“Salt Sommers has one you might use!” Penny cried. “It was taken when Blake came here the other day. He objected to it because it showed that one arm was shorter than the other.”
“Just what we need!” DeWitt approved. “I’ll rush it right out. Except for the picture, the front page is all made up.”
The door closed behind the city editor, but before Mr. Parker could settle comfortably into his chair, it burst open again. Jerry Livingston, breathless from running up several flights of stairs, faced his chief.
“I’ve got all the dope!” he announced.
“You learned who drove the hit-run car?” Penny demanded eagerly.
“The license was issued in Clyde Blake’s name!”
“Then Adelle’s identification at the picnic was correct!” Penny exclaimed.
“Write your story, Jerry, but make it brief,” Mr. Parker said tersely. “We’ll make over the front page.”
Calling DeWitt, he gave the new order. In the composing room, headlines were jerked and a story of minor importance was pulled from the form to make room for the new material.
“We’ll roll three minutes late,” Mr. Parker said, glancing at his watch again. “Even so, our papers will make all the trains, and we’ll scoop every other sheet in town.”