“He’ll get it all right—on the front page of the Star tomorrow! Maybe he’s a police character and doesn’t want any publicity. He looked like a bad egg.”
“I wish we’d taken down his license number.”
“We’ve got it,” replied Salt. “It’ll show up in the picture.”
Penny settled back in the seat, paying no more attention to the traffic behind them. Neither she nor Salt noticed that they were being followed by the car with battered fenders.
At the theater, Salt parked in the alleyway.
“Go on in,” he told Penny, opening the car door for her. “I want to collect some of my stuff and then I’ll be along.”
At the stagedoor, Penny was stopped by Old Jim, the doorman.
“You can’t go in here without a pass, Miss,” he said. “There’s a newspaper convention on. My orders are not to let anyone in without a pass.”
Penny flashed her press card.
“My mistake,” the doorman mumbled.