“I guess that will teach Peter Fenestra not to get funny with me!” she congratulated herself. “It pays to do a little thinking. Fenestra will be arrested, and then I’ll drive out and learn what he hides in his cave.”
Penny sniffed the air. She could smell smoke, and she thought it must be coming from a cigarette. Evidently Fenestra had stolen to the door and was patiently waiting for her to emerge.
“He’ll have a long wait,” she chuckled.
Gradually her elation died. The odor of smoke had grown stronger. She saw a wisp of it filter beneath the door crack. Penny’s heart caught in her throat. Tensely she listened. Was it imagination or could she hear the crackle of flames?
“Fenestra may be burning the papers of a scrap basket just to smoke me out,” she thought. “Probably that’s just what he’s doing.”
Pulling the heavy desk away from the door, she stood with her ear against the panel. Distinctly she could hear the crackle of flames. The wood felt warm to her cheek.
Suddenly Penny was afraid. Frantically she turned the key in the lock.
The door swung outward to the pressure of her shoulder. A wave of heat rushed in.
Penny staggered backward, horrified by the sight which met her eyes. At the end of the newsroom, where the exit should have been, rose a towering barrier of flames.