CHAPTER 22 GHOSTS OF THE PAST

“Peter Fenestra,” murmured Louise. “Can there be any doubt that he is the customer Ellis Saal meant?”

“Not in my opinion,” rejoined Penny.

“Isn’t it possible that he went into the shop to have a photograph taken, or for some other reason?”

“Possible but not probable. No, Lou, we should have guessed long ago that Fenestra is an ex-sailor. It’s all becoming clear now.”

“Then I wish you would explain to me.”

“Don’t you see? Anchor Joe, John Munn, Fenestra, and perhaps a fourth man must have been good friends at one time. They had their tattoos with that phrase, All for one, one for all, pricked on their backs. Then Fenestra must have done something which made the others angry. They followed him here to get even with him.”

“What makes you think that?” Louise asked dubiously.

“Anchor Joe gave us a good broad hint. Then we know that he and at least one other man have kept watch of the Fenestra farm.”

“What can the man have done to offend them?”

“I can’t guess that part,” admitted Penny. “Another thing, why should Fenestra decide to have his octopus tattoo removed?”

“And who pushed John Munn off the bridge?” Louise added. “We’re as much in the dark as ever.”

“Not quite,” amended Penny. “I feel that if only we could get into that storm cave, we might learn the answer to some of our questions.”

“You’re not thinking of investigating it tonight?”

Penny shook her head. “I can’t without Dad’s permission. It’s a pity, too, because I know a big story is awaiting me, if only I could go out there and get it.”

“I’m sure of one thing. We’ll never dare print a word against Fenestra without absolute proof.”

“No,” agreed Penny, her eyebrows knitting in a frown, “it would lead to legal trouble.”

Deciding that nothing more could be learned by waiting, the girls returned to the parked car. Motoring toward Louise’s home, they discussed various angles of the baffling case. Confronting them always was the fact that Peter Fenestra’s reputation in Riverview was excellent, while Anchor Joe and John Munn appeared to be persons of questionable character.

“You never learned why Joe was wanted by the authorities?” Louise inquired, alighting at her doorstep.

“No, I haven’t seen Mr. Moyer since that day at the cottage. I’m reasonably sure Joe is still at liberty.”

“He may be the one at the bottom of all the trouble,” declared Louise. “We tend to suspect Fenestra of evil doing because we dislike him so heartily.”

“That’s so, Lou. The best way is to have no opinions and wait for facts. But waiting wears me to a frazzle!”

After parting from her chum, Penny did not drive home. Instead, she turned into Drexel Boulevard, and presently was ringing the doorbell of the Judson home.

The door was opened by Matthew Judson. Penny had not expected to meet the former publisher. Somewhat confusedly she inquired for Pauletta.

“My daughter isn’t here now,” replied Mr. Judson. “I expect her home within a few minutes. Won’t you wait?”

“No, thank you,” Penny declined. “I’ll drop in some other time.”

“I wish you would stay,” urged Mr. Judson. “I find an empty house so depressing.”

Penny hesitated, and then followed the former publisher to the living room. Mr. Judson had been reading the newspaper. He swept it from a chair so that the girl could sit opposite him.

“Tell me how you are getting on with your newspaper,” he urged in a friendly tone.

Penny talked entertainingly, relating the various difficulties which beset a young publisher.

“I’ve even received threatening notes,” she revealed. “Or rather, one. I think it was left on my desk by a man named Peter Fenestra.”

“Fenestra?” Mr. Judson’s face darkened.

“Yes,” answered Penny, watching the publisher attentively. “Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation. He’s a scoundrel!” His voice grew quite intense.

“Can you tell me anything definite against him?”

“No—no, I can’t. I only advise you to have nothing whatsoever to do with him.”

The telephone rang and Mr. Judson arose to answer it. During his absence, Penny thought swiftly. Dared she mention the clipping which she had found in the publisher’s desk? She did not wish to antagonize him, yet there were many questions she longed to ask.

Mr. Judson presently returned. Penny decided to risk his anger.

Casually she introduced the subject by mentioning that she was using Mr. Judson’s former office and desk as her own.

“Yesterday I came upon a clipping caught beneath the lower drawer,” she said quietly. “It concerned a man named Matthew Jewel. He bore a striking resemblance to you.”

The publisher raised his eyes to stare intently at Penny. His hands gripped the chair arms so hard that the knuckles became a bluish-white. Splotches of red appeared on his forehead.

“Matthew Jewel?” he murmured at last.

“Yes, Mr. Judson, but you have nothing to fear from me. I shall not expose you.”

“Then you know?”

“The likeness was unmistakable. I read the clipping, too.”

The publisher arose, nervously walking to the fireplace. His hands trembled as he fingered an ornament on the shelf.

“I searched everywhere for that clipping when I cleaned out my desk,” he mumbled. “I’ve gone through every imaginable torture fearing it would be found. And now I am to be exposed!”

“But I assure you I have no intention of telling anyone,” said Penny earnestly. “Your past is your own.”

“A man’s past never is his own,” responded Mr. Judson bitterly.

“I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I hoped I might be able to help you.”

“You haven’t told Pauletta?”

“No, nor any other person.”

Mr. Judson’s tenseness relaxed slightly. He paced across the room and back, then faced Penny.

“All my life,” he said very quietly, “I have tried to spare Pauletta the knowledge that her father was—a convict. I haven’t much to offer, but I’ll give anything within reason to keep the story out of the paper.”

“You don’t understand,” interrupted Penny. “I have no intention of printing the information, or of telling anyone. I want nothing from you. But I do wish you would tell me the true story. I am sure there were extenuating circumstances.”

Mr. Judson sagged into an armchair. “None,” he said. “None whatsoever. I used money which did not belong to me. My wife was desperately sick at the time and I wanted her to have the care of specialists. She died while I was serving my sentence.”

“Why, you did have a reason for taking the money,” said Penny kindly. “You should have been granted a pardon.”

“A theft is a theft. When I left prison, I made a new start here, and devoted myself to Pauletta who was then a little girl.”

“How old was she?” inquired Penny.

Mr. Judson gave no indication that he heard the question. He resumed:

“The truth had been kept from Pauletta. She believes that I was abroad during those years I spent in prison. Here in Riverview I prospered, people were kind to me. I made money and made it honestly. The future was very bright until a year ago.”

“Then you gave up your newspaper,” commented Penny. “Why?”

“Can’t you guess?”

“Blackmail?”

Mr. Judson nodded. “One day a man came to me, a man I had known in prison. He threatened to expose me unless I paid him a large sum of money.”

“And you agreed?”

“I did.”

“Wasn’t that rather foolish? People would have been charitable if you had admitted the truth.”

“I considered it from every angle, particularly from Pauletta’s standpoint. I gave the man what he asked, although it cost me the Morning Press. But that was not the end.”

“He still bothers you?”

“Yes, I’ll pay as long as I have a penny. I’ve thought of taking Pauletta and going away, but he would trace me.”

“Who is the man, Mr. Judson?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Is it either Anchor Joe Landa or Peter Fenestra?”

Mr. Judson’s face did not alter. “I can’t tell you,” he repeated.

“I wish you would talk to Dad,” Penny said after a moment. “He might be able to help you.”

“No,” returned Mr. Judson, growing agitated again, “you gave your promise that you would not tell.”

“Of course, I’ll keep it,” responded Penny. “It does seem to me, though, that the easiest thing would be to admit the truth and be rid of the man who robs you. Pauletta would understand.”

Mr. Judson shook his head. “I have made my decision,” he said. “As long as I can, I shall abide by it.”

There was nothing Penny could do but bid Mr. Judson good evening and leave the house. His secret troubled her. If he had told her the entire truth, it seemed very foolish of him to meet the demands of a blackmailer.

“I wonder if Mr. Judson did tell me everything?” she mused. “I had a feeling that he was keeping something back.”

The car rolled into the driveway of the Parker home. As Penny jumped out to open the garage doors, a man, who had been sitting on the back doorstep, arose. His face was hidden, but she knew it was not her father.

“Who is it?” she called uneasily.

The voice was reassuring. “It’s Horney, Miss Penny. I’ve been waitin’ for you.”

“What brings you here?” she asked, hurrying to meet him. “I hope nothing bad has happened at the Times.”

“Everything’s fine there. I’ve got a letter I thought you would want to see right away. Found it tonight when I was sweeping up. It answers a lot of questions you’ve been askin’.”

Penny took the paper from Old Horney’s gnarled hand. “Not about Matthew Judson?” she asked.

“Read it and you’ll see,” encouraged the pressman. “Judson was blackmailed just as I always thought. And by the man who signed this letter.”