_FRONT PAGE STORY_
The night was one long to be remembered. In the police car, Flash and
Fred Orris rode to the McCormand home on Aldingham Drive. There they
learned from a maid that the man they sought was attending a late
business conference at his downtown office.
Back-tracking, the police car presently drew up before a white stone
building not far from the _Brandale Ledger_. Nearly all of the windows
were dark, but lights glowed in one of the offices on the fourth floor.
The building directory provided information that McCormand occupied Room
407. From the elevator man, police learned that the lawyer had entered
the building shortly after nine o’clock and had not been seen leaving.
Detective Burnett was assigned to post himself on the fire escape
directly opposite Room 407, and the two photographers chose to accompany
him. Gaining access to it from the third floor, they moved noiselessly
to the window.
Inside they could see McCormand at his desk, talking with two other men.
One of them Flash instantly recognized as the same person who had been
involved in the Fenmore warehouse affair.
A loud knock came on the office door. McCormand sprang to his feet.
“Who’s there?” he called sharply.
“Open up or we’ll break down the door!” came the order.
McCormand jerked his head toward the window. His two companions made a
dive for the fire escape, stepping directly into the arms of the waiting
detective. Flash and Orris took pictures simultaneously.
The detective backed his prisoners into the office again, keeping them
covered with his revolver.
“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” demanded McCormand wrathfully.
“I demand an explanation.”
“You’ll get it,” said Burnett coolly.
Flash unlocked the door and let the other detective into the room. Then
he deftly inserted another holder in his camera, and cocked the lever of
the shutter. As Detective Kimball told McCormand he was under arrest, he
pulled the slide and shot his next picture.
Protesting angrily, the lawyer and his companions were hustled
downstairs to the waiting police car. Flash and Orris both obtained
action shots of McCormand trying to free himself from the grasp of two
detectives.
“Not bad,” chuckled Orris as they stood watching the car drive away.
“We haven’t any time to waste,” said Flash abruptly. “If we move fast we
still have a chance to make that last edition.”
The words spurred Orris to action. Running nearly all of the distance to
the _Ledger_ building, they related their story of the capture in a few
terse sentences.
“We’ll hold the edition ten minutes,” Dan Dewey decided. “Get busy!”
Flash and Orris rushed their pictures through in record time, making
prints from wet negatives. Not until each picture had been captioned and
sent to the photo-engraving department did they allow themselves a
moment to relax.
“What a night!” said Flash, sinking into a chair. “Wonder what became of
Old Herm?”
Orris shrugged in his characteristic way.
“Who cares? He won’t make you any more trouble. I imagine he’ll never
show up at the _Ledger_ again after what happened. But if he should be
dumb enough to try to keep his job, I’ll drop a hint in the editor’s
ear.”
“We’ve probably seen the last of Old Herm,” Flash agreed. “From now on
things should roll a lot smoother for me.”
There was an awkward pause. Orris avoided looking directly at Flash as
he said:
“I owe you an apology. The truth is, I didn’t like you very well when
you first started work here. I thought you were a cocky kid who needed
to be put in his place.”
“Guess you weren’t far wrong at that.”
“Yes, I was,” Orris denied. “You had the stuff even if it took me a long
while to recognize it. When you had so much trouble with your pictures,
streaking and losing them, I figured you were inexperienced.”
“I did slip up on the fight pictures, Fred. The other mistakes were the
result of Old Herm’s work.”
“You have what it takes,” Orris resumed. “After being out with you
tonight I know your pictures aren’t a matter of accident. You’re a good
photographer.”
“Thanks,” returned Flash. Coming from Orris, the praise was indeed high.
He added: “But I still have plenty to learn.”
He bore the head photographer no grudge. From now on he would understand
him much better. Orris never would be as friendly or sociable as Joe
Wells and the other photographers, but he knew his work. One could learn
a great deal from him.
Flash felt worn out from the night’s work. However, before starting
home, he printed up the one good Tower picture and dropped it on the
editor’s desk, without caring whether or not it ever was used. As he
picked up his hat to leave the office, Orris asked in surprise:
“Aren’t you waiting for the paper to come out? It shouldn’t be more than
a minute or two now.”
“No, I’m too tired,” Flash yawned. “I’m going home and hit the hay.”
“You might get a by-line,” Orris hinted. “And you know what that means
around here?”
“No, what?”
“Usually a raise.”
“I could do with one,” grinned Flash. “Well, I think I’ll bear the
suspense until morning.”
“I’m sticking around for a few minutes longer,” Orris replied. “See you
tomorrow.”
Flash left the building and, after a wait of ten minutes at the corner,
caught his bus home. Wearily he sagged into the first empty seat. It had
been a big night, but a satisfying one. Due to his work and the recovery
of the warehouse picture, the arson ring would be entirely cleaned up.
He might be called to testify against McCormand, but the man’s
conviction was practically assured.
“And the darkroom mystery is solved, too,” he chuckled. “From now on
I’ll have clear sailing.”
The bus presently stopped at a corner. A well-dressed man of middle age
came into the car, settling himself in the vacant seat beside the young
photographer. He opened his paper to read.
Turning his head slightly, Flash saw that the man had a copy of the
_Ledger_, the last edition which news-boys were just starting to cry.
Bold headlines told of McCormand’s arrest, and a picture had been spread
over four columns.
Flash bent nearer. The picture was the one he had taken of McCormand and
the two other men at Fenmore’s warehouse. Beneath it was a tiny caption,
“by staff photographer, Jimmy Evans.”
“Well, I see they’ve captured the big-shot behind the arson ring,”
remarked the passenger conversationally. “Turns out to be H. J.
McCormand!”
Flash smiled and nodded.
“Interesting picture, too,” the man went on. “These newspaper
photographers always seem to be on the wrong spot at the right time. But
this picture takes the prize. I wonder how he ever got it?”
“If you ask me,” said Flash with a sheepish grin, “the fellow was a fool
for luck. He must have been born with a silver horseshoe around his
neck!”
THE END
[Illustration: Endpapers]
Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
domain in the country of publication.
--Created a cover image based on elements of the other book in this
series, and for free and unrestricted use with this eBook.
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
dialect unchanged.
--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the
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End of Project Gutenberg's Flash Evans and the Darkroom Mystery, by Frank Bell