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.”