Part 11 (2/2)

”Know anyone aboard the _Snark?_”

”No.”

”Then move along,” the guard ordered curtly.

Penny did not argue. Slipping quietly away, she sought a brightly lighted street which led toward the newspaper office. Midway there, she stopped at a corner drugstore to call home and inquire for her father. Mrs. Weems told her that so far as she knew Mr. Parker had returned to the _Star_ office to do a little extra work.

”Then I'll catch him there,” Penny declared.

”Is anything wrong?” the housekeeper inquired anxiously.

”Just something in connection with a news story,” Penny rea.s.sured her.

”I'll be home soon.”

Hanging up the receiver before the housekeeper could ask any more questions, she walked swiftly on to the _Star_ building. The front door was locked, but Penny had her own key. Letting herself in through the darkened advertising room, she climbed the stairs to the news floor.

A few members of the Sunday staff were working at their desks, but otherwise the room was deserted. Typewriters, like hooded ghosts, stood in rigid ranks.

Pausing to chat for a moment with the Sunday editor, Penny asked if her father were in the building.

”He was in his office a few minutes ago,” the man replied. ”I don't know if he left or not.”

Going on through the long newsroom, Penny saw that her father's office was dark. The door remained locked.

Disappointed, she started to turn back when she noticed a light burning in the photography room. At this hour she knew no one would be working there, unless Salt Sommers or one of the other photographers had decided to develop and print a few of his own pictures.

”Dad, are you there?” she called.

No one answered, but Penny heard a scurry of footsteps.

”Salt!” she called, thinking it must be one of the photographers.

Again there was no reply, but a gust of wind came suddenly down the corridor. The door of the photography room slammed shut.

Startled, Penny decided to investigate. She pushed open the door. The light was on, but no one was in the room.

”Salt!” she called again, thinking that the photographer might be in the darkroom.

He did not reply. As she started forward to investigate, the swinging chain of the skylight drew her attention. The gla.s.s panels were closed and there was no breeze in the room. Yet the bra.s.s chain swung back and forth as if it had been agitated only a moment before.

”Queer!” thought Penny, staring upward. ”Could anyone have come in here through that skylight?”

The idea seemed fantastic. She could think of no reason why anyone should seek such a difficult means of entering the newspaper office. To her knowledge, nothing of great value was kept in the photography rooms.

Yet, the fact remained that the light was on, the chain was swaying back and forth, and a door had slammed as if from a gust of wind.

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