The Clock Strikes Thirteen

  CHAPTER 8 _PUBLICITY BY PENNY_

  The real estate man's outburst was so unexpected that Penny and Saltcould only stare at him in astonishment.

  "It's a good full length picture," the photographer argued. "Much betterthan those other shots I took."

  "I can't allow it," Blake answered in a calmer tone. He touched his rightarm. "You see, I am sensitive about this deformity. Unreasonable of me,perhaps, but I must insist that you destroy the film."

  "Just as you say," Salt shrugged. "We'll use one of the other pictures."

  "No, I've changed my mind," Blake said shortly. "I don't care for anypicture. Kindly destroy all the films--now, in my presence."

  "Why, Mr. Blake!" Penny protested. "I thought you wanted a picture toaccompany the story I am to write."

  "You may write the article, but I'll have no picture. The films must bedestroyed."

  "Okay," responded Salt. Removing two plates from a holder he exposed themto the light. He started to take the film from the candid camera, but didnot complete the operation. Mr. Blake, however, failed to notice.

  "Thank you, young man," he said, bowing. "I am sorry to have taken somuch of your valuable time, and I appreciate your efforts."

  Nodding in Penny's direction, Mr. Blake left the studio, closing the doorbehind him.

  "Queer duck," commented Salt. "His picture on the front page would be nobreak for our readers!"

  "I can't understand why Mr. Blake became so provoked," Penny saidthoughtfully. "That excuse about his arm seemed a flimsy one."

  "Let's develop the film and see what it looks like," Salt suggested,starting for the darkroom. "It was just an ordinary shot though."

  Penny followed the young photographer into the developing room, watchingas he ran the film through the various trays. In exactly six minutes thepicture was ready, and he held it beneath the ruby light for her to see.

  "Nothing unusual about it," he repeated. "Blake's right arm looks a bitshorter than the left, but we could have blocked that off."

  Salt tossed the damp picture into a wastepaper basket, only to have Pennypromptly rescue it.

  "I wish you would save this," she requested. "Put it in an envelope andfile it away somewhere in the office."

  "What's the big idea, Penny?"

  "Oh, just a hunch, I guess. Someday the paper may want a picture of Blakein a hurry, and this one would serve very nicely."

  Aware that time was fast slipping away, Penny returned to her father'soffice to report Mr. Blake's strange action. Mr. Parker, well versed inthe peculiarities of newspaper patrons, shrugged indifferently.

  "Blake always was a queer fellow," he commented, fingering the chequewhich still lay on his desk. "I never trusted him, and I wish I hadn'taccepted this money."

  "How could you have refused, Dad?"

  "I couldn't very well. All the same, I have a feeling I'll regret it."

  "Why do you say that?" Penny asked curiously.

  "No reason perhaps. Only Blake isn't the man to give something fornothing. He aims to profit by this affair, or I'm no judge of humannature."

  "He craves publicity, that's certain."

  "Yes, but there's more to it than that," Mr. Parker declared. "Oh,well"--he dismissed the subject, "I'll turn the cheque over to the campcommittee and let someone else do the worrying."

  "I'll tell you why I dislike Mr. Blake," Penny said with feeling. "Hecaused Seth McGuire to lose his job at the Hubell Tower."

  "That so?" the editor asked in surprise. "I hadn't heard about it."

  "Blake gave the position to a special friend of his. Can't you dosomething about it, Dad?"

  "I don't know any of the basic facts, Penny. Why should I interfere in amatter which is none of my affair?"

  "At least let's not give Mr. Blake a big build-up because of hisdonation."

  "The story must be written," Mr. Parker said with finality. "I alwayskeep a bargain, even a bad one."

  "Then you might write the story," Penny proposed mischievously. "I can'tspell such a big word as hypocrite!"

  "Never mind," Mr. Parker reproved. "Just get busy and see that you handlethe article in a way favorable to Blake."

  With a deep sigh, Penny took herself to the adjoining newsroom. Selectinga typewriter, she pecked listlessly at the keys. Presently JerryLivingston, one of the reporters, fired a paper ball at her.

  "Your story must be a masterpiece," he teased. "It's taken you longenough to write it."

  Penny jerked the sheet of copy from the typewriter roller. "It's notfair," she complained. "I have to dish out soft soap while you handle allthe interesting stories. There should be a law against it."

  "Learn to take the bitter along with the whipped cream," chuckled Jerry."I've also just been handed an assignment that's not to my liking."

  "Covering the Preston fire, I suppose."

  "Nothing that spectacular. DeWitt's sending me out to the RiverviewOrphans' Home to dig up human interest material in connection with thecamp-fund campaign. Want to ride along as ballast?"

  "Well, I don't know?" Penny debated. "I've had almost enough of publicitystories for one day."

  "Oh, come on," Jerry coaxed, taking her by the arm. "You can talk to theorphans and maybe turn up a lot of interesting facts."

  "For you to write," she added ruefully. "Just a Sister Friday--that's myfate in this office."

  Actually Penny welcomed an opportunity to accompany Jerry, for she likedhim better than any young man of her acquaintance. Spearing the story shehad just written on the copy desk spindle, she followed the reporter tothe parking lot. Jerry helped her into one of the press cars, and theyexpertly drove through heavy downtown traffic.

  "What's the latest on the Preston case?" Penny inquired, clutching herhat to keep it from blowing out the window.

  "No latest," Jerry answered briefly. "The Prestons won't talk, Mrs. Daviswon't talk, the sheriff won't talk. So far it totals up to one littlestory about a fire."

  "Dad said the sheriff had learned Clem Davis was a member of a secretorganization, probably known as the Black Hoods."

  "Sheriff Daniels claims he has documentary proof," Jerry admitted. "Hewon't produce it though, and I have a sneaking suspicion that he may bebluffing."

  "Then you think he wants to convict Clem Davis whether or not he'sguilty?"

  "He wants to end the case just as quickly as he can, Penny. The Novemberelections aren't far away. If this night rider story gets a start, thedear public might turn on him, demanding action or his job."

  "Do you think there actually is such an organization as the Black Hoods,Jerry?"

  "I do," he returned soberly. "After talking with the Prestons and Mrs.Davis, I'm convinced they could tell quite a bit about it if they werewilling to furnish evidence."

  It pleased Penny that Jerry's opinion so nearly coincided with her own.Eagerly she told him of her own talk with Mrs. Davis, mentioning thatsomeone had been hiding in the cornfield near the cabin.

  "What time was that?" Jerry asked, stopping the car at a traffic light.

  "Shortly after twelve o'clock."

  "Then it couldn't have been Sheriff Daniels or his deputies," thereporter declared. "I was at the county office talking to them about thatsame time."

  "It might have been Clem Davis," Penny suggested. "I'm sure his wifeknows where he is hiding."

  As the car sped over the country road, she kept the discussion alive bymentioning the watch charm which she had picked up at the Davis stable.Jerry had not seen the picture of the little boy, but promised to inspectit just as soon as he returned to the _Star_ offices.

  "Clem Davis has no children," he assured Penny, "so it's unlikely thecharm ever belonged to him. You may have found an important clue."

  "I only wish Dad would officially assign me to the story," she grumbled."He never will, though."

  Presently the car approached the Riverview Orphans' Home, a large brickbuilding
set back some distance from the road. Children in drab blueuniforms could be seen playing in the front yard, supervised by a womanofficial.

  "Poor kids," Jerry said with honest feeling, "you can't help feelingsorry for 'em. They deserve the best summer camp this town can provide."

  "The project is certain to be possible now," Penny replied. "Mr. Blake'scheque put the campaign over the top."

  Jerry gave the steering wheel an expert flip, turning the car into theprivate road.

  "Don't tell me that old bird actually parted with any money!"

  "Oh, he did, Jerry. He donated a cheque for a hundred and fifty dollars."

  "And no strings attached?"

  "Well, he hinted that he wanted a nice write-up about himself. I wastorturing myself with the story when you interrupted."

  "It's mighty queer," the reporter muttered. "Leopards don't change theirspots. Blake must expect something more tangible than publicity out ofthe deal."

  His mind centering on what Penny had just told him, Jerry gave no thoughtto his driving. Handling the steering wheel skillfully, butautomatically, he whirled the car into the play area of the institution,drawing up with a loud screeching of brakes.

  Uncertain that the reporter could stop, the children scattered in alldirections. One little girl remained squarely in front of the car.Covering her face with her hands, she began to scream.

  "Gosh all fish hooks!" Jerry exclaimed in dismay. "I didn't mean tofrighten the kid."

  Jumping from the coupe, he and Penny ran to the child.

  "You're all right," Jerry said, stooping beside the little girl. "The cardidn't come within a mile of you. I'm mighty sorry."

  Nothing that either he nor Penny could say seemed to quiet the child. Herscreams did not subside until a matron appeared and took her by the hand.

  "Come Adelle," she said gently. "We'll go into the house."

  "I'm as sorry as I can be," Jerry apologized, doffing his hat. "I didn'tintend to drive into the yard so fast. It's all my fault."

  The attendant smiled to set him at ease. "Don't mind," she said quietly."Adelle is very easily upset. I'll explain to you later."