“Miniature camera. You can’t always use the Model X.”
“Oh,” murmured Penny. Deeply embarrassed, she remained silent as the elevator shot them down to the ground floor.
Salt loaded his photographic equipment into a battered press car which was parked near the loading dock at the rear of the building. He slid in behind the wheel and then as an afterthought swung open the car door for Penny.
Salt seemed to know the way to the Kippenberg estate. They shot through Riverview traffic, shaving red lights and tooting derisively at slow drivers. In open country he pressed the accelerator down to the floor and the car roared down the road, only slackening speed as it raced through a town.
“How do you travel when you’re in a hurry?” Penny gasped, clinging to her flopping hat.
Salt grinned and lifted his foot from the gasoline pedal.
“Sorry,” he said. “I get in the habit of driving fast. We have plenty of time.”
As they rode, Penny gathered scraps of information. The Kippenberg estate was located six miles from the town of Corbin and was cut off from the mainland on three sides by the joining of two wide rivers, one with a direct outlet to the ocean. Salt did not know when the house had been built but it was considered one of the show places of the locality.
“Do you think we’ll have much trouble getting our story?” Penny asked anxiously.
“All depends,” Salt answered briefly. He slammed on the brake so suddenly that Penny was flung forward in the seat.