  With mingled feelings of sympathy and misgiving, Flash watched the old man depart. He felt sorry for the watchman who obviously still brooded over the death of his son. From the conversation he had gleaned one fact of importance. Old Herm’s son had been named Richard, which tended to make him believe that the boy could have been the same one Mr. Brown mentioned. Then, too, weeks before, the watchman had said that he had known Flash’s father. It was something to think about. Returning home, Flash found his mother locking up the house for the night. “Sorry to be so late,” he apologized. “I waited at the office to talk with Old Herm who doesn’t come on duty until evening.” “You seem to have taken a deep liking to that old watchman,” his mother commented with a smile. “Not exactly a liking,” Flash corrected. “Herm is an interesting character. By the way, Mother, did you ever hear Father speak of an employee at the Post named Ronne?” “Ronne?” she repeated thoughtfully. “The name sounds familiar. Oh, yes, I remember, because of the trouble it caused your father. There was a young man employed at the Post, who was discharged for stealing funds.” “Not Richard or Dick Ronne?” “I’m not certain, but I believe that was his first name.” “Was it Father’s fault he was discharged?” “He was the one who discovered the theft, I believe. Another employee had been blamed.” “Thomas Brown.” “Why, yes,” Mrs. Evans acknowledged in surprise. “But how did you know, Jimmy? I don’t recall ever having mentioned it before.” Flash explained that he had fallen into conversation with the old man on the bus. However, he did not worry his mother by revealing why he was so eager for additional information. “Did you ever hear what became of Dick Ronne after he was discharged from the Post?” he questioned. “Was he sent to jail?” “No, your father persuaded the owner of the paper to take a lenient attitude. Later he was glad that he did for the boy died. It was an unfortunate case.” “What caused the boy’s death, Mother?” “I can’t tell you that because I never was particularly interested. I remember your father went to see him at the hospital, and for his kindness received a bitter tongue lashing from the boy’s father.” “You never saw the man yourself, I suppose?” “Dick Ronne’s father? No, nor the boy either. But why are you so interested, Jimmy?” “Well, I thought Old Herm Ronne might have been the boy’s father. He had a son by that name who died, and he knew Dad.” “Dear me,” murmured Mrs. Evans, frowning. “And the old fellow works in your building?” “Don’t worry about it,” Flash said quickly. “He’s always been very friendly. I rarely ever see him.” Dismissing the subject, he locked the remaining doors for his mother, and followed her up the stairway. “I want to get up early in the morning,” he said carelessly. “If my alarm doesn’t go off at five be sure to wake me.” “Five!” his mother gasped. “My, but you are ambitious!” Flash did not tell her what he had in mind. He had decided to try to learn more about Old Herm, his habits, and where he lived. If his plan came to nothing, no one need ever know that he had regarded the watchman with suspicion. Even before the alarm went off at five o’clock, Flash was awake. He dressed quietly, and brewing himself a strong cup of coffee, caught a bus going downtown. Timing himself, he drew near the rear entrance of the Ledger building at exactly six o’clock, the hour Old Herm went off duty. He stepped into the loading dock where Jeff, a colored boy, was polishing a car. “Lookin’ for someone, suh?” the lad asked. “Has Old Herm come out yet?” “Ain’t seen him.” Flash loitered where he could watch the rear door. Within a few minutes men from the night shift began to trickle out in twos and threes. Old Herm was one of the last. The watchman did not glance toward the loading dock. With a tin lunch pail swinging from his arm, he started off down the street. Waiting until the old man was some distance away, Flash followed. It was the first time in his life that he had deliberately set himself the task of trailing an acquaintance, and he felt somewhat ridiculous. Old Herm, unaware that he was being observed, walked several blocks, and entered a restaurant which specialized in twenty-five cent plate lunches. Flash crossed the street and spent nearly half an hour waiting for the watchman to come out again. “This was a crazy idea anyhow,” he thought. “Herm may not go to his home for hours. And I’m due to show up for work at eight.” Just at that moment the watchman came out of the cafÉ. Flash turned his back quickly, pretending to gaze into a store window. The old man did not see him. Again Old Herm started off at a leisurely pace, walking toward the waterfront. Flash correctly guessed that he was heading for a cheap rooming house district located in that particular section of Brandale. Presently the watchman climbed the steps of a dingy, brownstone front building, and entered. Flash carefully noted down the address. Then he walked back to the main section of the city, had breakfast, and reached the Ledger in time for work. Throughout the day, the young photographer was rather preoccupied. Fortunately, his assignments were of a routine nature, requiring no special thought or effort. He was glad when four o’clock came. Flash went home for dinner, but immediately afterwards he gathered up a stack of books to return to the public library. Leaving them there, he then was free to carry out his plan. Eight o’clock found him at Old Herm’s rooming place. Without ringing the bell, he entered the front hall. Scanning the mail boxes he saw that the watchman occupied suite 15. Moving noiselessly up the dark stairway, Flash located the number on the second floor. He listened a moment and tested the door. It was locked as he had anticipated. However, he was fully prepared, having provided himself with a skeleton key. The lock was of the common type. Flash gained entrance without difficulty and took the precaution of re-fastening the door. He switched on a light. A hasty glance about revealed a dirty, untidy two-room apartment. Old Herm had not bothered to make his bed after rolling out of it. Nor had he washed the pile of dishes in the sink. Flash moved quickly to the window, lowering a shade which was half way up. While he knew the watchman would be at work, he did not care to attract the attention of any other person in the building. Turning around once more, his gaze focused upon a picture of a young man. It stood on the center table, mounted in an expensive gold frame. Beneath it, lay a white carnation. “That must be a picture of Dick Ronne,” thought Flash. “Poor old Herm!” His conscience gave him a twinge. Perhaps he was unjust and overly suspicious to entertain distrustful thoughts. The watchman couldn’t help being queer. Probably his son’s death had made him that way. Now that Flash actually had gained entrance to the bedroom, the possibility that Old Herm had wielded the blackjack seemed more remote than ever. “But since I’m here, I may as well look around,” he decided. “I feel like a crook doing it though!” Taking care to disturb nothing, he began a systematic inspection of the room. He pulled out bureau drawers, looking beneath piles of shirts and underclothing. There was no sign of a blackjack or any weapon which possibly could arouse suspicion. Flash had convinced himself that further search was useless when his gaze roamed back to the center table. Several books were lying there. The title of one of the volumes captured his attention. It was called “Newspaper Photography.” And beside the book was a more technical treatment on the subject of darkroom procedure. “Now why would Old Herm be interested in photography?” mused Flash. “I don’t believe he even owns a camera.” Opening one of the volumes at random, he found several marked passages which had to do with the mixing of chemicals. As Flash read one of the paragraphs, he heard a heavy step outside the door. The next moment a key rattled in the lock. Someone was coming to investigate! Dropping the book, Flash barely had time to reach up and snap off the light. In panic he glanced about for a place to hide. There was no time even to cross the room to a closet. He chose the only available place—under the bed. Barely had he rolled beneath it when the outside door opened. The light was switched on. Flash could see only the feet and legs of the man who had entered, but from the uneven step he knew instantly that it was Herm. Why wasn’t the watchman on duty at the Ledger as usual? For all he knew, the old fellow might have been taken ill and had returned home for the night. Clearly he, Flash Evans, was in a predicament. |
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