Part 3

Penny and Salt saw it at the same instant and were frozen with horror.

"Ring down the curtain!" the photographer cried hoarsely. "Jerry's really been shot!"

CHAPTER 6 _AMBULANCE CALL_

Penny ran across the stage to kneel beside Jerry, who lay limp on the floor. In horror, she saw that the red stain covered a jagged area on his shirt front.

"Oh, Jerry!" she cried frantically. "Speak to me!"

The reporter groaned loudly and stirred.

"Hold me in your arms," he whispered. "Let my last hours on this earth be happy ones."

Penny's hands dropped suddenly to her sides. She straightened up indignantly.

"You faker!" she accused. "I should think you'd be ashamed to frighten us so! That's not blood on your shirt! It's red ink!"

Jerry sat up, chuckling. "Ruined a good shirt too!"

"You shouldn't have done it," Penny said, still provoked.

"I wanted to put a little drama into the act. Also, I was curious to see how you would react."

Penny tossed her head, starting away. "You needn't be so smug about it, Jerry Livingston! And don't flatter yourself I was concerned about you! I was thinking what a scandal it would mean for Dad and the paper!"

"Oh, sure," Jerry agreed, pursuing her backstage and down a corridor. "Listen, Penny, it was only a joke--"

"Not a very funny one!"

"Penny, I'm sorry--I really am. I didn't realize anyone would get so worked up about it."

"I'm not worked up!" Penny denied, spinning on a heel to face him. "It just gave me a little shock, that's all. First, that threat from Danny Deevers. Then when I saw you flattened out, for a minute I thought someone had substituted a real bullet in the revolver and that you had been shot."

"It was a rummy joke--I realize that now. Forgive me, will you, Penny?"

"I suppose so. Just don't try anything like it again."

"I won't," Jerry promised. "Now that my part is finished here, suppose we go somewhere for a bite to eat?"

"With that blotch of red ink on your shirt front?"

"Oh, I'll change it. I brought an extra shirt along. Wait here and I'll be right with you."

Jerry stepped into the dressing room to make the change. Penny, while waiting, wandered back to the stage wings to talk to Salt. However, the photographer had gone out front and was busily engaged taking pictures of visiting celebrities.

After a few minutes, Penny went downstairs again. Jerry was nowhere to be seen.

The door of the dressing room stood slightly ajar. Penny tapped lightly on it, calling: "Get a move on, Jerry! You're slower than a snail!"

No answer came from inside.

Penny paced up and down the corridor and returned to listen at the door. She could hear no sound inside the room.

"Jerry, are you there?" she called again. "If you are, answer!"

Still there was no reply.

"Now where did he go?" Penny thought impatiently.

She hesitated a moment, then pushed open the door. Jerry's stained shirt lay on the floor where he had dropped it.

The reporter no longer was in the dressing room. Or so Penny thought at first glance.

But as her gaze roved slowly about, she was startled to see a pair of shoes protruding from a hinged decorative screen which stood in one corner of the room.

Jerry, very definitely was attached to the shoes. Stretched out on the floor again, his face remained hidden from view.

Penny resisted an impulse to run to his side.

"Jerry Livingston!" she exclaimed. "You've carried your stupid joke entirely too far! Our date is off!"

Turning her back, she started away. But in the doorway, something held her. She glanced back.

Jerry had not moved.

"Jerry, get up!" she commanded. "Please!"

The reporter made not the slightest response. Penny told herself that Jerry was only trying to plague her, yet she could not leave without being absolutely certain.

Though annoyed at herself for such weakness, she walked across the room to jerk aside the decorative screen.

Jerry lay flat on his back, eyelids closed. A slight gash was visible on the side of his head where the skin was bruised.

One glance convinced Penny that the reporter was not shamming this time. Obviously, he had been knocked unconscious, perhaps by a fall.

"Jerry!" she cried, seizing his hand which was cold to the touch.

Badly frightened, Penny darted to the door and called loudly for help.

Without waiting to learn if anyone had heard her cry, she rushed back to Jerry. On the dressing table nearby stood a pitcher of water and a glass.

Wetting a handkerchief, Penny pressed it to the reporter's forehead. It seemed to produce no effect. In desperation, she then poured half a glass of water over his face.

To her great relief, Jerry sputtered and his eyelids fluttered open.

"For crying out loud!" he muttered. "What you trying to do? Drown me?"

Raising a hand to his head, the reporter gingerly felt of a big bump which had risen there. He pulled himself to a sitting position.

"What happened, Jerry?" Penny asked after giving him a few minutes to recover his senses. "Did you trip and fall?"

The question seemed to revive Jerry completely. Without answering, he got to his feet, and walked unsteadily to the window overlooking the alley.

Penny then noticed for the first time that it was open. She also became aware of a heavy scent of tobacco smoke in the room--the same cigarette odor she had noticed earlier. Now however, it was much stronger.

Jerry peered out the window. "He's gone!" he mumbled.

"Who, Jerry? Tell me what happened."

"Things aren't too clear in my mind," the reporter admitted, sinking into a chair. "Wow! My head!"

"Did someone attack you?"

"With a blackjack. I came in here and changed my shirt. Had a queer feeling all the while, as if someone were in the room."

"Were you smoking a cigarette, Jerry?"

"Why, no."

"Did you notice smoke in the room? The odor still is here."

Jerry sniffed the air. "Neco's," he decided. "They're one of the strongest cigarettes on the market and not easy to get. Now that you mention it, the odor was in the room when I came in! But I didn't think about it at the time."

"Then whoever struck you must have been in here waiting!"

"Sure. Whoever it was, came in the window. He was hidden behind that screen. As I started to leave, he reared up and let me have it from behind! That's all I remember."

"Then you didn't see him?"

"No, it happened too fast."

"Jerry, it may have been Danny Deevers!"

"Maybe so," the reporter agreed. "But I always figured if he caught up with me, he wouldn't fool around with any rabbit punches."

"He may have been frightened away, hearing me in the hall," Penny said. "Jerry, do you have other enemies besides Danny?"

"Dozens of them probably. Every reporter has. But I don't know of anyone who hates me enough to try to lay me out."

The dressing room door now swung open to admit Mr. Parker and several other newspapermen.

"Penny, did you call for help?" her father demanded. "What's wrong?"

"Jerry was slugged," Penny answered, and told what had happened.

"How do you feel, Jerry?" the publisher inquired. "That's a nasty looking bump on your head."

"I'm fit as a fiddle and ready for a dinner date," Jerry announced brightly, winking at Penny. "How about it?"

"Well, I don't know," she replied. "Are you sure you feel up to it?"

"I'm fine." To prove his words, Jerry got to his feet. He started across the room, weaving unsteadily.

Had not Mr. Parker and another man seized him by the arms, he would have slumped to the floor.

"Jerry, you're in no shape for anything except a hospital checkup," the publisher said firmly. "That's where you're going!"

"Oh, Chief, have a heart!"

Mr. Parker turned a deaf ear upon the appeal.

"For all we know, you may have a fractured skull," he said, helping to ease the reporter into a chair. "We'll have you X-rayed."

"I don't want to be X-rayed," Jerry protested. "I'm okay."

"Besides, with Danny Deevers still at large, a hospital is a nice safe place," Mr. Parker continued, thinking aloud. "Perhaps we can arrange for you to stay there a week."

"A week! Chief, I'm not going!"

"No arguments," said Mr. Parker. "You're the same as in Riverview Hospital now. Penny, telephone for an ambulance."

CHAPTER 7 _AN EMPTY BED_

At Riverview hospital twenty minutes later, Jerry was given a complete physical check-up.

"The X-rays won't be developed for another half hour," an interne told him, "but you seem to be all right."

"I not only seem to be, I am," the reporter retorted. "Told you that when I came here! But would anyone listen to me?"

"Twenty-four hours rest will fix you right up. We have a nice private room waiting for you on the third floor. Bath and everything."

"Now listen!" exclaimed Jerry. "You said yourself I'm all right. I'm walking out of here now!"

"Sorry. Orders are you're in for twenty-four hours observation."

"Whose orders?"

"Dr. Bradley. He had a little talk with the publisher of your paper--"

"Oh, I get it! A conspiracy! They're keeping me here to keep me from checking up on Danny Deevers!"

"What's that?" the interne inquired curiously.

"Never mind," returned Jerry, closing up like a clam. "I'll slip you a fiver to get me out of here."

"Sorry. No can do."

The interne went to the door, motioning for two other internes who came in with a stretcher.

"Hop aboard," he told Jerry. "Better come peaceably."

Jerry considered resistance. Deciding it was useless, he rolled onto the stretcher and was transported via the elevator to the third floor. There he was deposited none too ceremoniously in a high bed.

"Just to make sure you stay here, I'm taking your clothes," said the interne. "Now just relax and take it easy."

"Relax!"

"Sure, what you got to kick about? Your bills are all being paid. You get twenty-four hours rest, a good looking nurse, and a radio. Also three meals thrown in."

Jerry settled back into the pillow. "Maybe you've got something after all," he agreed.

"That's the attitude, boy. Well, I'll be seeing you."

Satisfied that Jerry would make no more trouble, he took his clothes and went outside.

Penny and Salt, who had been waiting in the reception room below, stepped from the elevator at that moment.

"How is Jerry?" Penny inquired anxiously as she stopped the interne in the corridor.

"He's all right. Go on in if you want to talk to him."

"Which room?"

"Wait until I put these clothes away and I'll show you."

The interne hung Jerry's suit in a locker at the end of the corridor and then returned to escort Penny and Salt to Room 318.

Jerry, a picture of gloom, brightened as his friends entered.

"I'm sure glad you came!" he greeted them. "I want you to help me get out of here."

"Not a chance," said Salt, seating himself on the window ledge. "This is just the place for you--nice and quiet and safe."

Jerry snorted with disgust.

"Dad and Mr. DeWitt both think Danny Deevers means business," Penny added. "The paper is offering $10,000 reward for his capture."

"Ten thousand smackers! I could use that money myself. And I have a hunch about Danny--"

"Forget it," Salt advised. "This is a case for the police. Just lie down like a nice doggy and behave yourself. We'll keep you informed on the latest news."

"That reminds me," added Penny. "After the ambulance took you away, Dad had the theater searched and the alley. No clues."

Jerry lay still for several minutes, his eyes focused thoughtfully on the ceiling. "If it's the verdict that I stay here, I suppose I may as well give up and take my medicine."

"Now you're showing sense," approved Salt. "Penny and I have an idea that may help trace Deevers. We'll tell you about it later."

"Sure," retorted Jerry ironically, "spare me the shock now. By the way, did you meet an interne in the hall? He was carrying off my clothes."

"Yes, he brought us here," Penny nodded.

"You didn't happen to notice where he hid my clothes?"

"They're safe, Jerry," Penny assured him. "In a locker at the end of the hall."

The information seemed to satisfy Jerry. Wrapping himself like a cocoon in a blanket, he burrowed down and closed his eyes.

"I want to catch forty winks now," he said. "If you folks have a big idea that will lead to Danny's capture, don't let me detain you."

"Jerry, don't be cross with us," Penny pleaded. "We know how you feel, but honestly, you'll be so much safer here."

Jerry pretended not to hear.

After a moment, Salt and Penny quietly left the room.

"He's taking it hard," the photographer commented as they sped in the press car toward the _Riverview Star_ building. "In a way, you can't blame him. Jerry's not the type to be shut up in a nice safe place."

"Dad wants to keep him in the hospital until Danny Deevers is captured, but it will be hard to do it."

Salt, driving with one hand, looked at his watch.

"It's after nine o'clock," he announced. "Penny, you've missed the dinner at the Hillcrest."

"I don't mind. So much has happened today, I've had no time to be hungry."

"Want me to drop you off there now?"

"No, the banquet will be nearly over. I couldn't bear to listen to speeches. Let's go straight to the office and find out what that traffic accident picture shows."

"Suits me, only I'm hungry." On impulse, Salt pulled up in front of a hamburger shop offering curb service. "Let's grab a bite before we really go to work to crack this case."

He tooted the horn and a uniformed girl came hurrying to take his order.

Fortified by sandwiches, coffee, and ice cream, the pair then drove on to the _Riverview Star_ office.

Avoiding the busy newsroom, Salt and Penny went up the back stairs to the photographic studio. Bill Jones, a studio helper, was busy at the wire photo machine.

"Has that picture of the traffic accident I sent over come up yet?" Salt asked him.

"On the desk," the boy answered. "Not too sharp."

Salt picked up a dozen pictures which had been printed on glossy paper and rapidly ran through them until he found the one he sought.

Eagerly Penny peered over his shoulder. The two cars involved in the accident were plainly shown, the license numbers of both visible. In the ancient vehicle, the younger man had lowered his head so that his face was completely hidden. The camera had caught a profile view of the older man, also not clear.

"Lousy picture," said Salt contemptuously.

"It shows the license number of the car. Can't we trace the driver that way?"

"The Motor Vehicle Department is closed now. But I know a fellow who works there. Maybe he'll do us a favor and go back to the office tonight and look up the information."

Salt made the telephone call, and after ten minutes of argument, convinced his friend that the requested information was a matter of life and death.

"He'll do it," the photographer said, hanging up the receiver. "Soon's he gets the information, he'll telephone us here."

Penny had been studying the photograph again. She now was ready with a second suggestion. "Even if the faces aren't very clear, let's compare them with pictures of Danny Deevers in the morgue."

"Good idea," agreed Salt.

The newspaper morgue or library where photographs, cuts and newspaper clippings were carefully filed for reference, was just a few steps down the hall. Miss Adams, the librarian, had gone to lunch, so Salt obtained a key and they searched for their own information.

"Here's an envelope marked Danny Deevers!" Penny cried, pulling it from one of the long filing drawers. "All sorts of pictures of him too!"

Critically, the pair studied the photographs.

The escaped convict was a middle-aged, sullen looking man with hard, expressionless eyes. In one of the pictures, parted lips revealed a set of ugly, uneven teeth.

"This shot I took is so blurred, it's hard to tell if they're the same person or not," Salt complained. "But it looks like Danny."

"If it is, that would explain why he tried to make you give up the plate."

"Sure, he knew the car license number would be a tip-off to the police. But maybe the bird isn't Danny."

"I wish we were certain. Salt, couldn't Jerry identify him from the picture you took?"

"Maybe. Jerry saw Deevers several times before he was put away in the pen."

"Then why not take the picture to the hospital now?"

"Okay," agreed Salt. "Let's go."

Fifteen minutes later, at the hospital, they sought unsuccessfully to pass a receptionist who sat at a desk in the lobby.

"Sorry, visiting hours are over," she explained.

"We're from the _Star_," Salt insisted. "We have to see Jerry Livingston on an important business matter."

"That's different," the receptionist replied. "You may go up to his room, but please make the call brief."

An automatic elevator carried the pair to the third floor. Jerry's door near the end of the corridor stood slightly ajar. Salt tapped lightly on it, and hearing no answer, pushed it farther open.

"Well, what d'you know!" he exclaimed.

Penny, startled by his tone of voice, peered over his shoulder.

The room was deserted. Jerry's bed, unmade, stood empty.

CHAPTER 8 _IN SEARCH OF JERRY_

"Now what could have become of Jerry?" Penny murmured as she and Salt gazed about the deserted room in amazement. "Surely we've made no mistake."

"He was assigned this room all right," the photographer declared. "But maybe they changed it later."

"That's it," agreed Penny in relief. "For a minute it gave me a shock seeing that empty bed. I thought perhaps he had taken a bad turn and been removed for emergency treatment."

The pair sought Miss Brent, a floor supervisor.

"Why, the patient in Room 318 hasn't been changed elsewhere," she replied. "At least, not to my knowledge. I've been off the floor for the last half hour."

Inspecting Room 318 to satisfy herself that the bed was empty, Miss Brent questioned several nurses and an interne. No one seemed to know what had become of the patient. There was a whispered conference and then Miss Brent made a call to the superintendent.

"Something has happened to Jerry!" Penny told Salt tensely. "He may have been abducted!"

A nurse came flying up the hall from the locker room.

"Mr. Livingston's clothes are gone!" she reported.

Light began to dawn on Penny. She recalled the seemingly innocent question Jerry had asked earlier that night as to the location of the clothes locker.

"He's probably walked out of the hospital!" she exclaimed.

"Impossible!" snapped Miss Brent, though her voice lacked conviction. "Nurses have been on duty here all the time. Mr. Livingston couldn't have obtained his clothes without being observed."

"The floor was deserted for about ten minutes," an interne recalled. "An emergency case came in and everyone was tied up."

Penny re-entered Jerry's room. The window remained closed and it was a straight drop of three stories to the yard below. She was satisfied the reporter had not taken that escape route.

A sheet of paper, propped against the mirror of the dresser attracted her eye. As she unfolded it, she saw at once that the handwriting was Jerry's.

"I'm too healthy a pup to stay in bed," he had scrawled. "Sorry, but I'm walking out."

Penny handed the note to Miss Brent who could not hide her annoyance as she read it.

"Nothing like this ever happened before!" she exclaimed. "How could the young man have left this floor and the building without being seen? He's in no condition to be wandering about the streets."

"Then Jerry really did need hospitalization?" inquired Penny.

"Certainly. He suffered shock and the doctor was afraid of brain injury. The patient should have been kept under observation for at least twenty-four hours. Wandering off this way is a very bad sign."

"We'll get him back here pronto!" Salt promised. "He can't have gone far."

In the lobby he and Penny paused to ask the receptionist if she had observed anyone answering Jerry's description leave the building.

"Why, no," she replied, only to correct herself. "Wait! A young man in a gray suit left here about twenty minutes ago. I didn't really notice his face."

"That must have been Jerry!" cried Penny. "Which way did he go?"

"I'm sorry, I haven't the slightest idea."

"Jerry may have gone to his room," Penny said hopefully. "Let's call his hotel."

Using a lobby telephone, they dialed the St. Agnes Hotel Apartments where the reporter lived. The desk clerk reported that Jerry had not been seen that night.

"Oh, where could he have gone?" Penny said as she and Salt left the hospital. "He may be wandering the streets in a dazed condition. Shouldn't we ask police to try to find him?"

"Guess it's all we can do," the photographer agreed. "Jerry sure will be sore at us though."

A taxi cab pulled up near the hospital steps.

"Taxi?" the driver inquired.

Salt shook his head. "We don't know where we want to go yet. We're looking for a friend of ours who left the hospital about twenty minutes ago."

"A girl?"

"No, a man in a gray suit," Penny supplied. "He probably wasn't wearing a hat."

"Say, he musta been the one that asked me about the fare to the swamp!"

At the pair's look of intense interest, the cab driver added: "I was waitin' here for a fare when some ladies came out of the hospital. I pulled up and took 'em aboard. Just then this young feller comes out.

"He didn't seem to notice I had my cab filled, and says: 'How much to take me to Caleb Corners?'"

"Caleb Corners?" Penny repeated, having never heard of the place.

"That's a long ways out, almost to the swamp. I says to him, 'Sorry, buddy, but I got a fare. If you can wait a few minutes I'll be right back and pick you up.'"

"What did Jerry say?" Salt asked.

"He said he wanted to get started right away. Reckon he picked up another cab."

Thanking the driver for the information, Penny and Salt retreated a few steps for a consultation.

"If Jerry started for the swamp at this time of night he must be wacky!" the photographer declared. "That knock on the head must have cracked him up and he doesn't know what he's doing!"

"Why would he start for the swamp? Maybe he remembers what I told him about seeing a stranger there today, and in his confusion, has an idea he'll find Danny Deevers!"

"Jerry can't have had much of a start, and we know he headed for Caleb Corners! I'll go after him."

"We'll both go," Penny said quickly. "Come on, let's get the car."

Before they could leave the hospital steps, the receptionist came hurrying outside.

"Oh, I'm glad you're still here!" she said breathlessly, looking at the photographer. "Aren't you Mr. Sommers?"

"That's me," agreed Salt.

"A telephone call for you."

"Say, maybe it's Jerry! Wait here, Penny. I'll be right back."

Salt was gone perhaps ten minutes. When he returned, his grim expression instantly informed Penny that the call had not been from Jerry.

"It was from my friend in the Motor Vehicle Department," he reported. "He traced the license number of the car that was in the accident."

"How did he know you were here, Salt?"

"Telephoned the office, and someone told him to try the hospital."

"Who owns the car, Salt?"

"A woman by the name of Sarah Jones, Route 3, Crissey Road.

"Crissey Road! Why, that's out near the swamp, not far from Trapper Joe's place! I recall seeing the name on a signpost when Louise and I were out there this afternoon."

"All roads lead to the swamp tonight," Salt commented. "I'm worried about Jerry. I called the office and he hasn't shown up there."

"Then he must have started for Caleb Corners! Salt, we're wasting time!"

"We sure are," he agreed. "Let's go!"

The press car had been parked in a circular area fifty yards from the hospital. Salt and Penny ran to it, and soon were on their way, speeding into the night on a deserted, narrow road.

CHAPTER 9 _THE WIDOW JONES_

Caleb Corners scarcely was a stopping point on the narrow, dusty, county highway.