_THROUGH THE WINDOW_
On his way home from work the following afternoon, Flash stopped at the
Sam Davis Home Supply Store. The proprietor was busy with a salesman,
but as soon as he could, he invited the photographer into his private
office.
“I’m glad you dropped around,” he declared heartily. “You and your
friend ran away the other night before I had an opportunity to thank you
for saving both my life and my store.”
“You did have a rather narrow escape,” Flash acknowledged. “Has anything
new happened around here since then?”
“I haven’t had any more trouble if that’s what you mean. I figure
whoever set the fire assumes the store is being watched by the police.”
“And is that the case?”
The furniture store owner crumpled an advertising circular and tossed it
into the waste paper basket.
“No, I asked for a special guard, but they said they couldn’t give it to
me. The police force is undermanned and the commissioner lacks the
courage to fight the rackets. Either that, or he’s tied up with them!”
“I suppose it’s not easy for the police to get evidence,” remarked
Flash. “Most store owners who are approached probably pay the tribute
and keep quiet.”
“Sure,” agreed Sam Davis. “They reason that the police can’t really give
them any protection. It’s cheaper to pay a few dollars a week than to
have your store wrecked, as I very well know! Nearly always, the only
fellows caught are the agents for higher-ups.”
“And the store owners are afraid to testify against them for fear of
getting rough treatment later on.”
“That’s it,” Davis nodded grimly. “Why, I know a half dozen men who have
taken out insurance with this North Brandale Company rather than risk
having their buildings fired.”
“Can you give me a list of the persons?”
“I could,” the store man said reluctantly, “but I don’t see what good it
would do. It might only cause trouble.”
“I’ll not publish the list,” Flash promised. “You see, I thought I might
try to do a little investigation work on my own.”
“I don’t think you’ll get to first base, young man,” Sam Davis said
discouragingly. “But I’ll give you the names. Only don’t ever let on
that you got them from me.”
“I won’t,” Flash promised.
The store owner wrote several names and addresses on a sheet of paper.
“By the way,” he said, “what happened to those pictures you took of me
the night of the fire? I thought you said they were going to be printed
in the _Ledger_.”
Flash had anticipated the question.
“Oh, the paper decided not to use them,” he replied carelessly.
“You see what I mean,” Sam Davis said, nodding his head. “Anything
touching the rackets is dynamite in this town. The police are afraid to
buck them and so are the newspapers.”
“In the _Ledger’s_ case it was a matter of news value rather than
policy,” explained Flash. “I didn’t get the pictures into the editor’s
hands quickly enough.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I’m just as glad the pictures didn’t appear. I don’t
especially care about being made the target of another attack.”
Flash took the list of names. When he was outside the building, he
studied the addresses. Many of the places were close at hand. He decided
to make a few calls during the hour which remained before most business
houses would lock their doors.
His first stop was at the Globe Chain Store, but the manager, a blunt
speaking man, flatly denied he ever had heard or had dealings with any
representative of the North Brandale Insurance Company. Two additional
calls were equally unsuccessful. Although the store owners disclosed by
their manner that the company was unpleasantly familiar to them, they
had nothing to say.
With time remaining for only one more visit, Flash dropped in at the
offices of the Fenmore Warehouse. A stenographer was in the act of
covering her typewriter as he entered the reception room.
“Am I too late to see Mr. Fenmore for a moment?” Flash inquired.
“Mr. Fenmore is still in his office,” the girl replied. “But it is
closing time. I’m not certain he will see you.”
At that moment, a stout bald-headed man came out of the inner office,
hat in hand. He glanced inquiringly at Flash.
“You wished to see me?”
“Yes, I did. I’m Jimmy Evans from the _Ledger_.”
“I’m afraid I can’t see you tonight. I was just starting home.”
“I’ll come back another time,” Flash said, turning away.
“What’s it about?” Mr. Fenmore asked curiously.
“The North Brandale Insurance Company,” Flash answered. “I’m trying to
check up on the outfit—get a little evidence against them.”
Mr. Fenmore’s manner instantly changed.
“Come into the office,” he invited abruptly.
The door closed behind Flash. He dropped into a leather chair in front
of Mr. Fenmore’s desk.
“Now what do you wish to know?” the man asked him. “You say you’re a
reporter from the _Ledger_?”
“A photographer,” Flash corrected. “And this is strictly an unofficial
visit.”
He then went on to explain his interest in the recent fires which had
broken out in the business section of Brandale, mentioning that he
believed many of them to be the work of an arson ring.
“Your guess is a shrewd one, young man,” Mr. Fenmore replied grimly.
“For the past three months, an outfit which operates under the name of
the North Brandale Insurance Company has been shaking down a group of
honest business men. Those who refuse to take out fire insurance at
ridiculous rates, wake up to find their property damaged—fires,
explosions, goods ruined by stench bombs.”
“I take it you’ve been threatened, Mr. Fenmore.”
“I have. But we’ll fight!”
“What can you tell me about the company?”
“Almost nothing. They have no offices or address. The collector who came
to see me called himself J. W. Hawkins, but that means nothing. The ring
is a large one.”
“Can you describe the agent?”
“A little better than average height I would say. Blue suit. Dark hair.
A rather pleasant talking fellow.”
Flash realized that the description was worthless for it would fit a
hundred men he knew. He talked with Mr. Fenmore a few minutes longer,
and then, aware he was keeping him from his dinner, left the warehouse.
“I learned nothing new,” he reflected, “but at least I’ve found a man
who won’t be afraid to testify if ever the police round up the arson
gang.”
Flash made no progress with the investigation during the next few days.
Two small downtown fires occurred, admittedly of questionable origin,
but there was no evidence to attribute them to the work of an arson
ring. Flash tried in his spare moments to gather facts about the North
Brandale Insurance Company. He could learn nothing. Save for the fact
that a policeman had been assigned to watch the Fenmore warehouse, there
were no new developments.
As his work at the office became heavier, Flash tended to lose interest
in the fire case. Twice he was sent out to take strike pictures which
won words of approval from Riley. His week-end pay check had been
increased by another five dollars and it was evident he stood in favor.
Entering the office unexpectedly one morning, Flash overheard Fred Orris
talking with another photographer in the darkroom.
“Evans is riding high these days,” said Orris contemptuously. “He sure
has the big head and has it bad! One of these times we may see him take
a tumble.”
“And would you enjoy it!” thought Flash.
While the remark angered him, he gathered up his camera equipment and
left the office without Orris knowing he had been there. However, he
made up his mind that in the future he must be more careful than ever.
The head photographer was only waiting for an opportunity to humiliate
him and cause him to lose his job.
“Orris must have been the one who took my fire pictures, too,” he told
himself.
Not only did Flash fulfill his regular assignments, but he spent hours
of his own time thinking up ideas for special human interest pictures.
He felt encouraged when one of his shots, a character study of a sailor,
appeared in the rotogravure section of the _Ledger_.
One afternoon Flash was sent to an office building to take a picture of
an executive who had figured prominently in the news. As he stood at a
window waiting to see the man, he chanced to glance across the park. The
Tower building, a slender stone structure and the highest in Brandale,
rose twenty-two stories above the sidewalk.
Many times Flash had photographed the edifice for his own album, but
never before had he viewed the tower from this particular angle. He was
struck with the thought that he might be able to get a remarkable night
picture from the windows of one of the buildings on the south side of
the square.
“I’ll come back here tonight and try it!” he decided. “Even if the
_Ledger_ can’t use it, I’d like one for my collection.”
Flash took the required pictures of the executive, and returned to the
newspaper office. At four o’clock when he went off duty he asked Riley
for permission to use one of the _Ledger_ cameras that evening.
“Go ahead,” the editor replied. “If your picture turns out well, we may
be able to run it.”
Flash took dinner downtown. Afterwards he returned to the office,
helping himself generously to films, plates, and flash bulbs. As he was
going down the back stairs he met Old Herm.
“Special assignment?” the watchman inquired.
“No, just a little job on my own,” Flash responded.
Walking to the park, he studied the lighted tower from every angle.
Finally he decided he could get the best picture from the Brandale Hotel
building.
Entering, he requested permission to use an upstairs window. It was
immediately granted and a bellboy was sent to unlock a room for him.
Flash selected one on the twelfth floor, but upon focusing his camera,
discovered that the angle was not just what he wanted. Gazing about for
a better post, he noticed a wide decorative ledge which extended around
the outside of the building.
“I could get a dandy shot from out there,” he said.
“Better be careful if you try it,” advised the bellboy. “You’re twelve
stories up and a strong wind is blowing.”
“I’ll keep close to the building.”
Flash lowered himself to the ledge, and had the boy hand down his camera
and bag. Below him, pedestrians no larger than ants moved briskly along.
Autos with dimmed headlights made a moving pattern between the street
lamps.
After one quick glance, Flash did not look down again. He felt dizzy for
a moment but the sensation soon passed. With a steady hand, he took two
pictures.
Thinking he might get an even more interesting shot from the corner of
the building, he then moved cautiously along the wall. To reach the
place which he had in mind, it would be necessary to pass directly in
front of the hotel restaurant. Windows were open, and Flash knew that
his unexpected appearance on the ledge might startle any diner who
chanced to see him. But his only concern was for his picture.
As he edged past a window, Flash glanced curiously inside. While
darkness partially shielded him, he could see every person in the room
distinctly. His gaze focused upon a table where three men sat engrossed
in conversation.
Involuntarily, Flash stopped and stared. He was certain he did not know
the diners, yet the profile of one of the men seemed strangely familiar.
Where had he seen him before?
As he started to move on again, the man spoke to his companions. Flash
could not have heard the conversation had he tried, but the tone of
voice carried clearly. The man spoke with a slight hesitation.
“In general build that fellow looks a lot like the man I chased from Sam
Davis’ place!” Flash thought excitedly. “His manner of talking fits in
with the description, too. Just for the fun of it, I’ll find out who he
is!”