Joey stopped on the crowd's inner edge and stared.
It was impossible. One car was an old sedan. The other, a sleek convertible. An old man with blood-spattered white beard half-spilled from the sedan and on the glistening pavement lay a woman in evening dress, surrounded by dozens of pearls.
From habit, Joey took the picture of the accident and delivered it to Nugent. By the time he had developed his picture, he was beginning to enjoy the knowledge that it was an exact duplicate of the photograph in Ewing's album.
Only he and Ewing realized the power of Formula #53. It couldn't be coincidence. The details were too exact. Ewing's explanation was the only one possible. And that meant the old boy wasn't crazy. The formula was all he insisted.
Such a formula could be a great force for good, the old man had said. In the right hands. In the hands of Joey Barrett.
Joey decided to keep his secret. This was not a power to be shared with Leslie Nugent or anyone else. So, when he faced his editor again, he was careful to dismiss the Ewing interview with just the proper degree of casualness.
"There's no doubt about it," he said. "Ewing's a crackpot."
Nugent scowled impatiently. "Even so...."
"I tell you, if we run the story he gave me, we'll be laughed out of business." Joey watched Nugent closely.