Penny read the message three times. Obviously, it had been placed on her desk during the few minutes she had been absent. Yet she reasoned that it would be useless to search for the cowardly person who undoubtedly had slipped from the building.
“So I am warned to close shop!” she muttered angrily. “And the Weekly Times offends public taste!”
Penny crumpled the paper into a ball, hurling it toward the wire basket. Reconsidering her action, she recovered the note and, carefully smoothing the wrinkles, placed it in her purse.
“I’ll show this to Dad,” she told herself. “But no one else.”
When Penny’s anger had cooled she was left with a vague sensation of misgiving. Resolutely she reflected that it was not unusual for editors to receive threatening notes. Often her father had shown her such communications sent to the Star by cranks.
“It doesn’t mean a thing,” she assured herself. “Not a thing. I’ll keep on publishing the Weekly as long as I please.”
One fact contributed to Penny’s uneasiness. Often she worked late in the building, and a single light burning from an upper story window proclaimed to any street watcher that she was alone. In the future she must use far more caution.
Try as she would, Penny could not forget the warning. After the boys who comprised the advertising staff had gone home for dinner, she caught herself listening tensely to every unusual sound. At length she shut the desk and arose.
“I’m doing no good here,” she thought in disgust. “I may as well go home.”
Taking particular care to lock all doors and windows, Penny left the building. Street lights were blinking on as she climbed into the parked automobile.