_FLASH INVESTIGATES_
With mingled feelings of sympathy and misgiving, Flash watched the old
man depart. He felt sorry for the watchman who obviously still brooded
over the death of his son.
From the conversation he had gleaned one fact of importance. Old Herm’s
son had been named Richard, which tended to make him believe that the
boy could have been the same one Mr. Brown mentioned. Then, too, weeks
before, the watchman had said that he had known Flash’s father. It was
something to think about.
Returning home, Flash found his mother locking up the house for the
night.
“Sorry to be so late,” he apologized. “I waited at the office to talk
with Old Herm who doesn’t come on duty until evening.”
“You seem to have taken a deep liking to that old watchman,” his mother
commented with a smile.
“Not exactly a liking,” Flash corrected. “Herm is an interesting
character. By the way, Mother, did you ever hear Father speak of an
employee at the _Post_ named Ronne?”
“Ronne?” she repeated thoughtfully. “The name sounds familiar. Oh, yes,
I remember, because of the trouble it caused your father. There was a
young man employed at the _Post_, who was discharged for stealing
funds.”
“Not Richard or Dick Ronne?”
“I’m not certain, but I believe that was his first name.”
“Was it Father’s fault he was discharged?”
“He was the one who discovered the theft, I believe. Another employee
had been blamed.”
“Thomas Brown.”
“Why, yes,” Mrs. Evans acknowledged in surprise. “But how did you know,
Jimmy? I don’t recall ever having mentioned it before.”
Flash explained that he had fallen into conversation with the old man on
the bus. However, he did not worry his mother by revealing why he was so
eager for additional information.
“Did you ever hear what became of Dick Ronne after he was discharged
from the _Post_?” he questioned. “Was he sent to jail?”
“No, your father persuaded the owner of the paper to take a lenient
attitude. Later he was glad that he did for the boy died. It was an
unfortunate case.”
“What caused the boy’s death, Mother?”
“I can’t tell you that because I never was particularly interested. I
remember your father went to see him at the hospital, and for his
kindness received a bitter tongue lashing from the boy’s father.”
“You never saw the man yourself, I suppose?”
“Dick Ronne’s father? No, nor the boy either. But why are you so
interested, Jimmy?”
“Well, I thought Old Herm Ronne might have been the boy’s father. He had
a son by that name who died, and he knew Dad.”
“Dear me,” murmured Mrs. Evans, frowning. “And the old fellow works in
your building?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Flash said quickly. “He’s always been very
friendly. I rarely ever see him.”
Dismissing the subject, he locked the remaining doors for his mother,
and followed her up the stairway.
“I want to get up early in the morning,” he said carelessly. “If my
alarm doesn’t go off at five be sure to wake me.”
“Five!” his mother gasped. “My, but you are ambitious!”
Flash did not tell her what he had in mind. He had decided to try to
learn more about Old Herm, his habits, and where he lived. If his plan
came to nothing, no one need ever know that he had regarded the watchman
with suspicion.
Even before the alarm went off at five o’clock, Flash was awake. He
dressed quietly, and brewing himself a strong cup of coffee, caught a
bus going downtown.
Timing himself, he drew near the rear entrance of the _Ledger_ building
at exactly six o’clock, the hour Old Herm went off duty. He stepped into
the loading dock where Jeff, a colored boy, was polishing a car.
“Lookin’ for someone, suh?” the lad asked.
“Has Old Herm come out yet?”
“Ain’t seen him.”
Flash loitered where he could watch the rear door. Within a few minutes
men from the night shift began to trickle out in twos and threes. Old
Herm was one of the last. The watchman did not glance toward the loading
dock. With a tin lunch pail swinging from his arm, he started off down
the street.
Waiting until the old man was some distance away, Flash followed. It was
the first time in his life that he had deliberately set himself the task
of trailing an acquaintance, and he felt somewhat ridiculous.
Old Herm, unaware that he was being observed, walked several blocks, and
entered a restaurant which specialized in twenty-five cent plate
lunches. Flash crossed the street and spent nearly half an hour waiting
for the watchman to come out again.
“This was a crazy idea anyhow,” he thought. “Herm may not go to his home
for hours. And I’m due to show up for work at eight.”
Just at that moment the watchman came out of the café. Flash turned his
back quickly, pretending to gaze into a store window. The old man did
not see him.
Again Old Herm started off at a leisurely pace, walking toward the
waterfront. Flash correctly guessed that he was heading for a cheap
rooming house district located in that particular section of Brandale.
Presently the watchman climbed the steps of a dingy, brownstone front
building, and entered. Flash carefully noted down the address. Then he
walked back to the main section of the city, had breakfast, and reached
the _Ledger_ in time for work.
Throughout the day, the young photographer was rather preoccupied.
Fortunately, his assignments were of a routine nature, requiring no
special thought or effort. He was glad when four o’clock came.
Flash went home for dinner, but immediately afterwards he gathered up a
stack of books to return to the public library. Leaving them there, he
then was free to carry out his plan.
Eight o’clock found him at Old Herm’s rooming place. Without ringing the
bell, he entered the front hall. Scanning the mail boxes he saw that the
watchman occupied suite 15.
Moving noiselessly up the dark stairway, Flash located the number on the
second floor. He listened a moment and tested the door. It was locked as
he had anticipated. However, he was fully prepared, having provided
himself with a skeleton key.
The lock was of the common type. Flash gained entrance without
difficulty and took the precaution of re-fastening the door. He switched
on a light.
A hasty glance about revealed a dirty, untidy two-room apartment. Old
Herm had not bothered to make his bed after rolling out of it. Nor had
he washed the pile of dishes in the sink.
Flash moved quickly to the window, lowering a shade which was half way
up. While he knew the watchman would be at work, he did not care to
attract the attention of any other person in the building.
Turning around once more, his gaze focused upon a picture of a young
man. It stood on the center table, mounted in an expensive gold frame.
Beneath it, lay a white carnation.
“That must be a picture of Dick Ronne,” thought Flash. “Poor old Herm!”
His conscience gave him a twinge. Perhaps he was unjust and overly
suspicious to entertain distrustful thoughts. The watchman couldn’t help
being queer. Probably his son’s death had made him that way.
Now that Flash actually had gained entrance to the bedroom, the
possibility that Old Herm had wielded the blackjack seemed more remote
than ever.
“But since I’m here, I may as well look around,” he decided. “I feel
like a crook doing it though!”
Taking care to disturb nothing, he began a systematic inspection of the
room. He pulled out bureau drawers, looking beneath piles of shirts and
underclothing. There was no sign of a blackjack or any weapon which
possibly could arouse suspicion.
Flash had convinced himself that further search was useless when his
gaze roamed back to the center table. Several books were lying there.
The title of one of the volumes captured his attention. It was called
“Newspaper Photography.” And beside the book was a more technical
treatment on the subject of darkroom procedure.
“Now why would Old Herm be interested in photography?” mused Flash. “I
don’t believe he even owns a camera.”
Opening one of the volumes at random, he found several marked passages
which had to do with the mixing of chemicals.
As Flash read one of the paragraphs, he heard a heavy step outside the
door. The next moment a key rattled in the lock. Someone was coming to
investigate!
Dropping the book, Flash barely had time to reach up and snap off the
light. In panic he glanced about for a place to hide. There was no time
even to cross the room to a closet. He chose the only available
place—under the bed.
Barely had he rolled beneath it when the outside door opened. The light
was switched on.
Flash could see only the feet and legs of the man who had entered, but
from the uneven step he knew instantly that it was Herm. Why wasn’t the
watchman on duty at the _Ledger_ as usual? For all he knew, the old
fellow might have been taken ill and had returned home for the night.
Clearly he, Flash Evans, was in a predicament.