_ABOARD THE BELMONIA_
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.