“D F 3005,” she read aloud. “What about it, Penny?”
“Why, that is the number of the car that went off with Salt Sommers’ camera and plates the night of the big explosion,” her chum explained excitedly.
“You’re sure it’s the same auto?”
“It certainly looks like it. Now I remember! Salt traced the license to an owner named Bettenridge!”
Hopeful of recovering the lost property, Penny, with Louise close at her side, tramped through the high grass to the deserted lane. Apparently the car owner had not gone far, for the doors had not been locked.
Penny climbed boldly in. A glance assured her that the camera or plates were not on the back seat where they had been tossed. As Penny ran her hands beneath the cushions, Louise plucked nervously at her skirt.
“Someone is coming, Penny! A man and a woman! They’re heading straight toward this car.”
“All the better,” declared Penny, undisturbed. “If they own the car, we may be able to learn what became of Salt’s property.”
The man, middle-aged, was tall and thin and wore rimless glasses. He walked with a very slight limp. His wife, a striking brunette, who appeared many years his junior, might have been attractive had she not resorted to exaggerated make-up.
“Good afternoon,” the professor said, eyeing the girls sharply. “My car seems to interest you.”