_THE BASEMENT ROOM_
From the direction of the basement, Flash could hear a scraping noise as
if a large box were being dragged across the cement floor. A low murmur
of voices likewise reached him, but he was too far away to distinguish
what was being said.
Daringly, he tiptoed along the dark corridor until he came to a
stairway. He groped his way cautiously down. A board creaked beneath his
weight.
Flash paused, listening anxiously. In the stillness of the empty
warehouse the sound had seemed to his over-sensitive ears as loud as an
explosion. But when the low murmur of voices continued without
interruption, he breathed freely again.
He reached the bottom of the steps. A dim light which cast weird shadows
on the cement walls, led him toward the furnace room. Flash could hear
the voices plainly now, and understand most of what was being said.
“How about the watchman, Al? Any danger he’ll walk in on us?”
The other man laughed carelessly.
“Listen, don’t raise a sweat worrying about that. H. J. himself is
taking care of him.”
“Didn’t know the big boss ever dirtied his gloves on these jobs.”
“He doesn’t as a rule. For some reason he’s taken a special interest in
seeing that Fenmore gets his without any slip. If the old warehouse goes
up in smoke, the other boys will take warning and fall into line.”
“Speaking of slips, Al, you certainly muffed that Davis job.”
“Shut up, will you!” the other growled. “I’m sick of hearing about that!
How was I to know the old man slept by the furnace?”
Flash had reached the doorway. Peering inside he saw two men standing
with their backs toward him. From the conversation he knew that the one
who had been called Al was none other than Judd Slater, a self-termed
representative of the North Brandale Insurance Company—the same man he
had chased some nights previously.
One glance disclosed that the warehouse was being fired. The men had
connected up two electric irons which they placed in a box of excelsior.
It was a simple and effective device. The irons would slowly heat,
giving the pair ample time to make their getaway without directing
suspicion to themselves. Later, in the early hours of the morning, the
fire would break out.
Unexpectedly, Flash heard footsteps on the stairway. He held himself
rigid, listening. The two men in the furnace room likewise were aware of
the sound. Neither spoke but their attitude was one of tenseness.
From the stairway came a low whistle. Immediately the pair relaxed and
one of the men responded with a similar signal.
Flash barely had time to crouch back against a wall before a third man
passed directly in front of him to stand silhouetted in the doorway. As
the flashlight beam played full upon him for a moment, the young
photographer saw a bulky, expensively dressed man of middle age who
might have been taken for a substantial business person. The features of
his face could not be discerned, and in a minute he moved beyond view.
“If it isn’t H. J. himself!” exclaimed one of the men from the furnace
room. “You sure gave us a scare!”
“Yeah, we thought you might be the watchman!” added the other.
“Andy is well taken care of,” the newcomer said briefly. “He had a
weakness for a bottle. I left him with two. How are you doing here?”
“We’re through.”
“Let’s have a look. We can’t afford any mistakes this time.”
Flash’s mind worked with lightning-like rapidity. In another minute or
two the men would leave the warehouse and all trace of them might be
lost.
It would be foolhardy, he knew, to try to battle with three armed
assailants. True, he might steal back upstairs and lock the basement
door, but such tactics would not hold the men long. They easily could
break a basement or upstairs window and make a get-away before he could
bring help. In that event, there would be no real evidence against them.
Flash was quite sure he never could give the police a useful description
of the men. In the semi-dark basement room he was unable to obtain a
clear view of their faces. If only he dared set off a flash and take a
picture! Provided with a good photograph of the acknowledged “higher
up,” the police should be able to trace the man and perhaps break up the
entire arson ring.
“This is my big chance,” he thought tensely. “I only hope I don’t mess
it up!”
Flash knew exactly what he must do. He would take his flash gun picture
and then make a dive for the stairway.
Everything depended upon the speed with which he worked. Providing he
moved fast enough, he still could lock the men into the building. But
should they escape he would have incriminating evidence. His picture
would be useful both to the police and the _Ledger_!
Stealing back to the open doorway, Flash hastily adjusted his camera and
stood ready to set off the gun.
“Glad I tested the synchronizing mechanism this afternoon,” he thought.
His heart was pounding. He waited a moment to be certain that his hand
was perfectly steady. The slightest tremble would ruin the picture. In
another moment he had gained complete control of his nerves. Steeling
himself, he said in a loud, curt voice:
“Hands up!”
As he had anticipated, the command electrified the three men. They
whirled to face the camera.
Flash pressed the trigger. The shutter clicked and the flash went off.
He had his picture!
A gun roared heavily and a bullet whined past his head and crunched into
the wall.
Hugging his camera close against his body, Flash ducked and ran. The
beam of a flashlight followed his course and singled him out.
“Get him!” a voice snarled. “And that picture!”
Flash dodged out of the circle of light just as another bullet sang past
him.
He glanced back over his shoulder and plunged squarely against a thick
coil of rope lying in his path. Thrown off balance, he tried frantically
to keep from falling, but could not save himself.
Down he crashed on the cement. Even as he fell, Flash’s mind kept
working. He couldn’t hope to save himself now, but he might save his
picture!
Directly in front and a few feet above him was a cellar window
unprotected by grating. A reflection from an alley light made it an easy
target.
Scrambling to his feet, Flash took aim. With all his strength he hurled
the camera straight at the window.
There was a resounding crash. The camera smashed the glass and sailed
into the alley.
Flash had no chance to get away. A heavy hand grasped his coat.
Whirling, he tackled his assailant just below the knees, and they went
rolling over the floor in a threshing, writhing tangle of arms and legs.