CHAPTER 23 PENNY’S PLIGHT

It was too dark for Penny to read the letter. Stepping to the car, she switched on the headlights and held the paper in its brilliant beam.

The letter read:

Dear Matthew:

Sorry to bother you again, Old Pal, but I know you’re always willing to give an old buddy and cellmate a helping hand. I don’t want to tip off the New York cops where you are, and you can trust me to keep mum if you come through with another six thousand. This is my last request.

Peter F.

“Peter Fenestra!” exclaimed Penny. “And it’s no surprise either! Horney, where did you find this letter?”

“It was in a pile of rubbish down in the basement. I don’t know how it got there.”

“Peter Fenestra has a habit of leaving notes on Mr. Judson’s desk,” declared Penny. “This one may have blown off and been swept out without the publisher seeing it!”

“Don’t you figure it’s a blackmail attempt?”

“Of course it is, Horney. You’ve not shown the letter to anyone?”

“Only to you. From the threat I dope it out that Judson was sent to prison years ago, and he’s still wanted.”

Penny nodded as she placed the letter in her pocketbook. His guess was a shrewd one, but she could tell him nothing without breaking her promise to Mr. Judson.

“Horney,” she said, “a great deal hinges upon this letter. You’ll not tell anyone what you’ve learned?”

“Oh, I’ll keep it to myself. I’m not one to get Judson into trouble. He’s had enough of it already.”

Penny noticed that her father’s car was not in the garage. She reasoned that since he had not come home he must be working late at the Star office as he frequently did.

“Jump in, Horney,” she invited, swinging wide the car door. “I’m going downtown to find Dad. I’ll give you a ride.”

She was grateful that the pressman had little to say as they sped through dimly lighted residential streets.

How much he suspected she could only guess. But the letter had made it clear to her that the former publisher never had completed his prison sentence.

“That was why he didn’t answer me when I asked about Pauletta’s age!” she thought. “He must have escaped from prison soon after he was sent there!”

No longer did Penny wonder why Mr. Judson had not refused Peter Fenestra’s repeated demands for money. Obviously he had feared a far worse fate than exposure—return to the New York state prison.

The car turned into the deserted Star loading dock. Few lights were visible in the building, for the day staff had gone home and only the scrub women were at work. Penny could not see the windows of her father’s office from the street. Nor did she observe a man who slouched against a wall, not far from where the car had stopped.

Old Horney stepped from the running board, thanking Penny for the ride.

“Guess I’ll amble up the street and get a cup of coffee.”

“You’ll be sure not to mention the letter?” Penny reminded him.

“I won’t tell a soul. You know, I was thinkin’ about it as we rode downtown. Peter Fenestra came into the office a couple of times just before Judson closed the plant. He was a dirty blackmailer, all right! Wouldn’t that letter I gave you be enough to send him up?”

“I should think so, Horney. But the problem is how to take care of him without ruining Mr. Judson.”

“Better show the letter to your father,” advised the pressman. “Maybe he’ll have some ideas.”

Tipping his hat, Old Horney moved briskly away.

Penny entered the rear vestibule, speaking to three scrub women who were locking up their cleaning equipment before leaving the building. Not even the elevator man was on duty, so she climbed the stairs. Switching on a light in the newsroom, she passed through it to her father’s office.

The room was dark.

“Not here,” thought Penny. “I was afraid of it.”

Deciding to telephone home, she entered one of the glass enclosed booths at the end of the newsroom. As she lifted the receiver, a voice from behind her said distinctly:

“Put that down!”

Startled, Penny whirled around. Peter Fenestra stood in the doorway of the booth.

“Come out of there!” he ordered harshly.

Penny obeyed with alacrity as she tried to gather her wits. The building was practically deserted, and Fenestra took care to stand between her and the outside door.

“What do you want here?” she demanded coldly.

“The letter.”

Penny stared at him blankly. Her astonishment was genuine.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Fenestra said harshly. “I want the letter you and that old man were talking about.”

“Oh!” Light broke upon Penny. “So you heard our conversation! You were listening!”

“I happened to be standing in the loading dock. I know you have the letter. Hand it over.”

Penny backed a few steps away toward her father’s office. “So you admit you wrote it?” she challenged.

“I admit nothing. But I want that letter.”

“You’ll not get it,” Penny defied him. “Peter Fenestra, you were the one who put that warning note on my desk a few days ago! And I know why, too! You were afraid I’d learn too much about the octopus tattoo. Well, I’ve learned plenty!”

Fenestra’s face became contorted with rage. He choked, “You’ve been down in the cave!” and started toward Penny.

Thoroughly frightened, she eluded his grasp. Running into her father’s office, she slammed the door. Bracing her body against it, she managed to turn the key before Fenestra could force it open.

“Come out of there!” he shouted furiously. “Come out, I say!”

“And I say I won’t!” retorted Penny. “Just try to get in!”

She pushed her father’s heavy desk across the room, placing it in front of the door.

Fenestra rattled the handle several times, and threw his body against the panel once or twice. Then she heard footsteps as he walked away.

“That’s only a trick to get me to come out,” thought Penny. “I won’t be stupid enough to fall into his trap. I’ll stay right here.”

Walking to the window, she gazed down. Cars were passing along the street. If she shouted for help someone might hear her. However, to explain her predicament would be rather awkward.

Penny’s gaze fell upon the telephone which had fallen from the desk to the floor. Picking it up, she dialed the number of her own house. Mrs. Weems answered.

“Hello,” said Penny cheerfully, “Dad hasn’t come home yet by any chance?”

“He’s just now driving into the garage,” the housekeeper replied. “I’ll call him.”

A moment later Penny heard her father’s voice at the other end of the wire.

“Dad,” she said, “I’m down at your office, sitting behind some barbed wire entanglements. I wish you’d get a policeman and see what you can do about rescuing me.”

“Is this one of your jokes?” Mr. Parker demanded.

Fearful that her father would hang up the receiver, Penny talked fast and to the point. Mr. Parker assured her he would come without a moment’s delay.

“I guess that will teach Peter Fenestra not to get funny with me!” she congratulated herself. “It pays to do a little thinking. Fenestra will be arrested, and then I’ll drive out and learn what he hides in his cave.”

Penny sniffed the air. She could smell smoke, and she thought it must be coming from a cigarette. Evidently Fenestra had stolen to the door and was patiently waiting for her to emerge.

“He’ll have a long wait,” she chuckled.

Gradually her elation died. The odor of smoke had grown stronger. She saw a wisp of it filter beneath the door crack. Penny’s heart caught in her throat. Tensely she listened. Was it imagination or could she hear the crackle of flames?

“Fenestra may be burning the papers of a scrap basket just to smoke me out,” she thought. “Probably that’s just what he’s doing.”

Pulling the heavy desk away from the door, she stood with her ear against the panel. Distinctly she could hear the crackle of flames. The wood felt warm to her cheek.

Suddenly Penny was afraid. Frantically she turned the key in the lock.

The door swung outward to the pressure of her shoulder. A wave of heat rushed in.

Penny staggered backward, horrified by the sight which met her eyes. At the end of the newsroom, where the exit should have been, rose a towering barrier of flames.