“Couldn’t you get the name of the owner?” she asked.
“It’s worse than that, Penny. The license was made out to a man by the name of A. B. Bettenridge. He lives at Silbus City.”
“Silbus City! At the far end of the state!”
“That’s the size of it.”
“But how did the car happen to be in Riverview?”
“The man or his wife probably is visiting relatives here, or possibly just passing through the city.”
“And there’s no way to trace them,” Penny said, aghast. “Oh, Salt, I’ve not only lost your pictures, but your camera as well!”
“Cheer up,” Salt said brusquely. “It’s not that bad. We’re sunk on the pictures, that’s sure. But unless the people are dishonest, I’ll get the camera again. I’ll write a letter to Silbus City, or if necessary, go there myself.”
Penny had little to say as she rode back to the Star office with the photographer. Editor DeWitt was not in the newsroom when they returned, but they found him in the composing room, shouting at the printers who were “making up the paper” to include the explosion story.
Seeing Penny and Salt, he whirled around to face them. “Get any good pictures?” he demanded.