“Is this the place?” Penny asked doubtfully.
“Yes, it’s the only warehouse within a mile. Queer the police aren’t here to meet us.”
The publisher waded through a shrunken snowdrift to a side door of the building. It was not locked and he pushed it open a crack. Far down a deserted corridor shone a dim lantern light.
“Oughtn’t we to wait for the police?” Penny whispered uneasily.
Without answering, Mr. Parker started down the corridor. Penny quickly overtook him, padding along close at his side.
The corridor opened into a large storage room used in years past to house river merchandise. Now the walls were stacked high with tires.
On the ground floor stood a truck which several men were loading. Two others watched the work from a balcony overhead.
“Dad, do you recognize any of those men?” Penny whispered.
“No, but we’ve evidently come to the right place,” he replied.
The men did not talk as they loaded the tires into the truck. For many minutes Penny and her father watched the work.