“Well, the swamp angle is worth investigating,” the reporter assured her. “Personally, I doubt Danny would ever try living in the swamp—he’s a city, slum-bred man—but I’ll tell the police about it.”
“Do be careful,” Penny urged again, turning away.
Salt was waiting in the press car when she reached the street. Quickly transferring the flowers from her own automobile to his, she climbed in beside him.
“The Hillcrest?” he inquired, shifting gears.
“Yes, I’ll decorate the tables. Then we’ll drive to the theater.”
With a complete disregard for speed laws, safety stops, and red lights, Salt toured the ten blocks to the hotel in record time. Pulling up at the entrance, he said:
“While you’re in there, I’ll amble across the street. Want to do a little inquiring at the Western Union office.”
“About the telegram Danny Deevers sent Jerry?”
“Figured we might find from where it was sent.”
“I should have thought of that myself! Do see what you can learn, Salt. It won’t take me long to fix those tables.”