Whispering Walls Page 9

  CHAPTER 9 _JERRY ENTERS THE CASE_

  As Salt ran toward him, the man who crouched behind the bushes began tomove stealthily away. From the car Penny could not see his face which wasscreened by dense foliage.

  "Salt, he's getting away!" she shouted.

  Salt climbed over the fence. His clothing got snagged and by the time hehad freed himself and struggled through a tangle of vines and bushes, theman he pursued had completely disappeared.

  "Which way did he go, Penny?" he called.

  "I lost sight of him after he ducked into a clump of shrubbery," shereplied regretfully. "It's useless to try to find him now."

  Salt came back to the car, and starting the engine, drove on.

  "You didn't see who it was?" Penny asked hopefully.

  "No, I think it was a man. Maybe the Rhett's gardener or a tramp."

  "Whoever it was, I'm sure he stood there watching us drive away from thegrounds," Penny declared.

  Until the car was far down the street, she alertly watched the Rhettgrounds. However, the one who had crouched by the fence now was wellhidden and on guard. Not a movement of the bushes betrayed his presence.

  As the Rhett mansion was lost completely from view, Penny's thoughts cameback to the story which she must write. Nervously she glanced at herwrist watch.

  "What's the bad news?" Salt asked, stepping hard on the gasoline pedal.

  "Twenty-five minutes until deadline. Can you make it?"

  Salt's lips compressed into a grim line and he concentrated on hisdriving, avoiding heavy traffic and red lights as they approached thecenter of town.

  They came at last to the big stone building downtown which housed the_Riverview Star_. As Salt pulled up at the curb, Penny leaped out and raninside. Without waiting for an elevator, she darted up the stairs to thebusy newsroom.

  Editor DeWitt was talking on a telephone, and, all about him, reporterswere tapping typewriters at a furious pace.

  Editor DeWitt held his hand over the phone mouthpiece and fixed Pennywith a gloomy eye. "Time you got here," he observed. "Anything new? Didyou get the pictures?"

  Penny produced the photograph of Mr. Rhett which the editor studied aninstant, then tossed to his assistant, with a terse: "Make it a onecolumn--rush!"

  Knowing that with a deadline practically at hand Mr. DeWitt was in nomood for a lengthy tale, Penny told him only such facts as were pertinentto Mr. Rhett's disappearance.

  "So the family won't talk?" DeWitt growled. "Well, play up that angle.We've already set up everything you gave us over the phone. Make this anadd and get it right out."

  Penny nodded and slid into a chair behind the nearest typewriter. An"add" she knew, was an addition to a story already set up in type. It waseasier to write than a "lead" which contained the main facts of all thathad happened, but even so, she would be hard pressed to make thedeadline.

  For a moment she concentrated, but the noises of the room distracted hersomewhat. Editor DeWitt was barking into the telephone again; a reporteron her left side was clicking a pencil against the desk; the short-waveradio blared a police call; and across the room someone bellowed: "Copyboy!"

  Then Penny began to write, and the noises blanked out, until she wasaware only of the moving ribbon of words on the copy paper. She hadwritten perhaps four paragraphs when DeWitt ordered tersely: "Give me atake."

  Without looking up, Penny nodded, wrote a few more words, then jerked thecopy from her machine. A boy snatched it from her hand and carried it toDeWitt, who read it rapidly. Pencilling a few minor corrections, he shotit to the copy desk.

  Meanwhile, with another sheet of paper rolled in her machine, Penny wasgrinding out more of the story. Words flowed easily now, and she scarcelypaused to think.

  DeWitt called for more copy. Again she ripped it from the roller and gaveit to the boy.

  After the third "take," DeWitt called: "That's enough. Make her '30.'"

  Penny understood the term. It signified the end of the story, and usuallywhen reporters had completed an article, they wrote the figure at thebottom of the copy sheet.

  Finishing the sentence she had started, she gave the last of her story tothe boy, and settling back, took a deep breath. DeWitt's chair was empty.He had gone to the composing room, leaving his assistant to handle thefinal copy that came through before the presses rolled.

  Penny knew that the last page she had written probably would not make theedition, but it did not matter. She had crammed all the important andmost interesting of her information into the first part of the story. Inany event, everything she had written would be used in the secondedition, the Three Star, which followed the Green Streak by two hours.The final edition rolled from the presses later in the evening and wasknown as the Blue Streak.

  A well-built, good looking reporter with a pencil tucked behind one ear,walked over to the desk.

  "Big day, Penny?" he inquired affectionately.

  Jerry Livingston, who rated as the _Star's_ best reporter, also stood atthe very top of Penny's long list of friends.

  With Jerry, Penny always felt comfortable and at ease. Now she foundherself telling him about the Rhett case, omitting few details of whathad occurred in the thatched roof cottage. It took longer to relate allthe events than Penny realized, for, before she had finished the story,the Green Streak edition was up, and a boy was distributing papers aboutthe office. Penny reached eagerly for one, noting instantly that herarticle appeared in good position on the front page.

  "Wonder who wrote the lead?" she asked. "You, Jerry?"

  "Guilty," he laughed. "Any mistakes?"

  Penny could find none. It was a perfect rewrite, based upon facts she hadtelephoned to the office after leaving the bank. The story had aprofessional swing she could not have achieved. Her own "add" went intoit very smoothly, however, so that few persons reading the account everwould guess two reporters had contributed to the writing.

  Mr. DeWitt had returned from the composing room, and with a relaxed airsettled down to enjoy a cigarette. Now that the edition was rolling offthe press, he no longer seemed nervous or irritable.

  Presently he waved his hand toward Penny who went over to see what hewanted.

  "This Rhett story is likely to develop into something," he said. "I'llwant double coverage, so I'm assigning Jerry to help you. He'll handlethe police angle."

  Penny nodded, secretly glad it was Jerry who had been directed to helpher instead of another reporter. Police work, particularly the checkingof routine reports, was vitally important but uninteresting. She waspleased to escape it.

  "You're to keep close tab on the Rhett mansion," Mr. DeWitt instructed."Report everything of consequence that happens there. By tomorrow thingsmay start popping."

  The wire editor came swiftly to DeWitt's desk with a sheet of copy whichhad just been torn from an Associated Press teletype.

  "Here's something," he said. "A few hours ago police published for allstate banks the numbers of those bonds stolen from the First NationalBank. According to this Culver City dispatch, one of the bonds, in $1,000denomination, turned up there yesterday."

  "Yesterday?" Penny inquired.

  "Sure, a Culver City bank took the bond in, not knowing it was one of themissing ones. Late this afternoon, police sent out the numbers to everybank in the state."

  DeWitt read the news item carefully his eyes glinting with interest.

  "Too bad Albert Potts didn't notify the police several days ago. Rhettmay be half way to the Mexican border by this time."

  "Then you believe he walked off with the bonds?" asked Penny.

  "Looks like it," shrugged the editor. "There's no other suspect. Or ifthere is, the police aren't talking. More of those missing bonds may showup. Jerry, get busy on the telephone!" he called to the reporter who satnearby.

  "What's doing?" Jerry inquired, getting up and coming to the desk.

  DeWitt thrust the dispatch into his hand.
"Get hold of that Culver Citybanker," he instructed. "Find out who turned the bond in, and if thedescription fits Rhett."

  Jerry was occupied at the telephone for nearly fifteen minutes. Hereturned to report: "The bond was turned in by a woman, and the bankclerk didn't make a record of her name."

  "Any description?"

  "No, the clerk only remembers that she was a middle-aged woman."

  DeWitt sighed heavily and turned his attention to other matters. Pennyglanced at the clock. It was after six o'clock. Her father, she knew,would have left the office nearly an hour earlier. She could catch a bushome, but first a cup of coffee across the street might help to fortifyher until she could enjoy a home-cooked dinner by Mrs. Weems.

  As she started away from the office, Jerry followed her.

  "Going across the way for a bite to eat?" he asked. "Mind if I tagalong?"

  "I wish you would," she replied eagerly. "We can talk about the Rhettcase."

  "Oh, let's bury that until tomorrow. I'd rather talk about a dozen othersubjects--you, for instance."

  "Me?"

  "About that little curl behind your ear. Or the smudge of carbon on theend of your nose!"

  "Oh! Why didn't you tell me before?" Indignantly, Penny peered at herreflection in a hand mirror and rubbed vigorously with her handkerchief.

  Outside the _Star_ building, newsboys were shouting their wares. As Pennyand Jerry started to cross the street, one of the lads who had received ajob through the girl's influence, spied the pair.

  Approaching, he flashed a paper in front of their eyes.

  "See this bird who robbed the bank!" he exclaimed, pointing to thepicture of Hamilton Rhett.

  "Tommy, I'm afraid your reading is inaccurate," Penny laughed. "The storydoesn't say Mr. Rhett robbed a bank."

  "He must have done it," the newsboy insisted. "What's the reward for hiscapture?"

  "Mr. Rhett is not listed as a criminal," Penny explained. "There is noreward."

  Tommy's face dropped an inch.

  "What's the matter, son?" asked Jerry. "Figuring on cashing in?"

  "Well, sort of," the boy admitted. "I saw the fellow not an hour ago!"

  "He wasn't robbing another bank?" Jerry teased.

  "He was going into a house on Fulton Street. I didn't take down thenumber 'cause when I saw him I didn't think nothin' of it. The GreenStreak wasn't out then, and I hadn't seen his picture in the paper."

  "Fulton Street?" repeated Penny, frowning. "What section?"

  "It was at the corner of Fulton and Cherry. He went into an oldthree-story brick building with a sign: 'Rooms for rent--beds thirtycents.'"

  "Why, Tommy means Riverview's cheapest flop house!" Jerry exclaimed. "Ican't imagine a bank president luxuriating in a Fulton Street dump."

  "All the same, I saw him. He wore old clothes, but it was the same bird."

  "Tommy, you'll grow up to be a police detective some day," Jerrychuckled. He started to pull Penny along, but she held back.

  "Wait, Jerry, if there should be anything to it--"

  Jerry smiled indulgently.

  "Tell us more about the man you saw," Penny urged Tommy. "How was hedressed?"

  "He wore old clothes and a floppy black hat. And there was a scar on hischeek."

  "Jerry, Mr. Rhett had a similar scar!"

  "And so have dozens of other people. Did I ever show you the one I gotwhen I was a kid? Another boy socked me with a bottle and--"

  "Be serious, Jerry! Tommy, are you sure the man you saw looked like thepicture in the paper?"

  "Cross my heart and hope to die. It was the spitten image! If you catchhim, will you give me a reward?"

  "We'll split fifty-fifty," grinned Jerry, pulling Penny on by bruteforce.

  But across the street he met unexpected opposition. Stopping dead in hertracks, Penny announced: "This is where we part company. I'm going toinvestigate that place on Fulton Street!"

  "Say, are you crazy? You can't go to a flop house alone!"

  "That's exactly what I shall do, unless you come with me."

  "It's a waste of time! You know these kids. Tommy read the story, and itfired his imagination."

  "Maybe so," admitted Penny, unmoved. "All the same, I'm going there tomake certain. How about you?"

  Jerry looked longingly at the restaurant and drew a deep sigh.

  "Okay," he gave in, "I learned years ago that it's no use arguing with agal. Lead on, but don't say I didn't warn you!"