’s modern magic, isn’t it, Dad?” Penny said reflectively as the great machine pounded in steady rhythm.

“Yes, Penny,” her father agreed. “And for this edition, at least, you were the master magician!”

THE END