“I know how you can have your dull-finish pictures, Mr. Riley,” he stated.
“Oh, you do?” interposed Orris, an edge to his voice. “Suppose you tell us!”
“I was trying it out the other day,” explained Flash. “All you need to do is to place the print between blotting paper when you put it on the ferrotype machine.”
“And what finish will it make?” Riley inquired with interest.
“I’ll show you,” Flash offered. “I think I have a few samples in my portfolio.”
He brought the prints. Riley glanced at them and beamed.
“This is what I want! Orris, let me have my prints like these.”
“As you wish,” the head photographer returned surlily, “but I doubt if they’ll make as good cuts as the regular glossy prints.”
After Riley had gone, Orris offered no comment. He experimented in the darkroom, and gave orders to the other photographers how the new prints were to be made. While he neither praised nor criticised Flash, his attitude made it evident that he considered the young man something of a pest.
However, the new prints made an attractive change in theLedger, and Riley was pleased.
Three days later, after an uneventful afternoon, Flash and Joe Wells were lounging in the photography department, waiting for their trick to end. It was not quite four o’clock.
“Never saw things so dull since I’ve been on theLedger,” Joe Wells yawned. “A few more days like this, and we’ll be laid off.”
Flash took his friend seriously. “I’ll be the first one to go,” he said, “because I’m the youngest man.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Wells replied. “We didn’t need an extra photographer when Riley hired you. He took you on because you showed a lot of promise. Your work has been all right, too.”
“But nothing spectacular.”
“Spectacular pictures don’t drop into a fellow’s lap every day. You’ll get your big chance one of these days, Flash.”
The door opening into the news room stood ajar. From where they were they could hear the teletype machines pounding out their news from all parts of the country. Suddenly everyone in the office was startled to hear a steady jingle of the signal bell, followed by Riley’s excited shout:
“TheAlexanderhas gone down!”
Flash and the other photographers ran into the adjoining room, crowding about the teletype machine. The first bulletin was brief, stating little more than the bare fact that the great passenger liner had sunk less than fifty miles from New York, following a violent explosion. Three hundred American passengers, nearly all of them holiday tourists, had been taken aboard the steamshipBelmoniawhich was making for New York. Ten persons were known to be dead, and thirty were missing.
“There were several Brandale passengers on theAlexander,” Riley recalled excitedly. “We ran a story about two weeks ago. Adams, check on that angle!”
As new bulletins kept coming in, every department was spurred to action. Long distance telephone calls were placed to correspondents in New York. But Riley felt that the story was too important to be handled in a routine way.
“We want pictures! Lots of ’em!” he muttered. “I have it! One of the survivors may have been an amateur photographer—there’s always a few on every ship! If any pictures were taken, and we can get ’em we’ll score a scoop!”
A radiogram promptly was dispatched to the rescue ship,Belmonia, with an offer to buy any and all camera films available from the survivors. In a comparatively short while a reply was returned. It read:
“Eight rolls undeveloped film available. Offered at five hundred dollars.”
Riley winced at the price but wired back an immediate acceptance. He then dispatched a photographer and two reporters by plane to New York to be on hand when the vessel docked.
Even with arrangements made for the films, Riley was uneasy.
“Another paper may overbid us,” he fretted. “Then we’ll be sitting high and dry without our pictures.”
“How about meeting the ship out at sea?” suggested Joe Wells.
Riley thought a moment and nodded. “Good idea, if Captain Sorenson will let you aboard. He has a reputation for being a grouch. Think you can swing it?”
“Sure, with a good pilot. How about Dave French?”
“I’ll charter his plane and have it waiting by the time you reach the airport,” Riley promised. “And I’ll radio Sorenson to be on the lookout for you. You may be able to get some good shots of the survivors yourself.”
“I’ll take plenty of holders,” Wells said, starting toward the photography room.
“May as well send another man with you,” Riley added.
His gaze wandered from one eager face to another. Fred Orris moved a step forward as if anticipating that he would be chosen. Riley’s eye traveled past him and came to rest upon Flash.
“Evans! You’ll go with Wells. On your way out, stop at the cashier’s desk for money. Pay whatever you must to get those films, but don’t come back without them!”
Elated at the assignment, Flash rushed after Joe Wells to get his own camera equipment.
“Glad Riley is sending you instead of Orris,” his friend commented briefly.
On their way to the street, the two photographers stopped at the cashier’s office, and were given an envelope containing nine hundred dollars. Flash carefully placed it in an inside pocket.
Hailing a taxi, they rode directly to the harbor where Dave French awaited them with his seaplane already warmed up for the trip.
“Think you’ll have any trouble contacting theBelmonia?” Wells asked the pilot.
Dave French smiled and shook his head. “No, I have her position. But we ought to get started so we can get back before dark.”
Flash and Joe climbed into the cockpit. Before the plane could take to the water, a man came out of a building, and ran toward them, waving his hand.
“Hold it!” he shouted.
Dave French throttled down and waited.
“Now what?” muttered Joe Wells.
“Riley of theLedgerjust telephoned,” the man informed. “He says the captain of theBelmoniarefuses to pick up a passenger.”
“Then the trip is off!” Wells exclaimed in disgust. “I was afraid of this. Sorenson is one of the worst crabs on the line.”
“Did Riley say we were to come back to the office?” Flash inquired thoughtfully.
“He didn’t say anything about that. His message was that the captain wouldn’t pick up a passenger.”
Wells had started to climb from the cockpit, but Flash pulled him back.
“Wait, Joe! I have an idea!”
“Spill it.”
“Riley didn’t order us not to make the trip. Why don’t we try anyway?”
“Thatisa brilliant brain wave,” Wells said scornfully. “We’d have a trip for nothing, run up a nice bill, and get fired for our trouble!”
“Maybe not, Joe. We’d be taking a chance all right, but I have a hunch we can get aboard theBelmonia.”
“How?”
“Listen, Joe, sea captains are supposed to have humanitarian instincts, aren’t they? If Sorenson saw a fellow swimming in the ocean miles from shore wouldn’t steam away and let him drown, would he?”
“Sorenson might,” replied Wells. “No ordinary trick will work with him. But what’s your scheme?”
“It’s simple. Dave flies us out to meet theBelmonia. When we’re certain we’ve attracted attention, one of us jumps overboard—”
“Breaking a leg, smashing six ribs, not to mention a neck—”
“It could be done, couldn’t it?” Flash demanded of the pilot.
“Yes, I could fly low enough so a person wouldn’t be slapped very hard,” Dave French answered reluctantly. “But why not land the plane on the water?”
“With a seaplane handy, Sorenson never would pick up a fellow. My idea is to jump, then have the plane fly back to shore.”
“And who is to do the jumping, brother?” inquired Wells.
“I will. I’m a pretty fair swimmer.”
“Do you realize that if Sorenson doesn’t pick you up, it would mean curtains?”
“He will,” Flash said confidently. “The only risk is that he might not see me in the water. But if I jump it will attract attention.”
“The idea is just crazy enough that it might work,” Wells said slowly.
“I’m sure it will! Let’s try it!”
“See here! You’re overlooking one point—an important one,” said Wells. “How are you going to protect your money? You’ll have to keep it dry.”
“I can get you a waterproof container,” the pilot offered quickly.
“And I can use it to protect the films after I get them,” added Flash. “Sorenson may be decent enough to put me off in a boat so I can contact the plane for the return trip. If he doesn’t, I’ll jump.”
“We’ll have to arrange an exact schedule,” Dave French declared. “How long will you need aboard the ship?”
“Give me three quarters of an hour from the time I first jump,” Flash decided. “That ought to be long enough.”
“A man can drown in thirty seconds,” murmured Wells gloomily. “But if you’re willing to try it, I shouldn’t kick.”
A waterproof container was quickly found. Then Dave French speeded up the motors, and the big seaplane scooted along the water. The waves were fairly heavy. Several times before flying speed was attained, the ship was thrown a little way into the air, but each time the pilot minimized the stall by pushing the stick forward. In a moment the plane took off smoothly and climbed.
Flash transferred his money to the waterproof container which he pinned securely inside his shirt. He divested himself of shoes and coat, but decided not to use the life-belt which the pilot had procured for him. He was afraid it might check his fall into the sea too suddenly, thus adding to the shock of impact.
The plane flew steadily eastward, sighting small sailing boats and larger vessels. Presently, Dave French throttled down, and pointed to a large steamship which could be seen some distance away.
“TheBelmonia!” he shouted.
Flash’s pulse quickened and a queer feeling came into the pit of his stomach. His plan had seemed simple back on land. But now, peering down at the ruffled surface of the water far below, he realized what a small speck a swimmer must appear to a lookout stationed on theBelmonia.
“Better give it up,” admonished Joe Wells, with a worried frown.
Flash shook his head and, feeling of his money to be certain it was securely fastened, signaled Dave French that he was ready.
The plane drove steadily on and circled theBelmoniatwice. Flash and Joe waved, but the only response they received was from a few of the passengers. Obviously, the captain of the vessel had no intention of lowering a boat so they might board.
“All right, I’ll jump!” Flash said. “Any time, Dave.”
The pilot brought the plane lower and motioned for the photographer to get out on the right wing. While Joe helped give him support, Flash struggled from the cockpit. The wind struck him full in the face and, catching him off guard, nearly toppled him from his perch before he was ready to make the plunge. He recovered and clung tightly.
“We’ll wait to see that you’re picked up,” Wells shouted.
“No!” Flash hurled back.
He was convinced that as long as the seaplane remained in the vicinity, Captain Sorenson never would rescue him.
The plane dropped lower and lower until it flew level not more than fifty feet above the surface of the sea. Dave waggled the wings slightly, a signal that it was time to jump.
For an instant, Flash’s courage nearly failed him. Never in his life had he dived more than thirty feet. The water looked miles away. But he dared not think about it or he would be lost.
Taking a deep breath, he jumped. As he shot down feet foremost, Joe Wells shouted something after him which sounded suspiciously like: “Get names!”
At the moment, Flash’s one concern was to keep from losing his balance and being toppled head over heels in the air. He must strike the water feet first. If he didn’t, he would suffer a nasty blow, and perhaps crack a rib or injure his back.
Fighting a desire to look downward, he kept his head held high. Straight as a bullet he shot downward, gathering speed. The wind rushed past his face, taking his breath.
Then the water loomed up and he bent slightly to take it with as little shock as possible. Even so, he struck it with a resounding crack and a jar which shook every muscle.
The force of the fall plunged Flash to a tremendous depth. He fought his way to the surface, only to have a wave sweep over his head, burying him again.
Once more he struggled up, gasping for breath. Taking air in great gulps, he rolled over on his back and rested.
The seaplane had banked and was heading in the direction of shore. Three hundred yards away theBelmoniaplowed steadily on her course.
Flash waited a moment and then began to wave to attract attention. He felt certain the skipper of theBelmoniamust be aware of his plight, yet there was no indication from the steamship that he had been seen.
Wave upon wave pounded down upon the photographer, burying him and cutting off his view of the steamship. Minutes passed, and Flash’s panic grew. The seaplane no longer was visible as a speck in the sky so he could not expect rescue from his friends. What a fool he had been! He had not realized that he must battle such high waves. Unless theBelmoniapicked him up he could not hope to keep afloat until Wells and French returned.
“Sorenson must have seen me jump,” he thought bitterly. “But he has no intention of taking me aboard. He means to let me drown!”
As Flash watched with increasing alarm, theBelmoniakept steadily to her course. Minutes seemed an eternity. The cold water was biting into his skin, chilling him through. An icy fear clutched at his heart.
And then, when he had abandoned all hope, he saw that a small boat was being lowered from the steamer. He had been seen and would be picked up!
Minutes later two sailors hauled him over the side into the bottom of the boat.
“They say there’s one born every minute,” remarked a ship’s officer grimly. “After watching you jump from that plane, I believe it!”
“Had to get aboard some way,” grinned Flash, wriggling into a dry jacket which a sailor offered him.
“Reporter?”
“Photographer for theBrandale Ledger. I aim to get some films our paper bought from a survivor of theAlexander.”
“You’re lucky you weren’t drowned!”
“Guess I am at that,” Flash admitted cheerfully.
The sailors fell to rowing steadily, and in a short while the boat came alongside theBelmonia.
Stepping on deck, Flash found himself confronted by Captain Sorenson, a stern, red-faced, well-built man of sixty, whose clipped words dropped like chips of steel. In no uncertain language he gave the bedraggled young man to understand that he had committed an inexcusable offense in causing theBelmoniato be detained. Flash accepted the berating as his just due, responding, “Yes, sir,” and “You are quite right, sir,” until with a shrug of impatience, the captain took himself to the bridge.
The first mate, a man with twinkling blue eyes, stepped forward and said to Flash in a low tone:
“That fellow over by the railing is the one who has the films for sale. He has bought up everything on board. I understand two other papers besides yours have radioed him offers.”
Flash thanked the officer for the friendly tip and hastened over to speak with the man who had been pointed out to him. He quickly introduced himself, explaining why he had boarded the ship. As he had feared, the passenger immediately adopted a shrewd attitude.
“Well, I don’t know about letting you have the films,” he said.
“You made a definite deal with us,” Flash reminded him.
“Sure, I know, but a man has a right to change his mind. I’ve already been offered six hundred for the films. I’d be foolish to let them go for less. These eight rolls are the only available pictures of the explosion.”
“I’ll match the offer,” said Flash. “Six hundred dollars.”
“I’m holding out for seven fifty.”
“We can’t pay it,” Flash replied shortly. “We’re offering to buy your films undeveloped. They may not be worth a dime to us when they’re printed. We’ll be lucky if we get two or three good pictures in the lot.”
“Seven fifty.”
“See here,” said Flash, “I risked my life to get these films, and I don’t like to go back without them. But six hundred is our limit. Take it or leave it.”
He was bluffing. Riley told him to pay what he must for the pictures. But he didn’t like to be held up. And he thought, too, that he detected signs of weakening.
“All right, the films are yours for six hundred,” the passenger agreed suddenly. “That is, if you’re prepared to pay in cash.”
“I am.”
Flash took out the waterproof container, and to his relief found it perfectly dry. He stripped off several crisp bills without allowing the man to see the extent of his bank roll. In turn, he received eight rolls of camera film which he replaced in the holder.
His most important mission accomplished, he next turned his attention to the survivors of theAlexander. Every available cabin, the salons and decks were crowded with men, women, and children, many dressed in clothing borrowed from sailors of theBelmonia.
Circulating among the passengers, Flash found them more than willing to tell of their experiences. He obtained many dramatic accounts of the explosion, the sinking of the vessel, and the timely rescue. While the captain of theAlexanderhad gone down with his ship, he talked with other surviving officers who were able to give him a list of the known dead and missing.
Flash worked swiftly and was ready to leave the ship by the time he sighted Dave French’s seaplane. Already long shadows had fallen over the water. Within a short while it would be so dark that a swimmer could not be seen on the surface of the sea. If he were to be picked up, it must be quickly.
Approaching the mate who had seemed more friendly than the other officers, Flash asked if he might be put off in a small boat to make contact with the seaplane.
“Not a chance of it,” the mate told him regretfully. “You would only waste your breath to ask Captain Sorenson. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay aboard until we dock.”
Flash had no intention of losing the advantage he had gained. He knew that if he could get back to Brandale ahead of theBelmonia, theLedgerwould scoop every paper in the country with its pictures and news story. There was only one way. He must jump overboard and trust that Dave French would be able to pick him up.
His decision made, Flash sauntered toward the stern of the vessel. He saw the watchful gaze of the mate upon him, but if that worthy suspected his purpose, he gave no sign.
The drone of the seaplane grew louder, drawing many passengers to the railing. Flash could make out the pilot and Joe Wells in the cockpit. They waved and he returned the signal although he was far from certain they could distinguish him from the other passengers.
Scrambling to the rail, he poised an instant. Then he leaped far out, away from the turbulent waters which boiled about the ship. Making a shallow dive, he came to the surface a safe distance astern.
Rolling over on his back, he saw that the seaplane had turned and was gliding gracefully down. It settled easily upon the water, taxiing toward him. Flash had only to wait to be hauled into the cockpit.
“Did you get the pictures?” Joe Wells demanded eagerly.
Flash nodded and offered the container. There was an anxious moment as they examined the films, but all eight were dry.
The roar of the wind as the seaplane once more took to the air made conversation impossible. Wrapped in Joe Wells’ coat, Flash shivered and chattered, and drew a sigh of relief when at last the harbor was reached. Not until then did he tell any of the details of his adventure.
“This day’s deed should win another salary increase for you, Flash,” Joe said heartily. “But it won’t do you any good if you come down with pneumonia!”
Flash borrowed a dry outfit, and the two photographers caught a taxi back to theLedgerbuilding. As they burst into the newsroom, Riley, who had remained overtime at his desk, leaped to his feet.
“We got the pictures, Chief,” Wells announced dramatically. “Or rather, Flash did.”
“You both had your nerve disregarding my orders,” Riley chuckled. “I want to hear all about it. But first, develop those films, and let’s see what we have.”
Flash and Joe were the target of envious glances, from the other photographers, as they entered the department. Shutting themselves up in the darkroom, they decided to develop the rolls of film one at a time to avoid any risk of scratching the negatives.
The rolls were of all sizes and length. Anxiously, Flash and Joe put the first batch through and examined the negatives under the light. They could make out a few blurred figures but that was all. Every picture was so badly out of focus that it could not be used.
“Better luck on the others—maybe,” said Joe gloomily.
Another roll turned out to be over-exposed. Not until they came to the seventh strip did they obtain a single printable picture. Even so the films would need to be specially treated, and the subject matter was scarcely worth the bother.
“Looks as if we’ve bought six hundred dollars worth of nothing,” Joe muttered.
Without much hope, they developed the last roll. Almost as soon as it was dipped into the developer fluid, the set of six pictures began to appear.
“Boy!” Wells breathed. “Maybe we’ll get something after all!”
Carefully, they removed the shining strip from the tank. For a moment neither of the photographers spoke. Then Wells laughed aloud, so great was his relief.
“Beauties!” he exclaimed. “Six of them!”
While his friend finished the pictures, Flash hurried to the newsroom to report the good fortune to Riley. The editor bade him tell the entire story of how the films had been obtained. And a little later, when he saw the pictures for himself, he declared that six hundred dollars had not been too much to pay.
“Buy yourself a new suit of clothes at theLedger’sexpense, Evans,” he said heartily. “And you may find a little extra tucked in your pay check at the end of the week.”
“Thank you,” said Flash, flushing with pleasure.
“You’ve earned it this time,” replied Riley, and his inference was plain. “Just keep up the good work.”
Back in the photographic department, Flash received the congratulations of the other photographers. Only Orris seemed to resent the fact that he had been given a raise.
Later, after the extra was out, and theLedgerhad scored its sensational scoop, Flash was examining a set of old films, when Joe Wells touched his shoulder.
“Let’s jog down the street and grab something to eat,” he proposed. “What are you doing anyway? Admiring your own work?”
Flash shook his head.
“Just looking over some of my old films. I keep speculating as to how I streaked those fire pictures—can’t figure it out.”
“Why try?” Wells asked with a yawn.
“I don’t want the same accident to happen a second time. Mr. Riley seems to like my work now, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“You’re a true photographer,” Joe grinned. “Instead of basking in your success, you worry about your failures! Probably that same mishap will never occur again.”
“I hope not,” said Flash.
But secretly he wondered.
On his way home from work the following afternoon, Flash stopped at the Sam Davis Home Supply Store. The proprietor was busy with a salesman, but as soon as he could, he invited the photographer into his private office.
“I’m glad you dropped around,” he declared heartily. “You and your friend ran away the other night before I had an opportunity to thank you for saving both my life and my store.”
“You did have a rather narrow escape,” Flash acknowledged. “Has anything new happened around here since then?”
“I haven’t had any more trouble if that’s what you mean. I figure whoever set the fire assumes the store is being watched by the police.”
“And is that the case?”
The furniture store owner crumpled an advertising circular and tossed it into the waste paper basket.
“No, I asked for a special guard, but they said they couldn’t give it to me. The police force is undermanned and the commissioner lacks the courage to fight the rackets. Either that, or he’s tied up with them!”
“I suppose it’s not easy for the police to get evidence,” remarked Flash. “Most store owners who are approached probably pay the tribute and keep quiet.”
“Sure,” agreed Sam Davis. “They reason that the police can’t really give them any protection. It’s cheaper to pay a few dollars a week than to have your store wrecked, as I very well know! Nearly always, the only fellows caught are the agents for higher-ups.”
“And the store owners are afraid to testify against them for fear of getting rough treatment later on.”
“That’s it,” Davis nodded grimly. “Why, I know a half dozen men who have taken out insurance with this North Brandale Company rather than risk having their buildings fired.”
“Can you give me a list of the persons?”
“I could,” the store man said reluctantly, “but I don’t see what good it would do. It might only cause trouble.”
“I’ll not publish the list,” Flash promised. “You see, I thought I might try to do a little investigation work on my own.”
“I don’t think you’ll get to first base, young man,” Sam Davis said discouragingly. “But I’ll give you the names. Only don’t ever let on that you got them from me.”
“I won’t,” Flash promised.
The store owner wrote several names and addresses on a sheet of paper.
“By the way,” he said, “what happened to those pictures you took of me the night of the fire? I thought you said they were going to be printed in theLedger.”
Flash had anticipated the question.
“Oh, the paper decided not to use them,” he replied carelessly.
“You see what I mean,” Sam Davis said, nodding his head. “Anything touching the rackets is dynamite in this town. The police are afraid to buck them and so are the newspapers.”
“In theLedger’scase it was a matter of news value rather than policy,” explained Flash. “I didn’t get the pictures into the editor’s hands quickly enough.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I’m just as glad the pictures didn’t appear. I don’t especially care about being made the target of another attack.”
Flash took the list of names. When he was outside the building, he studied the addresses. Many of the places were close at hand. He decided to make a few calls during the hour which remained before most business houses would lock their doors.
His first stop was at the Globe Chain Store, but the manager, a blunt speaking man, flatly denied he ever had heard or had dealings with any representative of the North Brandale Insurance Company. Two additional calls were equally unsuccessful. Although the store owners disclosed by their manner that the company was unpleasantly familiar to them, they had nothing to say.
With time remaining for only one more visit, Flash dropped in at the offices of the Fenmore Warehouse. A stenographer was in the act of covering her typewriter as he entered the reception room.
“Am I too late to see Mr. Fenmore for a moment?” Flash inquired.
“Mr. Fenmore is still in his office,” the girl replied. “But it is closing time. I’m not certain he will see you.”
At that moment, a stout bald-headed man came out of the inner office, hat in hand. He glanced inquiringly at Flash.
“You wished to see me?”
“Yes, I did. I’m Jimmy Evans from theLedger.”
“I’m afraid I can’t see you tonight. I was just starting home.”
“I’ll come back another time,” Flash said, turning away.
“What’s it about?” Mr. Fenmore asked curiously.
“The North Brandale Insurance Company,” Flash answered. “I’m trying to check up on the outfit—get a little evidence against them.”
Mr. Fenmore’s manner instantly changed.
“Come into the office,” he invited abruptly.
The door closed behind Flash. He dropped into a leather chair in front of Mr. Fenmore’s desk.
“Now what do you wish to know?” the man asked him. “You say you’re a reporter from theLedger?”
“A photographer,” Flash corrected. “And this is strictly an unofficial visit.”
He then went on to explain his interest in the recent fires which had broken out in the business section of Brandale, mentioning that he believed many of them to be the work of an arson ring.
“Your guess is a shrewd one, young man,” Mr. Fenmore replied grimly. “For the past three months, an outfit which operates under the name of the North Brandale Insurance Company has been shaking down a group of honest business men. Those who refuse to take out fire insurance at ridiculous rates, wake up to find their property damaged—fires, explosions, goods ruined by stench bombs.”
“I take it you’ve been threatened, Mr. Fenmore.”
“I have. But we’ll fight!”
“What can you tell me about the company?”
“Almost nothing. They have no offices or address. The collector who came to see me called himself J. W. Hawkins, but that means nothing. The ring is a large one.”
“Can you describe the agent?”
“A little better than average height I would say. Blue suit. Dark hair. A rather pleasant talking fellow.”
Flash realized that the description was worthless for it would fit a hundred men he knew. He talked with Mr. Fenmore a few minutes longer, and then, aware he was keeping him from his dinner, left the warehouse.
“I learned nothing new,” he reflected, “but at least I’ve found a man who won’t be afraid to testify if ever the police round up the arson gang.”
Flash made no progress with the investigation during the next few days. Two small downtown fires occurred, admittedly of questionable origin, but there was no evidence to attribute them to the work of an arson ring. Flash tried in his spare moments to gather facts about the North Brandale Insurance Company. He could learn nothing. Save for the fact that a policeman had been assigned to watch the Fenmore warehouse, there were no new developments.
As his work at the office became heavier, Flash tended to lose interest in the fire case. Twice he was sent out to take strike pictures which won words of approval from Riley. His week-end pay check had been increased by another five dollars and it was evident he stood in favor.
Entering the office unexpectedly one morning, Flash overheard Fred Orris talking with another photographer in the darkroom.
“Evans is riding high these days,” said Orris contemptuously. “He sure has the big head and has it bad! One of these times we may see him take a tumble.”
“And would you enjoy it!” thought Flash.
While the remark angered him, he gathered up his camera equipment and left the office without Orris knowing he had been there. However, he made up his mind that in the future he must be more careful than ever. The head photographer was only waiting for an opportunity to humiliate him and cause him to lose his job.
“Orris must have been the one who took my fire pictures, too,” he told himself.
Not only did Flash fulfill his regular assignments, but he spent hours of his own time thinking up ideas for special human interest pictures. He felt encouraged when one of his shots, a character study of a sailor, appeared in the rotogravure section of theLedger.
One afternoon Flash was sent to an office building to take a picture of an executive who had figured prominently in the news. As he stood at a window waiting to see the man, he chanced to glance across the park. The Tower building, a slender stone structure and the highest in Brandale, rose twenty-two stories above the sidewalk.
Many times Flash had photographed the edifice for his own album, but never before had he viewed the tower from this particular angle. He was struck with the thought that he might be able to get a remarkable night picture from the windows of one of the buildings on the south side of the square.
“I’ll come back here tonight and try it!” he decided. “Even if theLedgercan’t use it, I’d like one for my collection.”
Flash took the required pictures of the executive, and returned to the newspaper office. At four o’clock when he went off duty he asked Riley for permission to use one of theLedgercameras that evening.
“Go ahead,” the editor replied. “If your picture turns out well, we may be able to run it.”
Flash took dinner downtown. Afterwards he returned to the office, helping himself generously to films, plates, and flash bulbs. As he was going down the back stairs he met Old Herm.
“Special assignment?” the watchman inquired.
“No, just a little job on my own,” Flash responded.
Walking to the park, he studied the lighted tower from every angle. Finally he decided he could get the best picture from the Brandale Hotel building.
Entering, he requested permission to use an upstairs window. It was immediately granted and a bellboy was sent to unlock a room for him.
Flash selected one on the twelfth floor, but upon focusing his camera, discovered that the angle was not just what he wanted. Gazing about for a better post, he noticed a wide decorative ledge which extended around the outside of the building.
“I could get a dandy shot from out there,” he said.
“Better be careful if you try it,” advised the bellboy. “You’re twelve stories up and a strong wind is blowing.”
“I’ll keep close to the building.”
Flash lowered himself to the ledge, and had the boy hand down his camera and bag. Below him, pedestrians no larger than ants moved briskly along. Autos with dimmed headlights made a moving pattern between the street lamps.
After one quick glance, Flash did not look down again. He felt dizzy for a moment but the sensation soon passed. With a steady hand, he took two pictures.
Thinking he might get an even more interesting shot from the corner of the building, he then moved cautiously along the wall. To reach the place which he had in mind, it would be necessary to pass directly in front of the hotel restaurant. Windows were open, and Flash knew that his unexpected appearance on the ledge might startle any diner who chanced to see him. But his only concern was for his picture.
As he edged past a window, Flash glanced curiously inside. While darkness partially shielded him, he could see every person in the room distinctly. His gaze focused upon a table where three men sat engrossed in conversation.
Involuntarily, Flash stopped and stared. He was certain he did not know the diners, yet the profile of one of the men seemed strangely familiar. Where had he seen him before?
As he started to move on again, the man spoke to his companions. Flash could not have heard the conversation had he tried, but the tone of voice carried clearly. The man spoke with a slight hesitation.
“In general build that fellow looks a lot like the man I chased from Sam Davis’ place!” Flash thought excitedly. “His manner of talking fits in with the description, too. Just for the fun of it, I’ll find out who he is!”
Flash hastily took his final picture without attracting the attention of diners inside the restaurant. He then crept back to the open window and was helped through.
“Did you get what you were after?” asked the bellboy.
“I think so,” answered Flash, taking a coin from his pocket. “Thanks for your trouble.”
The boy locked the bedroom door behind them, and they went out into the hall.
“I notice the café is on this floor,” remarked Flash carelessly. “I believe I’ll drop around there for a bite to eat.”
Without question the bellboy accepted his explanation and went away. Left alone, camera strap over his shoulder, Flash drifted down the hall to the doorway of the restaurant. Unobserved for a moment, he stood there watching. The three men who had drawn his attention were still seated at their table near the window.