"How?" her father asked, covering a wide yawn.
"I don't know," Penny admitted, favoring the grim tower with a dark scowl. "But just you wait--I'll find a way!"
CHAPTER 4 _A NEW CARETAKER_
"I declare, getting folks up becomes a harder task each morning,"
declared Mrs. Maud Weems, who had served as the Parker housekeeper for eleven years, as she brought a platter of bacon and eggs to the breakfast table. "I call and call until I'm fairly hoarse, and all I get in response is a few sleepy mutters and mumbles. The food is stone cold."
"It's good all the same," praised Penny, pouring herself a large-size glass of orange juice. "There's not a woman in Riverview who can equal your cooking."
"I'm in no mood for blarney this morning," the housekeeper warned. "I must say quite frankly that I don't approve of the irregular hours in this house."
"Penny and I did get in a little late last night," Mr. Parker admitted, winking at his daughter.
"A little late! It must have been at least four o'clock when you came in.
Oh, I heard you tiptoe up the stairs even if you did take off your shoes!"
"It was only a few minutes after two," Penny corrected. "I'm sorry though, that we awakened you."
"I hadn't been asleep," Mrs. Weems replied, somewhat mollified by the apology. "I'm sure I heard every stroke of the clock last night."
"You did!" Penny exclaimed with sudden interest. "How many times would you say it struck at midnight? I mean the Hubell Tower clock."
"Such a question!" Mrs. Weems protested, thoroughly exasperated.
"It's a very important one," Penny insisted. "My reputation and five gallons of gas are at stake, so weigh well your words before you speak."
"The clock struck twelve, of course!"
"There, you see, Penny," Mr. Parker grinned triumphantly. "Does that satisfy you?"
"Mrs. Weems," Penny persisted, "did you actually count the strokes?"
"Certainly not. Why should I? The clock always strikes twelve, therefore it must have struck that number last night."
"I regret to say, you've just disqualified yourself as a witness in this case," Penny said, helping herself to the last strip of bacon on the platter. "I must search farther afield for proof."
"What are you talking about anyhow?" the housekeeper protested. "It doesn't make sense to me."
As she finished breakfast, Penny explained to Mrs. Weems how the disagreement with her father had arisen. The housekeeper displayed slight interest in the tale of the clock, but asked many questions about the fire at the Preston farm.
"That reminds me!" Mr. Parker suddenly exclaimed before Penny had finished the story. "I want to 'phone Sheriff Daniels before I start for the office. Excuse me, please."
Pushing aside his chair, he went hurriedly to the living room. Not wishing to miss any news which might have a bearing on the affair of the previous night, Penny trailed him, hovering close to the telephone.
However, her father's brief comments told her almost nothing.
"What did you learn?" she inquired eagerly as he hung up the receiver.
"Was Clem Davis arrested last night?"
"No, it turned out about as we expected. Apparently, Davis knew the sheriff was looking for him. Anyway, he never returned home."
Jamming on his hat, Mr. Parker started for the front door. Penny pursued him to the garage, carrying on a running conversation.
"This rather explodes my theory about Clem not being guilty," she remarked ruefully. "If he were innocent, one would expect him to face the sheriff and prove an alibi."
"Davis can't be far away," Mr. Parker responded, getting into the maroon sedan. "The sheriff will nab him soon."
Penny held open the garage doors, watching as her father backed down the driveway, scraping the bark of a tree whose gnarled trunk already bore many scars. Before she could reenter the house, Louise Sidell, a dark-haired, slightly plump girl, who was Penny's most loyal friend, sauntered into the yard.
"Hi!" she greeted cheerily. "About ready?"
"Ready for what?" Penny asked, her face blank.
Louise regarded her indignantly. "If that isn't just like you, Penny Parker! You make promises and then forget them. Don't you remember telling Mrs. Van Cleve of the Woman's Club that we would help sell tags today, for the Orphans' Home summer camp?"
"Now that you remind me, I have a vague recollection. How many are we to sell?"
"Twenty-five at not less than a quarter each. I have the tags, but we'll have to work fast or the other girls will sell all the easy customers."
"I'll be with you in two shakes," Penny promised, heading for the house.
"Wait until I tell Mrs. Weems where I am going."
Returning a moment later with the car ignition keys, she found Louise staring disconsolately at the empty space in the garage.
"What became of your new car?" asked her chum.
"Dad's auto is in the garage for repairs," Penny explained briefly. "I didn't have the heart to make him walk."
"I should think not!" laughed Louise. "Imagine having three cars in one family--if you can call this mess of junk by such a flattering name."
Depreciatingly, she kicked the patched tire of a battered but brightly painted flivver which had seen its heyday in the early thirties.
"Don't speak so disrespectfully of my property," Penny chided, sliding into the high, uncomfortable seat. "Leaping Lena is a good car even if she is a bit creaky in the joints. She still takes us places."
"And leaves us stranded," Louise added with a sniff. "Oh, well, let's go--if we can."
Penny stepped on the starter and waited expectantly. The motor sputtered and coughed, but true to form, would not start. Just as the girls were convinced that they must walk, there was an explosive backfire, and then the car began to quiver with its familiar motion.
"You should sell Lena to the government for a cannon," Louise teased as they rattled down the street. "What do you burn in this smoke machine?
Kerosene?"
"Never mind the slurs. Where do we start our business operations?"
"We've been assigned to the corner of Madison and Clark streets," Louise answered as she separated the yellow benefit tags into two evenly divided piles. "It shouldn't take us long to get rid of these."