Swamp Island Part 7

Now and then, from the audience of newspapermen out front, came an occasional ripple of laughter or clapping of hands as they applauded a speaker.

"Sounds pretty dull," thought Penny. "Guess it's lucky Dad cooked up the shooting stunt. If everything goes off right, it should liven things up a bit."

Wandering on down a hall, she came to one of the dressing rooms. Stacked against the outside wall were hundreds of freshly printed newspapers ready for distribution.

Penny flipped one from the pile and read the headline: "REPORTER SHOT IN ARGUMENT WITH ELECTRICIAN!"

Beneath the banner followed a story of the staged stunt to take place. So convincingly was it written, Penny had to think twice to realize not a word was true. Other columns of the paper contained regular wire news stories and telephoto pictures. Much of the front page also was given over to an account of the convention itself.

"This will make a nice souvenir edition," Penny thought. "Wonder where Jerry is? The stunt will be ruined if he doesn't get here."

Salt came down the corridor, loaded heavily with his camera, a tripod, a reflector, and other photographic equipment.

"Jerry here yet?" he inquired.

"I haven't seen him. It's getting late too."

"He'll be here," Salt said confidently. "Wonder where I'd better leave this revolver?"

Setting the photographic equipment on the floor, he took the revolver from his coat pocket, offering it to Penny.

"Don't give it to me," she protested.

"Put it in the dressing room," he advised. "I can't keep it, because I've got to go out front and shoot some pictures."

"Is the revolver loaded?" Penny asked, taking it unwillingly.

"Sure, with blanks. It's ready for the stunt."

Penny carried the weapon into the dressing room and deposited it on one of the tables. When she returned to the corridor, Salt had gathered up his equipment and was starting away.

However, before he could leave, an outside door slammed. Jim, the doorman, burst in upon them.

"Young feller, is that your car parked in the alley?"

"Yeah!" exclaimed Salt, startled. "Don't tell me the cops are handing me a ticket!"

"Some feller's out there, riflin' through your things!"

Salt dropped his camera and equipment, racing for the door. Penny was close behind.

Reaching the alley, they were just in time to see a man in a dark suit ducking around the corner of the building.

"Hey, you!" shouted Salt angrily.

The man turned slightly and vanished from view.

"Wasn't that the same fellow who was in the auto accident?" Penny demanded.

"Looked like him! Wonder if he got away with anything?"

"Didn't you lock the car, Salt?"

"Only the rear trunk compartment. Should have done it but I was in a hurry."

"Shall I call the police, Salt?"

"Why bother? That bird's gone now. Let's see if he stole anything first."

Salt muttered in disgust as he saw the interior of the car. A box of photographic equipment had been scattered over the back seat. The door of the glove compartment was open, its contents also helter-skelter.

"Anything missing?" Penny asked.

"Not that I can tell. Yes, there is! Some of the photographic plates!"

"Oh, Salt, I was afraid of it! The thief must have been one of those two men who were in the auto accident! You wouldn't sell them the picture they wanted so they followed you here and stole it!"

"They may have tried," the photographer corrected.

"You mean you still have it?"

"The plates that are missing are old ones, extras I exposed at a society tea and never bothered to develop."

"Then you have the one of the auto accident?"

"Right here in my pocket."

"Oh, Salt, how brilliant of you!" Penny laughed.

"It wasn't brilliancy on my part--just habit," Salt returned. "I wonder why that bird set such great store by the picture? Maybe for some reason he's afraid to have it come out in the paper."

"I can hardly wait to see it developed!"

As Penny and the photographer walked back to the theater entrance, a taxi skidded to a stop at the curb. Jerry alighted.

"Anything wrong?" he inquired, staring curiously at the pair.

Salt told him what had happened.

"Maybe you've got dynamite packed in that plate," Jerry commented when he had heard the story. "Better shoot it to the office and have it developed."

"I'm tied up here for half an hour at least."

"Send it back by the cab driver. He can deliver it to DeWitt."

"Good idea," agreed Salt.

He scribbled a note to accompany the plate and gave it to the cab driver, together with the holder.