Penny took the announcement of the Celestial Thought meeting from her pocket and offered it to the publisher.

“Here’s one which might be interesting,” she said. “How about assigning me to it after I get this society job in hand?”

Mr. Parker read the item and his eyes blazed with anger.

“Do you know what this means, Penny?”

“Mr. DeWitt told me a little about the Celestial Temple society. He said the paper never ran such items.”

“Certainly not! Why, I should like nothing better than to see the entire outfit driven out of town! Riverview is honeycombed with mediums, fortune tellers and faith healers!”

“Perhaps they mean no harm, Dad.”

“I’ll grant there may be a small number of persons who honestly try to communicate with the spirit world,” Mr. Parker replied. “My concern is not with them, but with a group of professional mediums who lately have invaded the city. Charlatans, crooks—the entire lot!”

“Why don’t you write an editorial about it?” Penny suggested.

“An editorial! I am seriously tempted to start a vigorous campaign, but the trouble is, the police cannot be depended upon to cooperate actively.”

“Why, Dad?”

“Because experience has proven that such campaigns are not often successful. Evidence is hard to gain. If one place is closed up, others open in different sections of the city. The mediums and seers operate from dozens of private homes. When the police stage raids they acquire no evidence, and only succeed in making the department look ridiculous.”

“Yet the mediums continue to fleece the public?”

“The more gullible strata of it. Until recent months the situation here has been no worse than in other cities of comparable size. Lately an increasing number of charlatans has moved in on us.”

“Why don’t you start a campaign, Dad?” Penny urged. “You would be doing the public a worthwhile service.”

“Well, I hesitate to start something which I may be unable to finish.”

“At least the public deserves to be warned.”

“Unfortunately, Penny, many persons would take the attitude that the Star was persecuting sincere spiritualists. A campaign must be based on absolute evidence.”

“Can’t it be obtained?”

“Not without great difficulty. These mediums are a clever lot, Penny. They prey upon the superstitions of their intended victims.”

“I wish you would let me work on the story, Dad.”

“No, Penny,” responded her father. “You attend to your society and allow DeWitt to worry about the Celestial Temple crowd. Even if I should launch a campaign, I couldn’t allow you to become mixed up in the affair.”

The telephone bell jingled. With a tired sigh, Penny reached for the receiver.

“Society desk,” she said mechanically.

“I am trying to trace Mr. Parker,” informed the office exchange operator. “Is he with you, Miss Parker?”

“Telephone, Dad,” said Penny, offering him the receiver.

Mr. Parker waited a moment for another connection to be made. Then Penny heard him say:

“Oh, it’s you, Mrs. Weems? What’s that? Repeat it, please.”

From her father’s tone, Penny felt certain that something had gone wrong at home. She arose, waiting anxiously.

Mr. Parker clicked the receiver several times. “Apparently, Mrs. Weems hung up,” he commented.

“Is anything the matter, Dad?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Parker admitted, his face troubled. “Mrs. Weems seemed very excited. She requested me to come home as soon as possible. Then the connection was broken.”

“Why don’t you try to reach her again?”

Mr. Parker placed an out-going call, but after ten minutes the operator reported that she was unable to contact the housekeeper.

“Mrs. Weems never would have telephoned if something unusual hadn’t happened,” Penny declared uneasily. “Perhaps, she’s injured herself.”

“You think of such unpleasant things.”

“Something dreadful must have happened,” Penny insisted. “Otherwise, why doesn’t she answer?”

“We’re only wasting time in idle speculation,” Mr. Parker said crisply. “Get your things, Penny. We’ll start home at once!”

CHAPTER
4
A TURN OF FORTUNE

Penny immediately locked her desk and gathered up hat and gloves. She was hard pressed to keep pace with her father as they hastened to the elevator.

“By the way, you have your car downstairs?” the publisher inquired absently. He seldom drove his own automobile to the office.

“What a memory you have, Dad!” chuckled Penny. “Yes, I have all two of them! Parked in the loading dock for convenience.”

“Penny, haven’t I told you a dozen times—” Mr. Parker began, only to check himself. “Well, it will save us time now. However, we may discuss a few matters when we get home.”

The elevator shot them down to the first floor. Leaping Lena and the maroon sedan remained in the loading dock with a string of Star paper trucks blocking a portion of the street.

“Hey, sister,” a trucker called angrily to Penny. “It’s time you’re getting these cars out of here.” He broke off as he recognized Mr. Parker and faded behind one of the trucks.

“Dad, do you mind steering Lena?” Penny asked demurely. “We can’t leave her here. You can see for yourself that she seems to be blocking traffic.”

“Yes, I see,” Mr. Parker responded grimly.

“Of course, if you would feel more dignified driving the sedan—“

“Let me have the keys,” the publisher interrupted. “The important thing is to get home without delay.”

Penny became sober, and slid into her place at the wheel of Leaping Lena. Amid the smiles of the truckers, Mr. Parker drove the two cars out of the dock.

Once underway, the caravan made reckless progress through rush-hour traffic. More than once Penny whispered a prayer as Lena swayed around a corner, missing other cars by scant inches.

Presently the two automobiles drew up before a pleasant, tree-shaded home built upon a high terrace overlooking a winding river. Penny and her father alighted, walking hurriedly toward the front porch.

The door stood open and from within came the reassuring howl of a radio turned too high.

“Nothing so very serious can have happened,” remarked Penny. “Otherwise, Mrs. Weems wouldn’t have that thing going full blast.”

At the sound of footsteps, the housekeeper herself came into the living room from the kitchen. Her plump face was unusually animated.

“I hope you didn’t mind because I telephoned the office, Mr. Parker,” she began apologetically. “I was so excited, I just did it before I stopped to think.”

“Penny and I were nearly ready to start home in any case, Mrs. Weems. Has anything gone wrong here?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Parker. It was the telegram.”

“Telegram? One for me, you mean?”

“No, my own.” The housekeeper drew a yellow paper from the pocket of her apron, offering it to the publisher. “My Cousin David died out in Montana,” she explained. “The funeral was last Saturday.”

“That’s too bad,” remarked Penny sympathetically. And then she added: “Only you don’t look particularly sad, Mrs. Weems. How much did he leave you?”

“Penny! You say such shocking things! I never met Cousin David but once in my life. He was a kind, good man and I