The Star Reporter Mystery

by Norvin Pallas LLC

  “Then, too, I encouraged him in his hopes of a career with the violin because his mother had been musical, and I wanted Larry to carry on. I don’t really know whether he had talent enough for a career or not, but just the same I helped him to construct this dream castle until it became the most important thing in his life. Then, when his opportunity came, I was unable to help him take advantage of it. I think I’ve made it clear to you how much of the blame was really mine.

  “My boy told you that he was selfish and arrogant. Let me tell you that heartsick over what he had done, he returned the money he had stolen without a word from anyone, only hoping that what he had done could be undone. He was unable to speak up for me at my trial because I planned it that way. I lied to him then, just as I lied to him later about being home in nine months, and how it would be useless for him to try to do anything for me.

  “And let me say finally for my son, that I knew him for what he was, a fine, sturdy, intelligent boy, who has given me only one moment of doubt, but never in his life gave me one moment of shame. But let me conclude, that if I have felt pride in my son, there has never been a time when I felt as much pride in him as I do at this moment.”

  After a short silence during which Knight and his father looked at each other with deep understanding, Knight turned back to Ronald. “Well, there’s your story, Wilford. Which way are you going to print it?”

  Ronald looked at them both carefully, a smile touching his lips. “My assignment was to find Barry Knight, and I believe I can now wire back to the office: ‘Mission accomplished.’ I don’t see any story here for me. It’s your story now, Knight, and you’ll have to tell it the way you think best.”

  CHAPTER 21

  The Sound of Distant Thunder

  Late Friday afternoon, Ronald, Ted, and their excess baggage in the form of Mr. Knight were on the bus headed back toward Union City. The snow sled had finally come through that morning, and Ronald and Ted remained in the village, sending up to the lodge for their suitcases since they did not desire another meeting with Lister and Grossen.

  Barry Knight and his father had also come down on the snow sled, but had left town almost immediately in a hired car.

  “First time I ever knew a reporter to give up a good story,” Ted remarked to his brother, rather teasingly, for there was a certain amount of professional rivalry between them.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say I gave up a story, Ted. I merely turned it over to a person who was much better qualified to write it than I was. The story’s going to be in the paper next Monday. Knight called the newspaper this morning, and when I talked to Carole later, she told me what had been decided.”

  “I wonder, Ron—do you really think there’s any point in publishing this story at all? It happened a long time ago—past the legal limit, so why not past the public limit as well?”

  “That was Burnett’s first reaction when Knight explained the matter to him, but Knight convinced him the story had to go in. It isn’t simply a matter of clearing Mr. Desmond’s reputation, but it’s also to protect Knight’s future reputation as well.”

  “I explained that to Ted already,” Mr. Knight put in. “Knight can’t go on living with a ghost.”

  “That’s right. We don’t know how much of this story Lister knows, but from what you’ve told me, I feel pretty sure he knows enough to print some sort of story about Knight. Even if he didn’t, even if he doesn’t have enough to go on, how could Knight ever be sure what he might discover and publish in the future? Knight’s got too fine a future to endanger it in that way. Oh, incidentally, Carole told me that Knight offered his resignation, and Burnett told him to stop talking foolishness at long-distance rates, and to get on the job as fast as he could. Burnett can be pretty brusque when he wants to be.”

  “But just what sort of story is Knight going to write?” Ted wondered.

  “Oh, I think he’ll try to tell it just as truthfully as he can. But while he writes, he’s going to have a sympathetic father peering pretty closely over his shoulder, and you can be sure Burnett will go over the story carefully before it’s published to make certain Knight isn’t too harsh on himself.”

  “You think the public will accept the story that way?”

  “Well, how did we accept it? We saw a boy who wanted something so badly that he gave way to a moment of temptation. Believing he could make it look like an outside burglary, he had no expectation that his father would be implicated. Later he restored the money, would certainly have confessed in open court if his father hadn’t prevented it, and even afterward would have told if his father hadn’t convinced him it wouldn’t do any good. It’s the sort of youthful mistake we could easily forgive, and I think the public will accept it in that light. The only flaw in this thing is Lister. Even though he doesn’t have the whole story, he may rush into print with something or other, and so much can depend on which story reaches the public first. If Lister’s story comes first, it will seem as though Barry only wrote his story in an attempt to whitewash himself. But if Barry’s story comes first, Lister’s story will sound like sour grapes.”

  Ronald turned to Mr. Knight. “There’s one detail that puzzles me. I didn’t think Uglancie knew anything about Imperial, yet apparently he did. How did that happen?”

  “Why, you told him yourself, Wilford.”

  “I did?” asked Ronald in surprise.

  “Yes. You may not be aware of it, but Uglancie has a good many men stationed at strategic places throughout the state. He has supplied them with a list of license numbers they should always be on the alert for, and it should be flattering to you that your license number is among them. One of his men picked up your car going into Imperial, and by talking to the gas-station operator after you did, they had a line on Walter Desmond, which brought his name into the case. They still didn’t know for sure that Barry Knight had ever lived in Imperial, but they figured you didn’t know, either, and that maybe they could make up a story that would fool you. It was Uglancie’s story, but—” he added with pride “—a good many of the details were my own invention.”

  “You think Mr. Bogus will accept Mr. Desmond’s invention after all?” Ted asked of Ronald.

  “That’s hard to say. If Desmond’s prison record is the only thing standing in the way, that will be speedily cleared up. But we can’t be sure that was the real reason for the company’s hesitation. Mr. Desmond says if he has a product they’re interested in they’ll buy it, but if he hasn’t, then it was just a grand try that never quite came off.”

  “Funny thing,” Ted went on, “here all the time everything made it look like Mr. Desmond was guilty, and none of us could really believe that an innocent man was sent to prison, and yet that was just what happened this time.”

  “No, Ted, I don’t think I can go along with you there. I spoke with an authority at the penitentiary about that, and I don’t think Mr. Desmond would fall within the category of an innocent man. Remember that he knew who did it, and was covering up for him, so regardless of how noble his action may have been, he didn’t give the forces of the law a proper chance to fulfill their function.”

  The bus driver partly turned in his seat to call back to them. “Hear that?” They all listened and thought they heard a little rumbling in the distance. “That professor guy is dynamiting that other hill at the mouth of Lonely Valley, and I understand Hank Hudson is pretty huffy about it.”

  “I didn’t know they were going to dynamite again,” Ronald returned. “Was there a notice posted?”

  “Oh, yes, it was posted in the post office and the inn. I thought everybody knew about it.” He turned his attention back to the driving.

  “I—er—wanted to tell you about that, Wilford,” said Mr. Knight. “I wouldn’t worry very much about anything Lister is going to do in the next couple of days. Some little hint that I dropped to him must have given him the wrong impression. He thought that Mr. Bogus was planning to meet you up in Lonely Valley the other night, but couldn’t make it bec
ause of the dynamiting. So somehow he got the notion that there was another meeting planned for tonight, and he and Grossen are up at the cabin waiting for everybody.” He chuckled. “I imagine they’ll have as much trouble getting out of there as you did.”

  “Wasn’t there a notice posted at the lodge?” Ronald questioned.

  “Oh, yes, it was on the bulletin board, all right. But you know, I just happened to have a big calendar, and somehow it seemed to me that the bulletin board was the ideal place to hang it. Unfortunately it covered up most of the notices, but Hank didn’t think to take it down until after Lister had left.”

  Ronald received this news with a grin and a nod of appreciation for Mr. Knight’s talents as an actor.

  “Well, this is Friday, Ted,” he said later, stretching out his legs, “and I don’t see any sense in trying to get back to the paper before Monday morning, so I think I’ll just go along home with you and spend a day or two with Mom. Would you care to come along with us, Mr. Knight? Please excuse the name, but you’ve never given us any other.”

  “No, thank you, Wilford. I’ve grown rather attached to you and your brother, especially after that big lug tried twisting his arm—”

  “What’s that?” demanded Ronald, coming to attention. “Did Grossen do that to you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because it wasn’t that important, and I didn’t want anything to happen that might make you forget the newspaper story came first.”

  “Well, O.K., Ted, I’ll drop it for now, but Marty Grossen better not ever cross my path again or there’s likely to be fireworks. How’d you enjoy the skiing for the last couple of days, Ted?”

  “It wasn’t very good, but I guess I got enough of it to last me till next winter. As long as you were enjoying yourself so much up at Lonely Valley, I had to find something to do, and I didn’t want to sit around looking at Lister and Grossen all day. I did do some work on those newspaper stories, though—the ones you promised to help me with.”

  “Well, which one did you decide to feature?”

  “There’s several pretty good ones, but that one by Margaret Lake—”

  “There’s no doubt that’s the best.”

  “You never read it, but it really is pretty good—”

  “Su-ure.”

  Mr. Knight interrupted grandly, “As I was saying, much as I appreciate your kind invitation, I find myself unable to accept the hospitality of your home. Fresh air may be all right in its place, but there’s such a thing as overdoing it. Besides, at this time of year there’s usually a fresh breeze right off the lake that comes swishing down Vincent Street and sweeps out some of the dust. Much as I’ve enjoyed this little vacation at our friend Mr. Uglancie’s expense, I wouldn’t want to be away from Short Vincent very long. There’s too much I might miss.”

  “I don’t know whether I’ve ever said much to you about Short Vincent, Ted,” Ronald said to his younger brother. “It’s a kind of legendary place that I’ll have to visit to see for myself. The only thing that’s stopping me is that I need a by-line first.”

  “I don’t get it, Ron,” said Ted frankly. “Why do you need a by-line before you can visit Short Vincent?”

  “It’s a long story, Ted. Remind me to tell you sometime.”