Another car coming from the opposite direction had pulled up at the side of the road. Penny did not recognize the three men who were crowded into the front seat, but the printed placard, Ledger which was pasted on the windshield told her they represented a rival newspaper in Riverview.
“What luck, Les?” Salt called, craning his neck out the car window.
“You may as well turn around and go back,” came the disgusted reply. “The old lady won’t let a reporter or a photographer on the estate. She has a guard stationed on the drawbridge to see that you don’t get past.”
The car drove on toward Riverview. Salt sat staring down the road, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on the steering wheel.
“Looks like we’re up against a tough assignment,” he said. “If Les can’t get in—”
“I’m not going back without at least an attempt,” announced Penny firmly.
“That’s the spirit!” Salt cried with sudden approval. “We’ll get on the estate somehow if we have to swim over.”
He jerked the press card from the windshield, and reaching into the back seat of the car, covered the Model X camera with an old gunny sack. The miniature camera he placed in his coat pocket.
“No use advertising our profession too early in the game,” he remarked.
Twelve-thirty found Penny and Salt in the sleepy little town of Corbin. Fortifying themselves with a lunch of hot dog sandwiches and pop, they followed a winding, dusty highway toward the Kippenberg estate.