Jerry patted Penny’s hand. “Don’t give it a thought, kid,” he said. “Schirr does a lot of wild talking. Probably whatever he said to you was pure bluff. He doesn’t know a thing.”

The arrival of the cab at the station put an end to the conversation. Jerry paid the driver and hustled Penny inside. He barely had time to purchase a ticket before the train was called.

“Well, goodbye,” Jerry said, squeezing her hand.

“Have a good time in Canada,” Penny replied. “And bring me a nice bear rug!”

“Sure, I’ll catch him with my bare hands,” Jerry rejoined, making a feeble attempt at a joke.

The train began to move. The reporter swung himself aboard the last Pullman. As he waved from the steps, Penny realized that she had forgotten to ask for his Canadian address.

Soon the train was only a blur down the frosty tracks. Penny climbed a steep ramp to the street. She felt lonesome, and for some reason, discouraged.

“First I lose my car wheels, and now it’s Jerry,” she reflected sadly. “What a week!”

Penny scarcely knew whether to go home or to the Star office. As she debated the matter, her ears were assaulted by the shrill scream of a siren.

“A fire,” thought Penny.

An ambulance rushed past. It raced to the end of the short street and pulled up.

“Probably an accident,” amended Penny.

Curious to learn what had happened, she began to run. At the end of the street a large crowd had gathered. A car with a smashed fender and damaged front grillwork, had piled against a street lamp.

“What happened?” Penny asked a man who stood beside her.

“Two cars in a smash-up,” he answered. “Didn’t see the accident myself.”

“But what became of the other automobile?” asked Penny.

She pushed through the gathering crowd to the curb. Broken glass was scattered over the pavement. Ambulance men were searching the wreckage of the car which had struck the lamp post. The other automobile, apparently, had driven away.

Suddenly, Penny’s gaze riveted on the rear license plate of the smashed car. In horror 

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