“Please don’t call a policeman. I’ll gladly pay for all the damage. I’m covered by insurance. Just give me your names and where you live. Or, if you prefer, I’ll go with you now to a garage where your car can be repaired.”
The two men paid her no heed. In fact, they appeared not to be listening. Instead, they were gazing across the street at Salt and his camera.
“Button up your lip, lady!” said one of the men rudely.
He was a heavy-set man, dressed in a new dark blue serge suit. His face was coarse, slightly pale, and his steel-blue eyes had a hard, calculating glint.
His companion, much younger, might have been a country boy for he wore a lumber jacket, corduroy pants, and heavy shoes caked with mud.
The older man crossed the street to Salt’s car. He glanced at the “press” placard in the windshield and said curtly:
“Okay, buddy! I saw you take that picture! Hand over the plate!”
CHAPTER
5
THE RED STAIN
“Hand over the plate, buddy!” the motorist repeated as Salt gave no hint that he had heard. “You’re from a newspaper, and we don’t want our pictures printed—see?”
“Sure, I see,” retorted Salt. “I’m not turning over any pictures.”