The Clock Strikes Thirteen
Mildred A. Wirt
THE CLOCK STRIKES THIRTEEN
by
MILDRED A. WIRT
Author ofMildred A. Wirt Mystery StoriesTrailer Stories for Girls
Illustrated
Cupples and Leon CompanyPublishersNew York
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_PENNY PARKER_MYSTERY STORIES
_Large 12 mo. Cloth Illustrated_
TALE OF THE WITCH DOLLTHE VANISHING HOUSEBOATDANGER AT THE DRAWBRIDGEBEHIND THE GREEN DOORCLUE OF THE SILKEN LADDERTHE SECRET PACTTHE CLOCK STRIKES THIRTEENTHE WISHING WELLSABOTEURS ON THE RIVERGHOST BEYOND THE GATEHOOFBEATS ON THE TURNPIKEVOICE FROM THE CAVEGUILT OF THE BRASS THIEVESSIGNAL IN THE DARKWHISPERING WALLSSWAMP ISLANDTHE CRY AT MIDNIGHT
* * * * *
Copyright, 1942, by Cupples and Leon Co.The Clock Strikes Thirteen
Printed in U. S. A.
_CONTENTS_
CHAPTER PAGE 1 SANDWICHES FOR TWO _1_ 2 NIGHT RIDERS _11_ 3 A BLACK HOOD _20_ 4 A NEW CARETAKER _28_ 5 OLD SETH _38_ 6 TALL CORN _48_ 7 MR. BLAKE'S DONATION _55_ 8 PUBLICITY BY PENNY _63_ 9 JERRY'S PARTY _71_ 10 IN THE MELON PATCH _78_ 11 PENNY'S CLUE _89_ 12 ADELLE'S DISAPPEARANCE _97_ 13 AN EXTRA STROKE _106_ 14 THROUGH THE WINDOW _115_ 15 TRACING BEN BOWMAN _123_ 16 A FAMILIAR NAME _130_ 17 FALSE RECORDS _137_ 18 ADELLE'S ACCUSATION _147_ 19 TRAILING A FUGITIVE _155_ 20 CLEM DAVIS' DISCLOSURE _163_ 21 A BROKEN PROMISE _170_ 22 THE MAN IN GRAY _178_ 23 A TRAP SET _185_ 24 TIMELY HELP _193_ 25 SPECIAL EDITION _203_
CHAPTER 1 _SANDWICHES FOR TWO_
Jauntily, Penny Parker walked through the dimly lighted newsroom of the_Riverview Star_, her rubber heels making no sound on the bare, freshlyscrubbed floor. Desks were deserted, for the final night edition of thepaper had gone to press half an hour earlier, and only the cleaning womenwere at work. One of the women arrested a long sweep of her mop just intime to avoid splashing the girl with water.
"I sorry," she apologized in her best broken English. "I no look forsomeone to come so very late."
"Oh, curfew never rings for me," Penny laughed, side stepping a puddle ofwater. "I'm likely to be abroad at any hour."
At the far end of the long room a light glowed behind a frosted glassdoor marked: "Anthony Parker--Editor." There the girl paused, and seeingher father's grotesque shadow, opened the door a tiny crack, to rumble ina deep voice:
"Hands up! I have you covered!"
Taken by surprise, Mr. Parker swung quickly around, his swivel chairsqueaking a loud protest.
"Penny, I wish you wouldn't do that!" he exclaimed. "You know it alwaysmakes me jump."
"Sorry, Dad," Penny grinned, slumping into a leather chair beside herfather's desk. "A girl has to have some amusement, you know."
"Didn't three hours at the moving picture theatre satisfy you?"
"Oh, the show was worse than awful. By the way, here's something foryou."
Removing a sealed yellow envelope from her purse, Penny flipped itcarelessly across the desk.
"I met a Western Union boy downstairs," she explained. "He was lookingfor you. I paid for the message and saved him a trip upstairs. Twodollars and ten cents, if you don't mind."
Absently Mr. Parker took two crisp dollar bills from his pocket andreached for the telegram.
"Don't forget the dime," Penny reminded him. "It may seem a trifle toyou, but not to a girl who has to live on a weekly allowance."
For lack of change, the editor tossed over a quarter, which his daughterpocketed with deep satisfaction. Ripping open the envelope, he scannedthe telegram, but as he read, his face darkened.
"Why, Dad, what's wrong?" Penny asked in surprise.
Mr. Parker crumpled the sheet into a round ball and hurled it toward thewaste paper basket.
"Your aim gets worse every day," Penny chuckled, stooping to retrieve thepaper. Smoothing the corrugations, she read aloud:
"YOUR EDITORIAL 'FREEDOM OF THE PRESS' IN THURSDAY'S STAR THOROUGHLY DISGUSTED THIS READER. WHAT YOUR CHEAP PAPER NEEDS IS A LITTLE LESS FREEDOM AND MORE DECENCY. IF OUR FOREFATHERS COULD HAVE FORESEEN THE YELLOW PRESS OF TODAY THEY WOULD HAVE REGULATED IT, NOT MADE IT FREE. WHY DON'T YOU TAKE THAT AMERICAN FLAG OFF YOUR MASTHEAD AND SUBSTITUTE A CASH REGISTER? FLY YOUR TRUE COLORS AND SOFT-PEDAL THE PARKER BRAND OF HYPOCRISY!"
"Stop it--don't read another line!" the editor commanded before Penny hadhalf finished.
"Why, Dad, you poor old wounded lion!" she chided, blue eyes dancing withmischief. "I thought you prided yourself that uncomplimentary opinionsnever disturbed you. Can't you take it any more?"
"I don't mind a few insults," Mr. Parker snapped, "but paying for them isanother matter."
"That's so, this little gem of literature did set you back two dollarsand ten cents. Lucky I collected before you opened the telegram."
Mr. Parker slammed his desk shut with a force which rattled the officewindows.
"This same crack-pot who signs himself 'Disgusted Reader' or 'BenBowman,' or whatever name suits his fancy, has sent me six telegrams inthe past month! I'm getting fed up!"
"All of the messages collect?"
"Every one. The nit-wit has criticised everything from the _Star_'s comicstrips to the advertising columns. I've had enough of it!"
"Then why not do something about it?" Penny asked soothingly. "Refuse thetelegrams."
"It's not that easy," the editor growled. "Each day the _Star_ receives alarge number of 'collect' messages, hot news tips from out-of-towncorrespondents and from reporters who try to sell free lance stories.We're glad to pay for these telegrams. This fellow who keeps bombardingus is just smart enough to use different names and send his wires fromvarious places. Sometimes he addresses the telegrams to me, and thenperhaps to City Editor DeWitt or one of the other staff members."
"In that case, I'm afraid you're out of luck," Penny said teasingly. "Howabout drowning your troubles in a little sleep?"
"It is late," Mr. Parker admitted, glancing at his watch. "Almostmidnight. Time we're starting home."
Reaching for his hat, Mr. Parker switched off the light, locked the door,and followed Penny down the stairway to the street. At the parking lotopposite the _Star_ building, he tramped about restlessly while waitingfor an attendant to bring the car.
"I'll drive," Penny said, sliding behind the steering wheel. "In yourpresent mood you might inadvertently pick off a few pedestrians!"
"It makes my blood boil," Mr. Parker muttered, his thoughts reverting tothe telegram. "Call my paper yellow, eh? And that crack about the c
ashregister!"
"Oh, everyone knows the _Star_ is the best paper in the state," Pennysaid, trying to coax him into a better mood. "You're a good editor too,and a pretty fair father."
"Thanks," Mr. Parker responded with a mock bow. "Since we're passing outcompliments, you're not so bad yourself."
Suddenly relaxing, he reached out to touch Penny's hand in a rareexpression of affection. Tall and lean, a newspaper man with a reputationfor courage and fight, he had only two interests in life--his paper andhis daughter. Penny's mother had been dead many years, but at times hesaw his wife again in the girl's sparkling blue eyes, golden hair, andespecially in the way she smiled.
"Hungry, Dad?" Penny asked unexpectedly, intruding upon his thoughts. "Iknow a dandy new hamburger place not far from here. Wonderful coffeetoo."
"Well, all right," Mr. Parker consented. "It's pretty late though. Thebig clock's striking midnight."
As the car halted for a traffic light, they both listened to the musicalchimes which preceded the regularly spaced strokes of the giant clock.Penny turned her head to gaze at the Hubell Memorial Tower, a grim stonebuilding which rose to the height of seventy-five feet. Erected ten yearsbefore as a monument to one of Riverview's wealthy citizens, its chimescould be heard for nearly a mile on a still night. On one side, its high,narrow windows overlooked the city, while on the other, the cultivatedlands of truck farmers.
"How strange!" Penny murmured as the last stroke of the clock died away.
"What is strange?" Mr. Parker asked gruffly.
"Why, that clock struck thirteen times instead of twelve!"
"Bunk and bosh!"
"Oh, but it did!" Penny earnestly insisted. "I counted each strokedistinctly."
"And one of them twice," scoffed her father. "Or are you spoofing yourold Dad?"
"Oh, I'm not," Penny maintained. As the car moved ahead, she craned herneck to stare up at the stone tower. "I know I counted thirteen. Why,Dad, there's a green light burning in one of the windows! I never sawthat before. What can it mean?"
"It means we'll have a wreck unless you watch the road!" Mr. Parkercried, giving the steering wheel a quick turn. "Where are you taking meanyhow?"
"Out to Toni's." Reluctantly Penny centered her full attention upon thehighway. "It's only a mile into the country."
"We won't be home before one o'clock," Mr. Parker complained. "But sincewe're this far, I suppose we may as well keep on."
"Dad, about that light," Penny said thoughtfully. "Did you ever notice itbefore?"
Mr. Parker turned to gaze back toward the stone tower.
"There's no green light," he answered grimly. "Every window is dark."
"But I saw it only an instant ago! And I did hear the clock strikethirteen. Cross my heart and hope to die--"
"Never mind the dramatics," Mr. Parker cut in. "If the clock struck anextra time--which it didn't--something could have gone wrong with themechanism. Don't try to build up a mystery out of your imagination."
The car rattled over a bridge and passed a deserted farm house thatformerly had belonged to a queer old man named Peter Fenestra. Penny'sgaze fastened momentarily upon an old fashioned storm cellar which marredthe appearance of the front yard.
"I suppose I imagined all that too," she said, waving her hand toward thedisfiguring cement hump. "Old Peter never had any hidden gold, he neverhad a SECRET PACT with tattooed sailors, and he never tried to burn yournewspaper plant!"
"I'll admit you did a nice piece of detective work when you uncoveredthat story," her father acknowledged. "Likewise, you brought the _Star_one of its best scoops by outwitting slippery Al Gepper and entanglinghim in his own _Silken Ladder_."
"Don't forget the _Tale of the Witch Doll_ either," Penny reminded him."You laughed at me then, just as you're doing now."
"I'm not laughing," denied the editor. "I merely say that no light wasburning in the tower window, and I very much doubt that the clock struckmore than twelve times."
"Tomorrow I shall go to the tower and talk with the caretaker, SethMcGuire. I'll prove to you that I was right!"
"If you do, I'll treat to a dish of ice cream decorated with nuts."
"Make it five gallons of gasoline and I'll be really interested," shecountered.
Due to an unusual set of circumstances, Penny had fallen heir to twoautomobiles, one a second-hand contraption whose battered sides bore thesignature of nearly every young person in Riverview. The other, ahandsome maroon sedan, had been the gift of her father, presented ingratitude because of her excellent reporting of a case known to many as_Behind the Green Door_. Always hard pressed for funds, she found it allbut impossible to keep two automobiles in operation, and her financialdifficulties were a constant source of amusement to everyone but herself.
Soon, an electric sign proclaiming "Toni's" in huge block letters loomedup. Penny swung into the parking area, tooting the horn for service.Immediately a white-coated waiter brought out a menu.
"Coffee and two hamburgers," Penny ordered with a flourish. "Everythingon one, and everything but, on the other."
"No onions for the little lady?" the waiter grinned. "Okay. I'll have 'emright out."
While waiting, Penny noticed that another car, a gray sedan, had drawn upclose to the building. Although the two men who occupied the front seathad ordered food, they were not eating it. Instead they conversed in lowtones as they appeared to watch someone inside the cafe.
"Dad, notice those two men," she whispered, touching his arm.
"What about them?" he asked, but before she could reply, the waiter camewith a tray of sandwiches which he hooked over the car door.
"Not bad," Mr. Parker praised as he bit into a giant-size hamburger."First decent cup of coffee I've had in a week too."
"Dad, watch!" Penny reminded him.
The restaurant door had opened, and a man of early middle age cameoutside. Immediately the couple in the gray sedan stiffened to alertattention. As the man passed their car they lowered their heads, but theinstant he had gone on, they turned to peer after him.
The man who was being observed so closely seemed unaware of the scrutiny.Crossing the parking lot, he chose a trail which led into a dense groveof trees.
"Now's our chance!" cried one of the men in the gray sedan. "Come on,we'll get him!" Both alighted and likewise disappeared into the woods.
"Dad, did you hear what they said?" asked Penny.
"I did," he answered grimly. "Tough looking customers too."
"I'm afraid they mean to rob that first man. Isn't there anything we cando?"
Mr. Parker barely hesitated. "I may make a chump of myself," he said,"but here goes! I'll tag along and try to be on hand if anythinghappens."
"Dad, don't do it!" Penny pleaded, suddenly frightened lest her fatherface danger. "You might get hurt!"
Mr. Parker paid no heed. Swinging open the car door, he strode across theparking lot, and entered the dark woods.
