ears, the words had an insolent ring.

“I’m merely waiting for him to return,” she answered briefly. “I came to find out what to do about the car.”

“Oh, yes, I heard that all of your tires were stolen last night.” Mr. Schirr’s lips twitched. “Too bad.”

“I may get them back again. Dad says—” Penny checked herself, remembering that the information given her by her father was to be kept secret.

“Yes?” encouraged the assistant editor.

“Perhaps police will catch the thieves,” she completed.

“I shouldn’t count on it if I were you, Miss Parker. Black Markets have flourished in this city for months. Nothing’s been done to stop it.”

“Just what do you mean by a Black Market, Mr. Schirr?”

“Illegal trading in various scarce commodities. Tires either stolen or hijacked, are sold by the crooks to so-called honest dealers who serve the public. It’s now a big-time business.”

“What does Dad think about it?”

“Well, now, I really couldn’t tell you. Your father doesn’t discuss his editorial policy with me. If he did, I’d warn him to lay off all those tire-theft stories.”

Penny gazed quickly at the assistant editor, wondering how much he knew of her father’s plan.

“Dad usually prints all the news,” she said. “Why should he soft-pedal the tire stories?”

“For his health’s sake.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Schirr.”

The assistant editor had closed the door behind him. Warming to his subject, he replied: “The men who have muscled into the tire theft racket are ugly lads without scruples. If your father stupidly insists upon trying to smash the outfit, he may not wake up some morning.”

The suggestion that her father might ruthlessly be done away with shocked Penny. And a canny corner of her mind demanded to know how Mr. Schirr could be so well informed. She was quite certain her father had not taken him into his confidence.

“Dad is no coward,” she said proudly.

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