The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels (66 page)

A flashlight beam played across the floor, missing her by a scant two feet.

Penny, her heart beating at a furious rate, remained motionless. She could see the squat, shadowy figure of a man moving toward her. Boards squeaked beneath his weight.

Midway across the room, the man paused, evidently listening to the steady clatter of Louise’s typewriter. Satisfied, he went to the window where he stood for several minutes watching street traffic.

As he turned again, the beam of his flashlight swept across the front counter, focusing upon the package of food. The man gave a low exclamation of pleasure. With the swiftness of a cat he darted to it and tore off the paper wrapping.

Penny waited until he was eating greedily. Then stealing along the wall, she groped for the electric light switch. As she pressed it, the room was brilliantly illuminated. At the same instant, the girl gave a shrill whistle, a signal to Louise that the culprit had been trapped.

The man at the counter whirled around, facing Penny with startled dismay. He was a gaunt, unshaven fellow in his late fifties with shaggy hair, and soiled, unpressed clothing.

Before he could retreat, Louise came down the stairway, blocking the exit.

“What are you doing here?” Penny questioned him. “Why did you steal my lunch?”

The man’s lips moved nervously but no sound issued from them.

“Shall I call the police?” prodded Penny. She gave him a severe glance.

“No, don’t do that,” the man pleaded, finding his voice. “Don’t call the police. I’ll go. I won’t bother you any more.”

“Why have you been hiding in the building?”

“Because I have no other place to sleep, Miss. The cops chase you off the park benches.”

Penny was surprised by the man’s speech which belied his disreputable garments. His tone was well modulated, his manner respectful.

“You’ve been living in this building a long while?” she asked curiously.

“Maybe six months. I sleep down in the furnace room. I didn’t do any harm.”

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” Penny inquired, less severely.

“Yes, I am, Miss. Lately I haven’t been eating any too often.”

“You may finish the lunch,” said Penny. “And there’s a thermos bottle of coffee under the counter.”

“Thank you, Miss, thank you. I surely am obliged.”

With a hand which trembled, the man poured himself a cup of the steaming beverage.

“You haven’t told me your name,” said Penny after a moment.

“Folks just call me Horney. Old Horney.”

“What is your real name?”

“Mark Horning,” the man answered reluctantly.

“I’m curious to learn how you’ve been getting in and out of the building.”

“With a key.” Old Horney devoured the last bite of sandwich, and poured himself a second cup of coffee.

“A skeleton key, you mean?” Penny asked in surprise.

“No, Miss. I have my own key. In the old days I used to work here.”

“You’re a former
Press
employee?”

“Sure, I know it’s hard to believe,” Old Horney replied, “but when a fellow’s out of a job and money, it doesn’t take long to go to seed. I lost my place when Judson closed down.”

“And you’ve been unable to find other work?”

“In the past nine months I’ve worked exactly six days. No one hires an old fellow any more. If I could have kept on with Judson three more years I’d have been due for my pension.”

“What work did you do on the paper?” asked Penny with growing interest.

“I was a pressman.”

Penny shot Louise a glance which was almost triumphant. Her voice when she spoke held an undertone of excitement.

“Horney,” she said, “it’s barely possible I may be able to find some sort of work for you later on. Do you mind writing your name on this paper?”

The old man took the sheet she handed him, without hesitation scrawling his name,
Mark Horning
.

Penny studied the writing a moment. To her relief it bore not the slightest resemblance to the warning message left on her desk the previous night.

“Horney,” she questioned, “did you ever try to frighten me away from this building?”

“Oh, no, Miss,” he replied. “Once I tiptoed up to your office. When I saw you were working there, I slipped down to the basement again.”

“Did you ever place a note on my desk?”

“I never did.”

Penny was satisfied that Horney had told the truth. Yet if he were not the culprit she was unable to guess who had warned her to abandon the plant.

“Horney, I’ve decided that we need a watchman around this place,” she said abruptly. “If you want the job, it’s yours.”

“You’re not turning me out?”

“No, you may stay. I can’t promise much of a salary, but at least you’ll have a place to sleep and enough food.”

“You’re mighty kind,” Horney mumbled gratefully. “Mighty kind.” He hesitated and then added: “I promise you won’t be sorry you did it, Miss. Maybe you’ll find I can be of some real use around this plant. I’m at your service and what’s more, I’m for you one hundred per cent.”

CHAPTER 13

PAPER PROBLEMS

The next afternoon Penny and Louise arrived at the
Weekly Times
to find that the entire lower floor had been cleaned and swept. Old Horney was discovered in the composing room, stirring up a great cloud of dust with a stub of a broom.

“I was just cleaning the place up a bit,” he said apologetically. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind?” laughed Penny. “I’m delighted. Our staff of janitors has lost interest here of late.”

“I set a little type for you last night, too.”

“Why, Horney! I didn’t know you were a linotype operator.”

“I’m not,” answered the old man, “but I can learn most anything if I set my mind to it. If you have any jobs you want done just turn them over to me.”

“Horney,” said Penny soberly, “more than anything else I would like to publish the
Weekly
in my own plant. The obstacles seem almost too great to overcome; do you think it could be accomplished?”

“Why, sure,” said Horney. “If I had some tools and a little to do with I could get the presses ready in a day.”

“What about the stereotyping work?”

“I could master the trick of it,” declared Horney confidently.

“Horney, you’re a jewel!” laughed Penny. “I’ll place you in charge of my production department, but I fear I can’t give you a salary in proportion to your duties.”

“Don’t worry about that, Miss. I would rather be working than sitting around with nothing to do.”

“Then look over the plant and make up a list of the things you must have,” suggested Penny. “I’ll go over to the
Star
this minute and arrange for printing paper.”

Leaving Louise in charge of the office, she jubilantly set forth for her father’s plant. Now that Old Horney had been added to the staff of the
Weekly
, problems which previously had seemed unsurmountable suddenly had become easily solved.

Entering the
Star
building, Penny went directly to the stockroom, wandering about until she found Mr. Curry, the foreman.

“Here’s something for you,” she grinned, offering a slip of paper.

“What’s this?” Mr. Curry asked with a puzzled frown. “An order for a roll of paper?”

“Yes, Mr. Curry,” explained Penny. “At last I am going to publish my own sheet over in the old
Press
building. Dad is staking me to a little paper.”

“A little! Why, one of these big rolls would print more copies of your paper than you could sell in six months! And paper is expensive. How about a half-roll or even a quarter? It would be a lot easier to handle.”

“Oh, all right,” agreed Penny. “Just so I get enough to print my first issue.”

Mr. Curry led the way to one of the presses, pointing to a roll of paper mounted on a feeding rack.

“That one is about half used up,” he said. “Will it do?”

“Yes, I guess so,” agreed Penny. “May I have it right away?”

Mr. Curry replied by pushing a tram along a miniature railway which ran under the press. With surprising skill, he maneuvered the roll into position on the carrier. Then he pushed the tram to the elevator, moved the portable paper lift over the roll, and up it went to the platform. The elevator grounded at the first floor where the paper was rolled to the loading dock with pry bars.

“There you are,” said the foreman.

“All I need now is a truck,” Penny cried exultantly. “Thanks, Mr. Curry!”

Standing guard beside her paper she waited until one of the
Star
drivers had finished unloading his cargo and was ready to pull from the dock.

“How’s chances fer a ride, buddy?” asked Penny, jerking her thumb in the manner of a hitch-hiker. “Me and my paper to the
Weekly Times
.”

“Okay,” laughed the trucker.

He rolled the paper onto the truck, and Penny climbed into the cab beside him. At the
Times
building she had the roll set off at the rear entrance where Old Horney easily could get it to the press room.

Highly elated, Penny mounted the steps two at a time, bursting in upon Louise who was busy writing headlines.

“Got it!” she announced. “About six hundred pounds of paper. That should keep the
Weekly
going for awhile.”

“Here’s something to dampen your enthusiasm.”Louise thrust a letter toward her. “Another kick on that octopus tattoo story you wrote. A Mrs. Brown says she heartily disapproves of such outlandish tales, and that she’ll never buy another copy of the
Times
.”

“At least it proves my story attracted attention,” chuckled Penny. “Anything else while I was gone?”

“Yes, Mrs. Weems telephoned to ask that you come to the cottage as soon as possible. And that reminds me—the telephone bill. The company requires a month’s advance—”

“Never mind the bills,” interrupted Penny. “Did Mrs. Weems say anything about Anchor Joe?”

“He appears to be much better.”

“I’m glad of that. I suppose I should drive out to the cottage before it gets dark.”

“Run along. I’ll look after everything here.”

Penny swept her desk clear of papers and locked the drawers. “If you have any spare time you might see what you can do with my algebra assignment,” she suggested. “I missed every problem but one yesterday.”

“I have my own lesson troubles,” responded Louise. “I’m wading up to my neck in Latin, and the next monthly quiz is certain to drown me.”

“Teachers have no consideration,” sighed Penny. “None at all.”

Gathering up her school books, she bade Louise good-bye and left the office. On the stairway she met Old Horney.

“I’ve made my list,” he said, offering it to her. “I figure we can’t get out the paper with less than this.”

Penny glanced at the paper and slipped it into her purse.

“I’ll get the things somehow,” she promised. “By the way, there’s a roll of paper on the loading dock.”

“I’ve already hauled ’er in,” replied Old Horney. “Any other jobs for me?”

“No, you seem to be one jump ahead,” laughed Penny.

They descended the stairway together, the steps creaking beneath their weight. There was a different look to Old Horney, Penny thought, stealing a glance at him. His hair had been cut and his face was clean-shaven. Work had given him a new outlook, a desire to recover his self respect.

“I suppose you knew Matthew Judson rather well?” she remarked reflectively.

“Oh, sure.”

“What was he like, Horney?”

“Well—” the old man hesitated, at a loss for words. “Judson was queer, sort of cold and unfriendly except to those who knew him best, but he was a square-shooter.”

“The employes liked him?”

“Everyone did except a few chronic sore-heads.”

“Horney, was it true that the
Press
was making money at the time it closed?”

“That’s what everyone on the paper thought. It was a shock to us all when Judson closed down. I’ll never forget the day he told us he was giving up the plant. The old man looked like death had struck him, and he cried when he said good-bye to the boys.”

“I wonder why he closed the plant?”

“Some say it was because he had lost a pile of money speculating on the stock market. But I never believed that. Judson wasn’t the gambling type.”

“Why do you think he gave up the paper, Horney?”

“I’ve done a lot of speculating on it,” the old man admitted. “This is just my own idea, but I figure Judson may have been blackmailed.”