"Found it in the swamp not far from that abandoned car I told you about."
"Then it must have been thrown away by the driver of the hit-skip car!"
"That's how I figure," Clem Davis drawled. "If you can learn the owner of this license plate, you'll know who killed that orphan's folks!"
CHAPTER 25 _SPECIAL EDITION_
Lights blazed on every floor of the _Riverview Star_ building, proclaiming to all who passed that another special edition was in the process of birth. Pressmen industriously oiled the big rotaries ready for a big run of papers; linotype men, compositors, reporters, all were at their posts, having been hastily summoned from comfortable beds.
In the editor's office, Penny sat at a typewriter hammering out copy.
Jerking a long sheet of paper from beneath the roller, she offered it to her father.
"My contribution on the Hubell Clock angle," she said with a flourish.
Mr. Parker rapidly scanned the story, making a number of corrections with a blue pencil.
"I should slug this 'editorial material,'" he remarked with a grin.
"Quite a plug you've put in for Seth McGuire--suggesting that he be given back his old job as caretaker of the Tower."
"Well, don't you think it's a good idea?"
"The old man will get his job back--I'll see to that," Mr. Parker promised. "But the front page of the _Star_ is not the place to express wishful thinking. We'll reserve it for news if you don't mind."
Crossing out several lines, Mr. Parker placed the copy in a pneumatic tube, and shot it directly to the composing room. He glanced at his watch, noting aloud that in exactly seven minutes the giant presses would start rolling.
"Everything certainly has turned out grand," Penny sighed happily. "Hank Holloway and Clyde Blake are sure to be given long prison sentences for their Black Hood activities. You've promised to see that Old Seth gets his job back, so that part will end beautifully. He'll adopt Adelle and I won't need to worry about her any more."
"What makes you think Seth will adopt the orphan?" Mr. Parker asked curiously.
"Why, he's wanted to do it from the first. He hesitated because he had no steady work, and not enough money. By the way, Dad, how long will it take to learn the owner of that automobile license plate that Clem Davis gave us?"
"Jerry is trying to get the information now, Penny. All the registry offices are closed, but if he can pull some official out of bed, there's a chance he may obtain the data tonight. I'm not counting on it, however."
The door of the office swung back and City Editor DeWitt hurried into the room.
"Everything set?" Mr. Parker inquired.
"We need a picture of Clyde Blake. There's nothing in the morgue."
"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."
Jerry wrote his story which was sent paragraph by paragraph to the composing room. Barely had he typed "30," signifying the end, when the lights of the room dimmed for an instant.
"There go the presses!" Mr. Parker declared, ceasing his restless pacing.
Within a few minutes, the first paper, still fresh with ink, was laid upon the editor's desk. Penny peered over his shoulder to read the headlines announcing the arrest of Blake and his followers.
"There's not much here about Ben Bowman," she commented after a moment.
"What do you think will happen to him, Dad?"
"That remains to be seen," answered the editor. "He's already wanted for forgery, so it should be fairly easy to prove that he worked with Blake to defraud the Camp Board."
"I'm worried about the orphans' camp. So much money has been spent clearing the land and setting up equipment."
"Probably everything can be settled satisfactorily in the end," Mr.
Parker returned. "It may take time and litigation, but there's no reason why a perfect title can't be obtained to the land."
Penny felt very well pleased at the way everything had turned out. Only one small matter remained unexplained. She had been unable to learn the significance of the watch fob found in Clem Davis' stable.
"Why, I can tell you about that," Jerry Livingston assured her. "The fob belonged to Hank Holloway. He admitted it at the police station. The little boy in the picture is his nephew."
Both Penny and her father were tired for it was very late. With the _Star_ ready for early morning street sales, they thought longingly of home and bed. Yet as their car sped down a dimly lighted street, Penny revived sufficiently to say:
"How about a steak at Toni's, Dad?"
"Oh, I don't feel like eating at this late hour," Mr. Parker declined.
"That's not the idea, Dad. I'm suggesting a raw steak for that left eye of yours. By morning it will be swollen shut."
"It is quite a shiner," the editor agreed, gazing at his reflection in the car mirror. "But the story was well worth the cost."
"Thanks to whom?" Penny asked mischievously.
"If I say thanks to you, Penny, you will be expecting an increase in your allowance or something of the sort."
"Maybe I'll ask for it anyhow," Penny chuckled. "And don't forget that you owe me a hundred dollars for getting that crack-pot, Ben Bowman, out of your hair!"