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<h2 id="c7">CHAPTER 7 AN EMPTY BED</h2> 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. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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