“Dad,” she said suddenly. “I have an idea how Ben Bowman might be trailed!”
“Never mind telling me,” her father answered. “I prefer not to hear his name mentioned.”
“As you like,” she shrugged. “I’ll shroud myself in mystery and silence as I work. But when the case is ended, I’ll present my bill!”
Actually, Penny held slight hope that ever she would be able to turn the elusive Ben Bowman over to the police. The wily fellow was far too clever ever to file two messages from the same telegraph office, and very seldom from the same city. However, the town of Claymore, from which the last message had been sent, was only fifty-five miles away. It had occurred to her that by going there she might obtain from telegraph officials the original message filed.
“In that way I’d at least have Ben Bowman’s signature,” she reflected. “While it wouldn’t be much, it represents a start.”
Always, Penny’s greatest problem was insufficient time. Greatly as she desired to drive to Claymore, she knew it would be out of the question for several days. Not only must arrangements for the orphans’ melon party be completed, but other interests demanded attention.
Temporarily dismissing Ben Bowman from her mind, Penny devoted herself to plans for the outing. Cars easily were obtained, and the following night, sixty excited orphans were transported to the Davis farm. With shrieks of laughter, the boys and girls took possession of the melon patch.
“Pick all you like from the vines,” Penny called, “but don’t touch any of the crated ones.”
In the yard not far from the storage barn stood a truck loaded with melons which were ready for the market.
“This must represent the cream of Mrs. Preston’s crop,” Jerry remarked, lifting the canvas which covered the load. “Maybe she’ll be luckier than her neighbors, the Doolittles.”