“Unless the hit-skip driver is found.”
“I’m afraid he never will be,” sighed Mr. Parker. “I’ll always believe the men who crowded me off the road were hired by the tire-theft gang. No way to prove it though.”
“The car license number Mrs. Botts gave police didn’t seem to be accurate,” Penny replied. “By the way, have you decided what you’ll do about her?”
“Mrs. Botts?”
“Yes, so far you’ve placed no formal charge against her.”
Mr. Parker smiled as he reached for a final edition of the Star. The paper carried not only an account of the round-up at Johnson’s Warehouse, but a full confession from Mrs. Botts.
“I bear the woman no ill will,” he said. “She’s already lost her position as caretaker at the Deming estate. That’s punishment enough as far as I’m concerned.”
Presently Mrs. Weems entered the living-room with a glass of milk. When she tried to make the publisher take it he complained that he no longer was an invalid.
“Now drink your milk like a good lad,” Penny scolded. “Why, you’re still as thin as a ghost.”
With a wry face Mr. Parker gulped down the drink.