Salt and Joe examined the snowy ditches for a long distance. There were no footprints. They could only conclude that the portfolio had been thrown from a window of the moving cab. Evidently Mr. Parker remained a prisoner.
“Now that those men have what they want, maybe they’ll release Dad,” Penny said hopefully. “Don’t you think so, Salt?”
The photographer glanced at Joe. Neither spoke.
“You believe they’ll harm Dad!” Penny cried, reading their faces. “Maybe I’ll never see him again—”
“Now Penny,” Salt soothed, guiding her toward the taxi.
The cab rolled on, its tires crunching the hard-packed snow. At the crossroads, they met a police car and hailed it. Penny turned the empty portfolio over to one of the officers, explaining where it had been found.
“Every road is being watched,” she was told in return. “The alarm has been broadcast throughout the State, too. If that yellow cab still is on the road, we’ll get it.”
For an hour longer, Penny and her party scoured roads in the vicinity of Riverview. Many times they stopped at filling stations and houses to inquire if a yellow cab had been seen to pass. Always the answer was in the negative.
“Don’t you think we ought to go home?” Salt suggested at length. “For all we know, police may have found Mr. Parker by this time. We’d never learn about it while we’re touring around.”
“All right, let’s go home,” agreed Penny.