  The long journey to Columbia proved less disagreeable than Flash had anticipated. For the most part, George Doyle attended strictly to his driving. True, he bemoaned the hard life of a newspaper cameraman, the ingratitude of his superiors. But by this time Flash had learned to expect a steady stream of complaint. Reaching Columbia, they drove at once to the city hospital. Although the building still was overcrowded with patients, Joe Wells had been assigned to a private room. They found him with his leg in a cast, propped up by pillows. He tossed aside a newspaper as they entered and grinned a welcome. “It’s sure good to see a familiar face in this morgue,” he chuckled. “Sit down—anywhere except on the bed.” “How are you feeling, Joe?” asked Flash. “Not so hot,” he admitted, “but I’m getting out of here tomorrow if it means climbing down a fire escape. Tell me, how did you make out at the races?” Doyle related their success, taking most of the credit upon himself. Joe listened with a tolerant, half-amused attitude. “Where was Flash while all this was going on?” he inquired dryly. “Flash?” Doyle was brought up sharply. “Oh, he was right at my elbow. He helped a lot.” “I figured he might. You know, big stories and smash pictures always have a way of breaking around him. He’s better than a rabbit’s foot any day!” “We were lucky yesterday,” Flash admitted with a grin. “Those auto crashes seemed to have been staged for our special benefit. I only hope the films turn out well.” “How did you like the experience?” Joe asked curiously. “It was exciting. Still, I can’t say I enjoyed it. Seeing two men go to their deaths—” “I know,” Joe interrupted, “it shatters you, at first. That’s why so few men are any good as newsreel cameramen. But you have the stuff, Flash. Why don’t you take my job until I’m able to get around again?” The abrupt question startled both Flash and Doyle. The latter could not hide a frown of displeasure. “How about it, George?” Joe asked the soundman. “You’d like to have him work with you?” “Oh, sure,” he replied without warmth. “Only I imagine district manager, Clewes, has a man hand-picked for the job.” “Flash is on the spot. Another man would need to come here. I can send Clewes a wire.” “Please don’t bother,” Flash said quietly. “This is my vacation.” “It would be good experience for you.” “I don’t doubt that, Joe. Perhaps, some other time I’ll try it.” “Well, thanks anyway for pinch hitting,” the newsreel man replied gratefully. “That trip yesterday must have been quite a strain. You’re tough as a hunk of whang leather, Flash.” A nurse entered the room to take a temperature reading. After she had gone, Joe turned to Doyle: “Do me a favor, will you? Run over to the drug-store and buy me some tooth paste.” Doyle left on the errand. As soon as his footsteps had died away, Joe motioned for Flash to draw his chair closer. “Now we can talk,” he said comfortably. “What’s the real reason you don’t want my job? Doyle?” “His attitude figures. He doesn’t like me. Working with him would be unpleasant.” “You’ll get used to his grouching and boasting after awhile. I did. Why not give it a little whirl—while you’re on your vacation anyhow? It’s not easy, getting a chance to break into the newsreel game, and here it drops right into your lap. If you don’t like it, you can go back to the Ledger and no harm done. And another thing, the pay is much better.” As Flash remained thoughtfully silent, Joe added: “If your pictures turn out well, Clewes may offer you the job on his own initiative. Don’t let Doyle’s personality stand in your way.” “I’ll think it over. By the way, how is the Major?” Joe jerked his head toward the wall behind the bed. “They have him in the next cell,” he revealed in a low voice. “I’m telling you that old goof nearly drives me crazy.” “Not out of his head?” “You couldn’t prove it by me. He keeps that call bell ringing like a fire engine! Always wanting this and that. And visitors! If you ask me, the entire Intelligence Department of the Army has been here to see the Major.” “Then he’s connected with the secret service?” Flash questioned in astonishment. Joe raised himself on an elbow. “I’m sure of it, although I never guessed it before. He thinks someone on the train deliberately cracked him over the head after the wreck. He claims the fellow tried to steal important papers he carried on his person.” “That’s odd, Joe. When I helped him from the wreckage he kept mumbling something about being struck. I thought he was out of his head.” “Maybe he still is, but he talks straight enough. These walls are like paper. I’ve heard him conferring with big-wigs of the Army. They’re out to get some fellow involved in an espionage plot against the government.” “Who is he, Joe?” “No names mentioned. I’ve been wondering if it might not be that man we saw in the club car.” “Povy?” Joe nodded. “He’s had the reputation of being mixed up in that sort of business. Nothing ever was proven against him though.” “Povy seemed to be interested in Major Hartgrove on the train. But he couldn’t have been the one—” Flash broke off quickly. George Doyle stood in the doorway. Returning with the tooth paste, the sound technician had approached so quietly he had not been heard. His attitude was that of a person who suspected he was the object of discussion. Conversation became general. Within a few minutes the two visitors took leave of Joe. “I’m holing in over at the hotel,” Flash remarked. “Before I leave town I’ll drop around and see you again.” “I’ll be here, too, until I hear from Clewes,” added Doyle. “So far I haven’t had any assignment.” They shook hands with Joe, and quietly closed the door behind them. As they went down the hall, Flash could not keep from directing a curious glance toward Major Hartgrove’s room. The door stood half open. A man in military uniform sat with his back to the corridor. Major Hartgrove, reclining in a wheel chair, also was plainly visible. As Flash stared at him, the Major returned the steady gaze. “Someone you know?” asked Doyle. “A man I helped at the time of the wreck,” Flash explained briefly. As they passed on, the signal light over the Major’s door winked in rapid succession. Flash smiled, recalling Joe’s remark about the army man’s demand for constant service. The two cameramen reached the elevator and were entering it when an attractive nurse came quickly after them. “One moment please,” she requested in a muted voice. They both waited. Doyle straightened his tie and twisted his face into a wasted smile. The pretty nurse gazed at Flash as she spoke. “Major Hartgrove wishes to speak with one of you,” she said. “He doesn’t know the name. However, he means the young man who aided him in the wreck.” “I guess that must be me,” acknowledged Flash. “My name is Jimmy Evans.” “Then will you please come with me?” The nurse turned and walked back down the corridor. Flash and George Doyle both followed. “You didn’t tell me you were a hero,” the technician said jokingly. “Maybe the Major is going to pin a medal on your chest!” At the door of Room 67, the nurse paused. She smiled apologetically at Doyle. “Do you mind waiting outside?” she requested. “The Major expressly requested that he wished to see Mr. Evans alone.” |
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