CHAPTER 5 SHADOW ON THE SKYLIGHT

Ignoring the thrust, Penny hung up her hat and coat and went to work. Neither Editor DeWitt nor his assistant, Mr. Jewell, made any reference to the explosion story of the previous day.

Another reporter had written the “follow-up” on it which Penny read with interest. Cause of the explosion, responsible for more than $40,000 damages, had not yet been determined. However, Fire Chief Schirr had stated that there was evidence the explosion had not been accidental. Several witnesses had reported seeing a man in light overcoat flee from the building only a few minutes before the disaster.

“He must have been the fellow who leaped into that waiting car and escaped!” Penny thought. “And to think, Salt’s picture might actually be evidence in the case, if I hadn’t thrown it away!”

She was staring glumly at the story when DeWitt motioned for her to take a telephone call. It was another obituary.

“After muffing a good story, I’ll probably be assigned to these things for the rest of my time on the paper,” Penny thought as she mechanically scribbled notes.

All morning the obituaries kept coming in, and then there were the hospitals to call for accident reports, and the weather bureau. After lunch, a reporter was needed to interview a famous actress who had arrived in Riverview for a personal appearance. It was just the story Penny wanted to try. She knew she could do it well, for in months past, she frequently had contributed special feature stories to the paper.

Mr. DeWitt’s gaze focused upon her for an instant, but he passed her by.

“Elda,” he said, and she went quickly to his desk to receive instructions.

Elda was gone a long while on the assignment. When she returned in the afternoon, she spent nearly two hours typing the interview. Several times Editor DeWitt glanced impatiently at her, and finally he said: “Let’s have a start on that story, Elda. You’ve been fussing with it long enough.”

She gave it to him. As Mr. DeWitt read, he used his pencil to mark out large blocks of what had been written. But as he gave the story to a copy reader who would write the headline, he said: “Give her a byline.”

Elda heard and grinned from ear to ear. A byline meant that a caption directly under the headline would proclaim: “By Elda Hunt.”

Penny, who also heard, could not know that Mr. DeWitt had granted the byline only because it was customary with a personal interview story. She felt even more depressed than before.

“See if you can find a picture of this actress in the photography room,” DeWitt instructed Elda. “Salt Sommers took one this morning, but it hasn’t come up yet.”

With a swishing of skirts, for she now was in a fine mood, Elda disappeared down the corridor. Fifteen minutes elapsed. Penny, busy writing hand-outs and obituaries, had forgotten about her entirely, until Mr. DeWitt summoned her to his desk.

“See if you can find out what became of Elda,” he said in exasperation. “Tell her we’d like to have that picture for today’s paper.”

Penny went quickly toward the photography room. The door was closed. As she opened it, she was startled half out of her wits by hearing a shrill scream. The cry unmistakably came from an inner room of the photography studio and was Elda’s voice. At the same instant, a gust of cool air struck Penny’s face.

“Elda!” she called in alarm.

“Here,” came the girl’s muffled voice from the inner room.

Fearing the worst, Penny darted through the doorway. Elda had collapsed in a chair, her face white with terror. Wordlessly, she pointed toward the ceiling.

Penny gazed up but could see nothing amiss. Warm sunshine was pouring through the closed skylight which covered half the ceiling area.

“What ails you, Elda?” she asked. “Why did you scream?”

“The skylight!”

“What about the skylight?” Penny demanded with increasing impatience. “I can’t see anything wrong with it.”

“Only a moment ago I saw a shadow there,” Elda whispered in awe.

“A shadow!” Penny was tempted to laugh. “What sort of shadow?”

“I—I can’t describe it. But it must have been a human shadow. I think a man was crouching there.”

“Nonsense, you must have imagined it.”

“But I didn’t,” Elda insisted indignantly. “I saw it just before you opened the door.”

“Did the skylight open?”

“Not that I saw.”

Recalling the cool gust of wind that had struck her face, Penny took thought. Was it possible that Elda actually had seen someone crouching on the skylight? However, the idea seemed fantastic. She could think of no reason why any person would hide on the roof above the photography room.

“Oh, snap out of it, Elda,” she said carelessly. “Even if you did see a shadow, what of it?”

“It was a man, I tell you!”

“A workman perhaps. Mr. DeWitt sent me to tell you he was in a hurry for that picture.”

“Oh, tell Mr. DeWitt to jump in an ink well!” Elda retorted angrily. “He’s always in a hurry.”

“You haven’t been watching a shadow all this time, I judge,” Penny commented.

“Of course not. I went downstairs to get a candy bar.”

With a sigh, Elda pulled herself from the chair. She really did look as if she had undergone a bad fright, Penny observed. Feeling a trifle sorry for the girl, she helped her find the photograph, and they started with it to the newsroom.

“I’d not say anything about the shadow if I were you, Elda,” Penny remarked.

“Why not, pray?”

“Well, it sounds rather silly.”

“Oh, so I’m silly, am I?”

“I didn’t say that, Elda. I said the idea of a shadow on the skylight struck me that way. Of course, if you want to be teased about it, why tell everyone.”

“At least I didn’t make a mess of an important story,” Elda retorted, tossing her head.

“Elda, why do you dislike me?” Penny demanded suddenly.

The question was so unexpected that it threw the girl off guard. “Did I say I did?” she countered.

“It’s obvious that you do.”

“I’ll tell you what I dislike,” Elda said sharply. “The rest of us here have to work for our promotions. You’ll get yours without even turning a hair—just because you’re Mr. Parker’s one and only daughter.”

“But that’s not true, Elda. I’m expected to earn my way the same as you. I’m working at a beginner’s salary.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that!”

“Was it because you thought I was making more money than you, that you changed the name on the Borman obituary?”

Elda stopped short. She tried to register indignation, but instead, only looked frightened. Penny was certain of her guilt.

“I haven’t told Mr. DeWitt, and I don’t intend to,” she said quietly. “But I’m warning you! If anything like that happens again, you’ll answer for it!”

“Well, of all the nerve!” Elda exploded, but her voice lacked fire. “Of all the nerve!”

Penny deliberately walked away from her.

The day dragged on. At five-thirty Penny covered her typewriter and telephoned Mrs. Weems.

“I’ll be late coming home tonight,” she said apologetically. “I thought I might get dinner downtown and perhaps go to a show.”

“Another hard day?” the housekeeper asked sympathetically.

“Much easier than yesterday,” Penny said, making her voice sound cheerful. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be home no later than nine.”

Though she would not have confessed it even to herself, Penny was reluctant to meet her father at dinner time. He might not ask questions, but his all-knowing, all-seeing eyes would read her secrets. At a glance he could tell that newspaper work was not going well for her, and that she disliked it.

“I certainly won’t give him an opportunity to even think, ‘I told you so,’” she reflected. “Even if it kills me, I’ll stick here, and I’ll pretend to like it too!”

Because it was too early to dine, Penny walked aimlessly toward the river. She paused at a dock to watch two boys fishing, and then sauntered on toward the passenger wharves.

A young man in an unpressed suit, and shoes badly in need of a shine, leaned against one of the freight buildings. Seeing Penny, he pulled his hat low over his eyes, and became engrossed in lighting a cigarette.

She would have passed him by without a second glance, save that he deliberately turned his back to shield his face. The hunch of his shoulders struck her as strangely familiar.

Involuntarily, she exclaimed: “Ben! Ben Bartell!”

He turned then and she saw that she had not been mistaken. The young man indeed was a former reporter for the Riverview Mirror, a news magazine published weekly. Ben had not shaved that day, and he looked years older than when she last had seen him.

“Hello, Penny,” he said uncomfortably.

“Ben, what has happened to you?” she asked. “Why were you trying to avoid me?”

Ben did not reply for a moment. Then he said quietly: “Why should I want to see any of my old friends now? Just look at me and you have your answer.”

“Why, Ben! You were one of the best reporters the Mirror ever had!”

“Were is right,” returned Ben with a grim smile. “Haven’t worked there for six months now. The truth is, I’m down and out.”

“Why, that’s ridiculous, Ben! Nearly every paper in town needs a good man.”

“They don’t need me.”

“Ben, you sound so bitter! What has happened to you?”

“It’s a long story, sister, and not for your dainty little ears.”

Penny now was deeply troubled, for she had known Ben well and liked him.

“Ben, you must tell me,” she urged, taking his arm. “We’re going into a restaurant, and while we have dinner together, you must explain why you left the Mirror.”