The Clock Strikes Thirteen Part 37

"Out of my way!" the man cried, giving her a hard push.

Penny clung tightly and struggled to reach the hood which covered his face.

Suddenly, the man jerked free and darted on up the steep, circular stairway. Pursuing him, Penny was able to seize the long flowing black robe, only to have it tear loose in her hands.

Gaining the first landing, midway to the belfry, the man did not hesitate. Swinging his legs through an open window, he leaped to the ground twenty feet below.

"He'll be killed!" Penny thought.

Reaching the window she saw the man lying in a heap at the base of the tower. For a moment he remained motionless, but as she watched, he slowly scrambled to his feet and staggered off.

Until the man ducked behind the high hedge, Penny saw him plainly silhouetted in the moonlight. Although his black hood remained in place, his body no longer was covered by the dark robe.

"I know him!" she thought. "Even with his mask on, I'm sure I can't be wrong!"

Fearing to attempt the hazardous leap, Penny ran down the iron stairway, shouting that the Master of the Hoods had escaped. By this time, Mr.

Parker's crew of reporters had gained the upperhand of the remaining members of the organization.

"Which way did the fellow go?" the editor demanded, running to the door.

"Along the hedge toward the street!" Penny directed.

Leaving Jerry, Salt, and the others to guard the prisoners, Mr. Parker and his daughter hastened outdoors. There was no sign of anyone in the vicinity of the Tower.

"He can't be far away," Penny maintained. "Anyway, I know his ident.i.ty!"

"You saw his face?"

"No, but as he ran across the yard I noticed that one arm was much shorter than the other."

"Clyde Blake!"

"That's what I think. Maybe we can catch him at his home!"

"If Blake is our man, we'll get him!" Mr. Parker said tersely. "We may need help though."

Reentering the Tower building, he telephoned police headquarters, asking that a patrol wagon be sent for Hank Holloway, Charley Phelps, and the other prisoners.

"Send a squad to Clyde Blake's home," he added crisply. "I'll meet your men there and provide all the evidence they'll need to make the arrests."

Jerry, Salt, and the two reporters were instructed to remain at the Tower pending the arrival of the patrol wagon. There was slight danger that any of the prisoners could escape for all the captives had been locked into the machinery room.

Delaying only long enough to obtain the case of sound equipment hidden beneath the daybed, Mr. Parker and Penny hastened to the waiting press car.

"Dad," she marveled as they pa.s.sed near a street light, "you should see your eye! It's turning black. Someone must have pasted you hard."

"Never mind that now," he returned indifferently. "We're out for a big story, and we're going to get it too!"

The police cruiser which had been summoned was not in sight by the time Mr. Parker and Penny reached the Blake home. At first glance, the house seemed to be dark. However, a dim light glowed from the windows of one of the upstairs, rear bedrooms.

"We'll not wait for the police," Mr. Parker said, starting up the walk.

His knock at the door went unanswered. Even when the editor pounded with his fist, no one came to admit him.

"Someone is inside," Penny declared, peering up at the lighted window.

"It must be Blake."

Mr. Parker tried the door and finding it unlocked, stepped boldly into the living room.

"Blake!" he shouted.

On the floor above Mr. Parker and Penny heard the soft pad of slippered feet. The real estate man, garbed in a black silk dressing gown, gazed down over the bal.u.s.trade.

"Who is there?" he called.

"Anthony Parker from the _Star_. I want to talk with you."

Slowly Clyde Blake descended the stairway. His gait was stiff and deliberate.

"You seem to have injured your leg," Mr. Parker said significantly.

"I stumbled on the stairway not fifteen minutes ago," Blake answered.

"Twisted my ankle. May I ask why I am honored with a visit at this hour?"

"You know why I am here!" Mr. Parker retorted, reaching to switch on a living room light.

"Indeed, I don't." Deliberately Blake moved away from the bridge lamp into the shadow, but not before both Penny and her father had noted a long, ugly scratch across his cheek.

"It's no use to pretend," Mr. Parker said sharply. "I have all the evidence I need to convict you of being a ringleader of the Hoods."

"You are quite mad," the real estate man sneered. "Parker, I've put up with you and your methods quite long enough. You queered my deal with the Orphans' Camp Board. Now you accuse me of being a member of a disreputable organization. You must be out of your mind."

"You've always been a good talker, Blake, but this time it will get you nowhere. My reporters were at the Hubell Tower. I have a complete sound record of what transpired there. Either give yourself up, or the police will take you by force."

"So you've notified the police?"

"I have."

"In that case--" Blake's smile was tight. With a dextrousness which caught Penny and her father completely off guard, he whipped a revolver from beneath his dressing robe. "In that case," he completed, "we'll handle it this way. Raise your hands, if you please."

"Your politeness quite overpowers me," the editor said sarcastically, as he obeyed.

"Now turn your back and walk to the telephone," Blake went on. "Call the police station and tell the chief that you made a mistake in asking for my arrest."

"This will get you nowhere, Blake."

"Do as I say!"