The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels (206 page)

Salt already had his camera into position. As the car started up, the flash bulb went off.

“Got it!” Salt exclaimed triumphantly.

Penny tried to note the license number of the automobile, but the plate was so covered with mud she could not read a single figure. The car whirled around a corner and was lost to view.

“Salt, that man may have been the one who set off the explosion!” Penny cried. “The mob is of that opinion at least!”

Angry employes now were bearing directly toward Penny and Salt. Suddenly a woman in the crowd pointed toward the photographer, shouting:“There he is! Get him!”

Dismayed, Penny saw then that Salt wore a light overcoat which bore a striking resemblance to the garment of the fleeing stranger. Their builds too were somewhat similar, for both were thin and angular. In the darkness, the mob had failed to see the car roll away, and had mistaken Salt for the saboteur.

“Let’s get out of here!” Salt muttered. “One thing you can’t do is argue with a mob!”

He and Penny started in the opposite direction, only to be faced by a smaller group of workmen who had swarmed from another factory gate. Escape was cut off.

“Tell them we’re from the
Star
!” Penny urged, but as she beheld the angry faces, she realized how futile were her words.

“They’ll wreck my equipment before I can explain anything!” Salt said swiftly. He thrust the camera into her hands. “Here, take this and try to keep it safe! And these plates!”

Empty-handed, Salt turned to face the mob. Not knowing what to do, Penny tried to cut across the street. But the crowd evidently had taken her for a companion of the saboteur, and was determined she should not escape.

“Don’t let her get away!” shouted a woman in slacks, her voice shrill with excitement. “Get her!”

A car was coming slowly down the street. Its driver, a woman, was watching the flaming building, and had rolled down the window glass to see better. The window of the rear seat also was halfway down.

As the women of the mob bore down upon Penny, she acted impulsively to save Salt’s camera and the precious plates. Without thinking of the ultimate consequence, she tossed them through the open rear window onto the back seat of the moving car.

The driver, her attention focused upon the blazing factory, apparently did not observe the act, for she continued slowly on down the street.

“D F 3005,” Penny noted the license number. “If only I can remember!”

The factory women were upon the girl, seizing her roughly by the shoulders and shouting accusations. Penny’s jacket was ripped as she jerked free.

“I’m a reporter for the
Star
!” she cried desperately. “Sent here to cover the story!”

The words made not the slightest impression upon the women. But before they could lay hands upon her again, she fled across the street. The women did not pursue her, for just then two police cars rolled up to the curb.

Penny, greatly relieved, ran to summon help.

“Quick!” she urged the policemen. “That crazy mob has mistaken a reporter for one of the saboteurs who escaped in a car!”

With drawn clubs, the policemen battled their way through the crowd. Already Salt had been roughly handled. But arrival of the police saved him from further mistreatment, and fearful of arrest, the mob began to scatter. In another moment the photographer was free, although a bit battered. His coat had been torn to shreds, one eye had been blackened, and blood trickled from a cut on his lower lip.

“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously as Penny rushed to him.

“Oh, yes! But you’re a sight, Salt. They half killed you!”

“I’m okay,” Salt insisted. “The important thing is we’ve got a whale of a story, and we saved the camera and pictures.”

A stricken look came over Penny’s face.

“Salt—” she stammered. “Your camera—”

“It was smashed?”

“No, I tossed it into a car, but the car went on down the street. How we’ll ever find it again I don’t know!”

CHAPTER 4

THE MISSING PLATES

Salt did not criticise Penny when he learned exactly what had happened.

“I’d rather lose a dozen pictures than have my camera smashed,” he declared to cheer her. “Anyway, we may be able to trace the car and get everything back. Remember the license number?”

“D F 3005,” Penny said promptly, and wrote it down lest she forget.

“Let’s call the license bureau and get the owner’s name,” the photographer proposed, steering her toward a corner drugstore. “Gosh, it’s late!” he added, noticing a clock in a store window. “And they’re holding the paper for our story and pictures!”

“I certainly messed everything up,” Penny said dismally. “At the moment, it seemed the thing to do. When those women started for me, I thought it was the only way to save the camera.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Salt comforted. “I’ll get the camera back.”

“But how will we catch the edition with your pictures?”

“That’s a horse of a different color,” Salt admitted ruefully. “Anyway, it’s my funeral. I’ll tell DeWitt something.”

“I’ll tell him myself,” Penny said firmly. “I lost the pictures, and I expect to take responsibility for it.”

“Let’s not worry ahead. Maybe we can trace that car if we have luck.”

Entering the drugstore, Penny immediately telephoned Editor DeWitt at the
Star
, reporting all the facts she had picked up.

“Okay, that’s fine,” he praised. “One of our men reporters, Art Bailey, is on his way out there now. He’ll take over. Tell Salt Sommers to get in here fast with his pictures!”

“He’ll call you in just a minute or two,” Penny said weakly.

From another phone, Salt had been in touch with the license bureau. As Penny left the booth to join him, she saw by the look of his face that he had had no luck.

“Couldn’t you get the name of the owner?” she asked.

“It’s worse than that, Penny. The license was made out to a man by the name of A. B. Bettenridge. He lives at Silbus City.”

“Silbus City! At the far end of the state!”

“That’s the size of it.”

“But how did the car happen to be in Riverview?”

“The man or his wife probably is visiting relatives here, or possibly just passing through the city.”

“And there’s no way to trace them,” Penny said, aghast. “Oh, Salt, I’ve not only lost your pictures, but your camera as well!”

“Cheer up,” Salt said brusquely. “It’s not that bad. We’re sunk on the pictures, that’s sure. But unless the people are dishonest, I’ll get the camera again. I’ll write a letter to Silbus City, or if necessary, go there myself.”

Penny had little to say as she rode back to the
Star
office with the photographer. Editor DeWitt was not in the newsroom when they returned, but they found him in the composing room, shouting at the printers who were “making up the paper” to include the explosion story.

Seeing Penny and Salt, he whirled around to face them. “Get any good pictures?” he demanded.

“We lost all of ’em,” Salt confessed, his face long.

“You what?”

“Lost the pictures. The mob tore into us, and we were lucky to get back alive.”

DeWitt’s stony gaze fastened briefly upon Salt’s scratched face and torn clothing, “One of the biggest stories of the year, and you lose the pictures!” he commented.

“It was my fault,” Penny broke in. “I tossed the camera and plates into a passing car. I was trying to save them, but it didn’t work out that way.”

DeWitt’s eyebrows jerked upward and he listened without comment as Penny told the story. Then he said grimly: “That’s fine! That’s just dandy!” and stalked out of the composing room.

Penny gazed despairingly at Salt.

“If you hadn’t told him it was your fault, he’d have taken it okay,” Salt sighed. “Oh, well, it was the only thing to do. Anyway, there’s one consolation. He can’t fire you.”

“I wish he would. Salt, I feel worse than a worm.”

“Oh, buck up, Penny! Things like this happen. One has to learn to take the breaks.”

“Nothing like this ever happened before—I’m sure of that,” Penny said dismally. “What ought I to do, Salt?”

“Not a thing,” he assured her. “Just show up for work tomorrow the same as ever and don’t think any more about it. I’ll get the camera back, and by tomorrow DeWitt will have forgotten everything.”

“You’re very optimistic,” Penny returned. “Very optimistic indeed.”

Not wishing to return through the newsroom, she slipped down the back stairs and took a bus home. The Parker house stood on a knoll high above the winding river and was situated in a lovely district of Riverview. Only a few blocks away lived Louise Sidell, who was Penny’s closest friend.

Reluctant to face her father, Penny lingered for a while in the dark garden, snipping a few roses. But presently a kitchen window flew up, and Mrs. Maude Weems, the family housekeeper called impatiently:

“Penny Parker, is that you prowling around out there? We had our dinner three hours ago. Will you please come in and explain what kept you so long?”

Penny drew a deep sigh and went in out of the night. Mrs. Weems stared at her in dismay as she entered the kitchen.

“Why, what have you done to yourself!” she exclaimed.

“Nothing.”

“You look dreadful! Your hair isn’t combed—your face is dirty—and your clothes! Why, they smell of smoke!”

“Didn’t Dad tell you I started to work for the
Star
today?” Penny inquired innocently.

“The very idea of you coming home three hours late, and looking as if you had gone through the rollers of my washing machine! I’ll tell your father a thing or two!”

Mrs. Weems had cared for Penny since the death of Mrs. Parker many years before. Although employed as a housekeeper, salary was no consideration, and she loved the girl as her own child. Penny and Mr. Parker regarded Mrs. Weems almost as a member of the family.

“Where is Dad?” Penny asked uneasily.

“In the study.”

“Let’s not disturb him now, Mrs. Weems. I’ll just have a bite to eat and slip off to bed.”

“So you don’t want to see your father?” the housekeeper demanded alertly. “Why, may I ask? Is there more to this little escapade than meets the eye?”

“Maybe,” Penny admitted. Then she added earnestly:“Believe me, Mrs. Weems, I’ve had a wretched day. Tomorrow I’ll tell you everything. Tonight I just want to get a hot bath and go to bed.”

Mrs. Weems instantly became solicitous. “You poor thing,” she murmured sympathetically. “I’ll get you some hot food right away.”

Without asking another question, the housekeeper scurried about the kitchen, preparing supper. When it was set before her, Penny discovered she was not as hungry as she had thought. But because Mrs. Weems was watching her anxiously, she ate as much as she could.

After she had finished, she started upstairs. In passing her father’s study, she saw his eyes upon her. Before she could move on up the steps, he came to the doorway, noting her disheveled appearance.

“A hard day at the office?” he inquired evenly.

Penny could not know how much her father already had learned, but from the twinkle of his eyes she suspected that DeWitt had telephoned him the details of her disgrace.

“Oh, just a little overtime work,” she flung carelessly over her shoulder. “See you in the morning.”

Penny took a hot bath and climbed into bed. Then she climbed out again and carefully set the clock alarm for eight o’clock. Snuggling down once more, she went almost instantly to sleep.

It seemed that she scarcely had closed her eyes when the alarm jangled in her ear. Drowsily, Penny reached and turned it off. She rolled over to go to sleep again, then suddenly realized she was a working woman and leaped from bed.

She dressed hurriedly and joined her father at the breakfast table. He had two papers spread before him, the
Star
, and its rival, the
Daily Times
. Penny knew from her father’s expression that he had been comparing the explosion stories of the two papers, and was not pleased.

“Any news this morning?” she inquired a bit too innocently.

Her father shot back a quick, quizzical look, but gave no further indication that he suspected she might have had any connection with the Conway Steel Plant story.

“Oh, they did a little dynamiting last night,” he replied, shoving the papers toward her. “The
Times
had very good pictures.”

Penny scanned the front pages. The story in the
Star
was well written, with her own facts used, and a great many more supplied by other reporters. But in comparison to the
Times
, the story seemed colorless. Pictures, she realized, made the difference. The
Times
had published two of them which half covered the page.