“A man named Glower, a very reliable reporter. He swears he made no mistake, and I am inclined to believe him.”
“Then why did the football player change his story?”
“I have no proof, but it’s a fairly shrewd guess that he was approached by Maxwell a second time. Either he was threatened or offered a bribe which was large enough to sway him.”
“With both Maxwell and the football player standing together, it does rather put you on the spot,” Penny acknowledged. “What are you going to do?”
“We’ll fight the case, of course, but unless we can prove that our story was accurate, we’re almost sure to lose. I’ve asked Bill Morcrum to come to my office this afternoon, and he promised he would. He’s overdue now.”
Anthony Parker glanced at his watch and scowled. Getting up from the swivel chair he began to pace to and fro across the room.
A buzzer on his desk gave three sharp, staccato signals.
“Morcrum must be here now!” the editor exclaimed in relief. “I’ll want to see him alone.”
Penny arose to leave. As she went out the doorway she met the receptionist, accompanied by an awkward, oversized youth who shuffled his feet in walking. He grinned at her in a sheepish way and entered the private office.
While Penny waited, she entertained herself by reading all the comic strips she could find in the out-of-town exchange papers. In the adjoining room she could hear the rhythmical thumping, clicking sound of the Star’s teletype machines. She wandered aimlessly into the room to read the copy just as the machines typed it out, a story from Washington, one from Chicago, another from Los Angeles. It was fascinating to watch the print appear like magic upon the long rolls of copy paper.