The Clock Strikes Thirteen Part 12

Penny followed the young photographer into the developing room, watching as he ran the film through the various trays. In exactly six minutes the picture was ready, and he held it beneath the ruby light for her to see.

"Nothing unusual about it," he repeated. "Blake's right arm looks a bit shorter than the left, but we could have blocked that off."

Salt tossed the damp picture into a wastepaper basket, only to have Penny promptly rescue it.

"I wish you would save this," she requested. "Put it in an envelope and file it away somewhere in the office."

"What's the big idea, Penny?"

"Oh, just a hunch, I guess. Someday the paper may want a picture of Blake in a hurry, and this one would serve very nicely."

Aware that time was fast slipping away, Penny returned to her father's office to report Mr. Blake's strange action. Mr. Parker, well versed in the peculiarities of newspaper patrons, shrugged indifferently.

"Blake always was a queer fellow," he commented, fingering the cheque which still lay on his desk. "I never trusted him, and I wish I hadn't accepted this money."

"How could you have refused, Dad?"

"I couldn't very well. All the same, I have a feeling I'll regret it."

"Why do you say that?" Penny asked curiously.

"No reason perhaps. Only Blake isn't the man to give something for nothing. He aims to profit by this affair, or I'm no judge of human nature."

"He craves publicity, that's certain."

"Yes, but there's more to it than that," Mr. Parker declared. "Oh, well"--he dismissed the subject, "I'll turn the cheque over to the camp committee and let someone else do the worrying."

"I'll tell you why I dislike Mr. Blake," Penny said with feeling. "He caused Seth McGuire to lose his job at the Hubell Tower."

"That so?" the editor asked in surprise. "I hadn't heard about it."

"Blake gave the position to a special friend of his. Can't you do something about it, Dad?"

"I don't know any of the basic facts, Penny. Why should I interfere in a matter which is none of my affair?"

"At least let's not give Mr. Blake a big build-up because of his donation."

"The story must be written," Mr. Parker said with finality. "I always keep a bargain, even a bad one."

"Then you might write the story," Penny proposed mischievously. "I can't spell such a big word as hypocrite!"

"Never mind," Mr. Parker reproved. "Just get busy and see that you handle the article in a way favorable to Blake."

With a deep sigh, Penny took herself to the adjoining newsroom. Selecting a typewriter, she pecked listlessly at the keys. Presently Jerry Livingston, one of the reporters, fired a paper ball at her.

"Your story must be a masterpiece," he teased. "It's taken you long enough to write it."

Penny jerked the sheet of copy from the typewriter roller. "It's not fair," she complained. "I have to dish out soft soap while you handle all the interesting stories. There should be a law against it."

"Learn to take the bitter along with the whipped cream," chuckled Jerry.

"I've also just been handed an a.s.signment that's not to my liking."

"Covering the Preston fire, I suppose."

"Nothing that spectacular. DeWitt's sending me out to the Riverview Orphans' Home to dig up human interest material in connection with the camp-fund campaign. Want to ride along as ballast?"

"Well, I don't know?" Penny debated. "I've had almost enough of publicity stories for one day."

"Oh, come on," Jerry coaxed, taking her by the arm. "You can talk to the orphans and maybe turn up a lot of interesting facts."

"For you to write," she added ruefully. "Just a Sister Friday--that's my fate in this office."

Actually Penny welcomed an opportunity to accompany Jerry, for she liked him better than any young man of her acquaintance. Spearing the story she had just written on the copy desk spindle, she followed the reporter to the parking lot. Jerry helped her into one of the press cars, and they expertly drove through heavy downtown traffic.

"What's the latest on the Preston case?" Penny inquired, clutching her hat to keep it from blowing out the window.

"No latest," Jerry answered briefly. "The Prestons won't talk, Mrs. Davis won't talk, the sheriff won't talk. So far it totals up to one little story about a fire."

"Dad said the sheriff had learned Clem Davis was a member of a secret organization, probably known as the Black Hoods."

"Sheriff Daniels claims he has doc.u.mentary proof," Jerry admitted. "He won't produce it though, and I have a sneaking suspicion that he may be bluffing."

"Then you think he wants to convict Clem Davis whether or not he's guilty?"

"He wants to end the case just as quickly as he can, Penny. The November elections aren't far away. If this night rider story gets a start, the dear public might turn on him, demanding action or his job."

"Do you think there actually is such an organization as the Black Hoods, Jerry?"

"I do," he returned soberly. "After talking with the Prestons and Mrs.

Davis, I'm convinced they could tell quite a bit about it if they were willing to furnish evidence."

It pleased Penny that Jerry's opinion so nearly coincided with her own.

Eagerly she told him of her own talk with Mrs. Davis, mentioning that someone had been hiding in the cornfield near the cabin.

"What time was that?" Jerry asked, stopping the car at a traffic light.

"Shortly after twelve o'clock."

"Then it couldn't have been Sheriff Daniels or his deputies," the reporter declared. "I was at the county office talking to them about that same time."

"It might have been Clem Davis," Penny suggested. "I'm sure his wife knows where he is hiding."

As the car sped over the country road, she kept the discussion alive by mentioning the watch charm which she had picked up at the Davis stable.

Jerry had not seen the picture of the little boy, but promised to inspect it just as soon as he returned to the _Star_ offices.

"Clem Davis has no children," he a.s.sured Penny, "so it's unlikely the charm ever belonged to him. You may have found an important clue."

"I only wish Dad would officially a.s.sign me to the story," she grumbled.

"He never will, though."