  From the direction of the basement, Flash could hear a scraping noise as if a large box were being dragged across the cement floor. A low murmur of voices likewise reached him, but he was too far away to distinguish what was being said. Daringly, he tiptoed along the dark corridor until he came to a stairway. He groped his way cautiously down. A board creaked beneath his weight. Flash paused, listening anxiously. In the stillness of the empty warehouse the sound had seemed to his over-sensitive ears as loud as an explosion. But when the low murmur of voices continued without interruption, he breathed freely again. He reached the bottom of the steps. A dim light which cast weird shadows on the cement walls, led him toward the furnace room. Flash could hear the voices plainly now, and understand most of what was being said. “How about the watchman, Al? Any danger he’ll walk in on us?” The other man laughed carelessly. “Listen, don’t raise a sweat worrying about that. H. J. himself is taking care of him.” “Didn’t know the big boss ever dirtied his gloves on these jobs.” “He doesn’t as a rule. For some reason he’s taken a special interest in seeing that Fenmore gets his without any slip. If the old warehouse goes up in smoke, the other boys will take warning and fall into line.” “Speaking of slips, Al, you certainly muffed that Davis job.” “Shut up, will you!” the other growled. “I’m sick of hearing about that! How was I to know the old man slept by the furnace?” Flash had reached the doorway. Peering inside he saw two men standing with their backs toward him. From the conversation he knew that the one who had been called Al was none other than Judd Slater, a self-termed representative of the North Brandale Insurance Company—the same man he had chased some nights previously. One glance disclosed that the warehouse was being fired. The men had connected up two electric irons which they placed in a box of excelsior. It was a simple and effective device. The irons would slowly heat, giving the pair ample time to make their getaway without directing suspicion to themselves. Later, in the early hours of the morning, the fire would break out. Unexpectedly, Flash heard footsteps on the stairway. He held himself rigid, listening. The two men in the furnace room likewise were aware of the sound. Neither spoke but their attitude was one of tenseness. From the stairway came a low whistle. Immediately the pair relaxed and one of the men responded with a similar signal. Flash barely had time to crouch back against a wall before a third man passed directly in front of him to stand silhouetted in the doorway. As the flashlight beam played full upon him for a moment, the young photographer saw a bulky, expensively dressed man of middle age who might have been taken for a substantial business person. The features of his face could not be discerned, and in a minute he moved beyond view. “If it isn’t H. J. himself!” exclaimed one of the men from the furnace room. “You sure gave us a scare!” “Yeah, we thought you might be the watchman!” added the other. “Andy is well taken care of,” the newcomer said briefly. “He had a weakness for a bottle. I left him with two. How are you doing here?” “We’re through.” “Let’s have a look. We can’t afford any mistakes this time.” Flash’s mind worked with lightning-like rapidity. In another minute or two the men would leave the warehouse and all trace of them might be lost. It would be foolhardy, he knew, to try to battle with three armed assailants. True, he might steal back upstairs and lock the basement door, but such tactics would not hold the men long. They easily could break a basement or upstairs window and make a get-away before he could bring help. In that event, there would be no real evidence against them. Flash was quite sure he never could give the police a useful description of the men. In the semi-dark basement room he was unable to obtain a clear view of their faces. If only he dared set off a flash and take a picture! Provided with a good photograph of the acknowledged “higher up,” the police should be able to trace the man and perhaps break up the entire arson ring. “This is my big chance,” he thought tensely. “I only hope I don’t mess it up!” Flash knew exactly what he must do. He would take his flash gun picture and then make a dive for the stairway. Everything depended upon the speed with which he worked. Providing he moved fast enough, he still could lock the men into the building. But should they escape he would have incriminating evidence. His picture would be useful both to the police and the Ledger! Stealing back to the open doorway, Flash hastily adjusted his camera and stood ready to set off the gun. “Glad I tested the synchronizing mechanism this afternoon,” he thought. His heart was pounding. He waited a moment to be certain that his hand was perfectly steady. The slightest tremble would ruin the picture. In another moment he had gained complete control of his nerves. Steeling himself, he said in a loud, curt voice: “Hands up!” As he had anticipated, the command electrified the three men. They whirled to face the camera. Flash pressed the trigger. The shutter clicked and the flash went off. He had his picture! A gun roared heavily and a bullet whined past his head and crunched into the wall. Hugging his camera close against his body, Flash ducked and ran. The beam of a flashlight followed his course and singled him out. “Get him!” a voice snarled. “And that picture!” Flash dodged out of the circle of light just as another bullet sang past him. He glanced back over his shoulder and plunged squarely against a thick coil of rope lying in his path. Thrown off balance, he tried frantically to keep from falling, but could not save himself. Down he crashed on the cement. Even as he fell, Flash’s mind kept working. He couldn’t hope to save himself now, but he might save his picture! Directly in front and a few feet above him was a cellar window unprotected by grating. A reflection from an alley light made it an easy target. Scrambling to his feet, Flash took aim. With all his strength he hurled the camera straight at the window. There was a resounding crash. The camera smashed the glass and sailed into the alley. Flash had no chance to get away. A heavy hand grasped his coat. Whirling, he tackled his assailant just below the knees, and they went rolling over the floor in a threshing, writhing tangle of arms and legs. |
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