_THE MISSING PICTURES_
Flash leaped forward. Pulling a knife from his pocket, he slashed at the
ropes which held the man a prisoner. Jerry jerked off the handkerchief
gag, and pulled him to his feet.
“Thanks!” gasped the man. “Now turn in a fire alarm quick, before my
building goes up in smoke!”
Jerry ran out to the street, while Flash and the building owner turned
on the disconnected sprinkler system. In addition they used buckets and
hooked up a hose, keeping a steady stream of water playing on the blaze.
By the time Jerry raced back, they had the fire well under control,
while the sprinkler system would complete their work.
“Guess we won’t need the fire department after all,” murmured Flash,
gazing at the blackened wall. He turned to the building owner. “What
happened anyway? Who tied you up?”
“I’ll tell you!” the man said excitedly. “My name is Sam Davis. I own
this building. Two weeks ago I was approached by a man who represented
himself as Judd Slater, an agent for the North Brandale Mutual Insurance
Company.”
“Never heard of it,” commented Flash.
“Nor has anyone else! It’s a dummy company, set up for the sole purpose
of forcing building owners to pay exorbitant sums for protection.”
“A racket?” asked Jerry.
“That’s the way I figured it. And tonight proves I was right! If I had
paid over eight dollars a week, I was assured my building would be safe
from fire and damage.”
“You refused, I suppose?” inquired Flash.
“I did,” Sam Davis said with emphasis. “But I figured they would try to
get me. So I had this sprinkler system installed. Then I made a point of
keeping special watch of the building. The last few nights I’ve been
sleeping here.”
“You surprised someone firing the building?” questioned Flash. “That
fellow we saw running away?”
“He surprised me,” Sam Davis answered ruefully. “I was pretty tired, and
nothing had happened for the past two weeks. I must have been sleeping
like a log not to hear him enter the basement. He had set the fire
before I aroused. Then I let out a yell for help but he overpowered me
before I could do a thing.”
“Trussed you up and left you to burn?”
“Sure,” said Sam Davis. “Figured a dead witness couldn’t carry any tales
to the police!”
“Did you get a good look at the man?”
“It was dark in here. But I know it wasn’t the same man—Judd Slater—who
originally tried to shake me down.”
“The fellow Jerry and I chased down the alley was about my height,”
Flash contributed thoughtfully. “He wore a dark suit and a
floppy-brimmed hat. Not much to go on.”
“I’d know the man by his voice if ever I ran into him again,” declared
Sam Davis. “He had an unusual way of pronouncing his words. Oh, yes,
another thing! He began nearly every sentence with, ‘Listen, you!’”
“You’ll report to the police, of course?”
“Oh, sure!” The building owner shrugged. “But what good will it do?
They’ve known for months that this sort of business was going on, but
they can’t get evidence which will stand up. The gang is a big one and
the higher-ups are too clever to be caught.”
“Mind if I take a picture or two?” Flash questioned abruptly.
“A picture? What for?”
“I’m Evans, a photographer for the _Ledger_,” Flash explained. “My paper
may be able to use the story.”
“Go ahead. I’d like nothing better than to see this so-called North
Brandale Insurance Company exposed. Take as many pictures as you like.”
“You’ll have to hurry,” added Jerry as he heard the wail of a fire siren
from far down the street. “We’re going to have visitors.”
Flash seldom went anywhere without his miniature camera and a few extra
flash bulbs tucked in his pocket. He was grateful now for the habit
which made it possible to take advantage of a golden opportunity. He
snapped two pictures of Sam Davis, one showing him trussed up, and
another against a background of smoking ruins. As he finished, firemen
clomped down the stairway.
“Don’t need you boys,” the building owner called cheerily. “Fire’s out.
Thanks to these young fellows here.”
Flash and Jerry waited while the firemen inspected the basement. The
odor of gasoline was strong. In poking about on the floor, one of the
men found the remains of a rubber bladder which had been used to start
the fire.
“I saw how the fellow did it!” Sam Davis revealed excitedly. “The
bladder was filled with gasoline. Then he started a little fire beneath
it. The heat made the bladder explode, and the flames spread everywhere.
It’s a miracle I wasn’t burned.”
Flash took a picture of one of the firemen examining the device, and
then with Jerry, slipped quietly away. On the street, they paused to
consider their plans.
“You go on home without me,” urged Flash. “I want to run over to the
newspaper office and develop these films.”
“Does the paper print tonight?” Jerry asked in surprise.
“The last edition is out. But the Sunday editor will want the pictures,
I’m pretty sure. There’s dynamite in this arson story, Jerry! If it
should develop that the Elston Apartment fire was set by the same
outfit—”
“No evidence to support that theory, is there?”
“None yet. But it’s been rumored that the Elston Apartment fire was a
planned job.”
“Haven’t seen anything about it in the newspapers.”
“It’s a ticklish story to print. The fire chief won’t give out any
definite information and neither will the owners of the Elston
Apartments. But it looks to me as if these pictures I’ve just taken may
have some significance. At least, I’ll wave ’em under the editor’s nose
and see what he says!”
“I’ll be watching for them in tomorrow’s paper,” Jerry promised, moving
to the curb to board a bus. “So long.”
Flash walked swiftly to the _Ledger_ building. Lights were burning on
various floors, but nearly all of the offices were deserted. It lacked
twenty minutes of midnight before the men who worked the “lobster” trick
would come on duty.
In the hallway Flash met Old Herm, who seemed surprised to see him at
such a late hour.
“Want I should let you into the office?” he asked.
Flash shook his head. “No, thanks, Herm. I have a key now.”
The photography department was deserted. Closing himself in the
darkroom, Flash worked swiftly and with precision. In five minutes time
the films had been put through the tanks. He washed them carefully and
placed them on the heated ferrotype machine to dry.
When the prints were finished, he slipped them into an envelope, wrote a
note of explanation to accompany them, and dropped the packet on the
city editor’s vacant desk.
As Flash went out the front door, he met Fred Orris and an attractive
young woman, obviously his wife, entering the building. Apparently they
had attended the theatre, for Mrs. Orris still carried a program. He
tipped his hat politely and went on, well aware that the photographer
gave him a curious, unfriendly stare.
“Suppose Orris wonders what I am doing here at this hour?” he thought.
“Oh, well, he’ll find out tomorrow!”
A bus, the last one until two o’clock rumbled down the street. Flash
broke into a run and caught it at the corner. He reached home shortly
after midnight, raided the refrigerator, and finally went to bed.
At six-thirty he was sleeping soundly when the alarm buzzed in his ear.
Flash started up, and then as the realization came to him that he need
not go to work on Sunday, he muffled it and fell back on his pillow.
But he had been thoroughly aroused and could not sleep again. He lay for
a time staring at the ceiling. From the street he heard the cheerful
whistle of a boy on a bicycle. The Sunday paper thudded against the
front porch.
Jumping out of bed, Flash put on his robe and stole quietly down the
stairway. He shot up the blinds and unlocked the door.
Eagerly he stripped off the brown wrapper and glanced at the front page
of the _Ledger_. His fire pictures were not there.
Flash thumbed rapidly through the paper. There were pictures in
profusion but none he had taken.
Finally, on the back page of Section C he found a brief four-line news
item, stating that the Sam Davis Home Supply Store had been damaged to
the extent of two hundred dollars by fire of an undetermined origin.
“Undetermined, my eye!” Flash exclaimed, slamming the paper on the
davenport.
Joan appeared at the top of the stairway.
“What’s the matter, Jimmy?” she asked. “Didn’t they use your pet
pictures?”
“No,” he answered briefly, “and they were good pictures, too, with
plenty of punch! Now I’d like to know what happened this time!”