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15. Ghost In The Garden



The three investigators moved stealthily along the high fence. Through the iron palings they could see a white-garbed figure walking with measured tread amid the shrubs of the frozen garden. Back and forth the apparition strolled, following a well-trod path between the shrunken snowdrifts.

Penny, Mrs. Weems, and the taxi driver crept closer. The ghostly one did not note their approach. Hooded head bent low, he glided to the gate, testing chain and padlock.

"Poor restless soul!" whispered Mrs. Weems.

Penny gave the housekeeper a tiny pinch to break the spell which had fallen upon her. "That's no ghost," she whispered. "Don't you see! It's a man wearing a heavy white bathrobe over his clothing. He's pulled the wide collar up over his head like a hood!"

"It's a man all right," added the taxi driver. "You can tell by the way he walks. Ghosts kinda slither, don't they?"

"I believe it's someone imprisoned on the grounds!" Penny whispered tensely. "Watch!"

The ghost, his face shadowed, rattled the chain again. Then with a distinct, audible sigh, he turned and tramped back along the fence away from the gate.

"Aw, that spook could get out if he wanted to," muttered the taxi driver. "Why don't he climb over the fence?"

"Perhaps the man is a sleep walker," suggested Mrs. Weems nervously. "Whoever he is, the poor fellow should be in his bed."

Penny was determined to learn the identity of the man. Moving to the gate, she called softly. The figure in white whirled around, looking straight toward her.

Penny caught a fleeting impression of a lean, startled face. Then the man turned and fled toward the house. No longer could there be any doubt that he was a man, for as he ran the legs of his woolen pajamas showed beneath the white robe.

"Wait!" Penny called. "Please wait!"

The ghostly one hesitated, and glanced over his shoulder. But the next moment he was gone, having vanished through a side door into the house.

Penny, weak from excitement, clung to the gate. "Mrs. Weems!" she cried. "Did you see him?"

"Yes, you frightened him away when you shouted."

"But didn't you notice his face? As he turned toward me, I caught a glimpse of it. Mrs. Weems, the man looked like Dad!"

"Oh, Penny," the housekeeper murmured, taking her arm, "you can't be right. How could it be your father?"

"It looked like him."

"Not to me," said Mrs. Weems firmly. "Why, if it had been Mr. Parker, he would have answered when you called. He wouldn't have run away."

Penny was compelled to acknowledge the logic of the housekeeper's reasoning. "I guess that's true," she said reluctantly. "I'll admit I didn't see his face plainly. I wanted it to be Dad so badly I may have imagined the resemblance."

A light was switched on in an upstairs room of the estate house. However, blinds were lowered, and those on the ground did not obtain another glimpse of the mysterious man who haunted the snowy garden. Finally Mrs. Weems induced Penny to return to the taxi.

Speeding toward Riverview, neither of them had much to say. Penny could not blot from her mind the vision of a startled, bewildered face. Reason told her that Mrs. Weems was right—the man could not be her father. Who then, was he? Why had he refused to talk to her at the gate?

"The man may have been a sleep walker," she thought. "Possibly the owner of the estate, Mr. Deming."

The cab had reached the business section of Riverview. Upon impulse Penny decided to stop at the Star plant to make sure that everything was going well.

"It won't take me long," she assured Mrs. Weems. "Why don't you wait in the cab?"

Only a skeleton night force was on duty at the Star office. The advertising department had been closed, and on the floor above, scrub women were busy mopping up. A sleepy-eyed desk man greeted Penny as she entered the deserted newsroom.

"Everything's Okay," he assured her. "The final edition's out, and most of the boys have gone home. I was just taking a little cat nap."

"Any news?"

"Not about your father. The police have been kept busy chasing down false rumors. About four hours ago a report came in your father had been seen in Chicago."

"Chicago!"

"Just a fake report."

"Oh, I see," said Penny weakly. "No word from Jerry, I suppose?"

The deskman shook his head. "Plenty of mail for you though."

"Anything important?"

"Mostly replies to that reward offer you made. A lot of 'em are screwball letters. Your father's been seen in every section of the city from the river to the Heights."

"Where is the mail?"

"I dumped it on your father's desk."

"I'll take it home to read," Penny said. "By going through every letter carefully I may stumble upon a clue."

She crossed the newsroom and opened the door of her father's office.

The light was not on. Groping for the wall switch, her keen ears detected stealthy steps moving away from her. Sensing the presence of someone in the room she called sharply: "Who's here?"

There was no reply. Across the room, a door softly opened and clicked shut. Penny was startled. Although the private office had two entrances, one leading directly into the hall, the latter had not been used in years. Usually the door was locked and a clothes tree stood in front of it.

Her groping fingers found the switch and she flooded the room with light. A glance revealed that mail lying on the desk had been disturbed. One of the top drawers remained open. The clothes tree had been moved from in front of the hall door. Plainly, someone had just fled from the room!

Darting to the corridor door, Penny jerked it open. No one was in sight. However, at the end of the deserted hall, she saw the elevator cage moving slowly downward.

"I'll get that fellow yet!" she thought grimly.

Taking the hall at a run, she plunged down the stairway two steps at a time. Breathless but triumphant, she reached the lower corridor just as the cage stopped with a jerk.

Harley Schirr stepped out, closing the grilled door behind him.

"Fancy meeting you here!" said Penny, her eyes flashing. "What were you doing in my father's office?"

Schirr regarded her coolly. Without answering, he tried to brush past her.

"You were looking for something in Dad's desk!" Penny accused, blocking the way. "I know how you got in too! Through the hall entrance. You're such a professional snooper you probably have a skeleton key that unlocks half the doors in the building!"

"I've had about enough of your insolence!" Schirr retorted. "There's no law which says I can't come to this plant. And speaking of law, I may sue you for libel."

"What a laugh."

"You'll not be laughing in a few days, Miss Parker! Oh, no! I've hired a lawyer, and we're preparing our case. You've insulted me, humiliated me in the eyes of my fellow newspapermen, but you'll have to pay. And pay handsomely!"

The threat failed to disturb Penny. Schirr, determined to wound her deeply, went on with grim satisfaction.

"You kid yourself you'll see your father again," he jeered. "Well, you won't! Mr. Parker is dead and you may as well get used to the idea."

Penny's eyes burned. "You say that only to torture me!"

"It's the truth. If you weren't so blind you'd acknowledge it. Your father tried to run a gang of professional tire-thieves out of this town, and they did for him."

"You seem very certain of your facts, Mr. Schirr. Perhaps you know some of the higher-ups personally."

"How would I?"

"Your knowledge is so complete," Penny said scathingly.

"I'm only telling you my opinion," Schirr growled, now on the defensive. "If you want to ride along in a sweet dream that's Okay with me."

"I want to get at the truth," said Penny shortly. "Do you have one scrap of evidence that Dad has fallen into the hands of enemies?"

Schirr hesitated, knowing well that an affirmative answer might lead to questioning from the police.

"I don't have any knowledge of the case," he said. "At least not for publication!"

Flashing a superior smile, he pushed past Penny, and went out of the building.