“I certainly messed everything up,” Penny said dismally. “At the moment, it seemed the thing to do. When those women started for me, I thought it was the only way to save the camera.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Salt comforted. “I’ll get the camera back.”
“But how will we catch the edition with your pictures?”
“That’s a horse of a different color,” Salt admitted ruefully. “Anyway, it’s my funeral. I’ll tell DeWitt something.”
“I’ll tell him myself,” Penny said firmly. “I lost the pictures, and I expect to take responsibility for it.”
“Let’s not worry ahead. Maybe we can trace that car if we have luck.”
Entering the drugstore, Penny immediately telephoned Editor DeWitt at the Star, reporting all the facts she had picked up.
“Okay, that’s fine,” he praised. “One of our men reporters, Art Bailey, is on his way out there now. He’ll take over. Tell Salt Sommers to get in here fast with his pictures!”
“He’ll call you in just a minute or two,” Penny said weakly.
From another phone, Salt had been in touch with the license bureau. As Penny left the booth to join him, she saw by the look of his face that he had had no luck.