  As Flash watched with increasing alarm, the Belmonia kept 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 the Brandale Ledger. I aim to get some films our paper bought from a survivor of the Alexander.” “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 the Belmonia. 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 the Belmonia to 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 the Alexander. Every available cabin, the salons and decks were crowded with men, women, and children, many dressed in clothing borrowed from sailors of the Belmonia. 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 the Alexander had 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 the Belmonia, the Ledger would 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 the Ledger building. 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 the Ledger’s expense, 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 the Ledger had 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. |
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