[Illustration: THERE WAS A TERRIFIC CRASH AS CAR AFTER CAR PILED ON EACH
OTHER. (See page 44)]
_FLASH EVANS_
CAMERA NEWS HAWK
_By_
FRANK BELL
_Illustrated_
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
_Publishers_ : : _New York_
_FLASH EVANS BOOKS_
FLASH EVANS AND THE DARKROOM MYSTERY
FLASH EVANS CAMERA NEWS HAWK
Copyright, 1940, By
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
_CONTENTS_
CHAPTER PAGE
I. CRACKING SILK 1
II. OVER THE CLIFF 10
III. A TRAIN WRECK 22
IV. SUBSTITUTE CAMERAMAN 32
V. TROUBLE AT THE GATE 40
VI. MAJOR HARTGROVE’S VISITOR 49
VII. A HINT TO THE WISE 56
VIII. DISTRUST 64
IX. FLASH ACCEPTS AN OFFER 73
X. CHECKING FACTS 79
XI. HIGH WATER 88
XII. BRIDGE OUT! 99
XIII. A POLO GAME 107
XIV. RASCOMB’S INVITATION 115
XV. THROUGH THE PASS 125
XVI. DOYLE’S TREACHERY 135
XVII. A KEY TO MYSTERY 142
XVIII. ESCAPE 149
XIX. A DOUBLE RESIGNATION 156
XX. ACCUSATIONS 163
XXI. RASCOMB’S EXPLANATION 171
XXII. THE MAJOR’S DISAPPEARANCE 178
XXIII. CAPTIVES 188
XXIV. A DESPERATE CHANCE 195
XXV. FADE-OUT 202
_FLASH EVANS_
CAMERA NEWS HAWK
CHAPTER I
_CRACKING SILK_
Flash Evans dribbled the basketball down the gymnasium floor, gave it a
final flip through the net, and started for the shower room.
“Not leaving, are you?” his friend, Jerry Hayes, called after him.
“Yes,” Flash answered regretfully, “I’ll be late getting back to work
unless I do. Business before fun, you know.”
“Wait a minute and I’ll walk along to the _Ledger_ office with you.”
“All right, but step on it! My ticker says ten of one.”
For as far back as the two boys could remember they had been close
friends. Both were graduates of Brandale High School, lived on the same
street, and enjoyed the same sports.
During the past nine months Flash had worked as a photographer on the
_Brandale Ledger_ and, of necessity, his pleasures had been somewhat
curtailed. Yet, he still found time to swim at the “Y,” and on this
Saturday had given up his lunch hour to play basketball.
The two friends quickly dressed. As they left the “Y” building together,
Flash strapped a Speed Graphic camera over his shoulder.
“You never go anywhere without that thing, do you?” Jerry remarked.
“Not during working hours. You never know when a big picture may come
your way.”
“Those were dandies you ran in the _Ledger_ a short time ago,” Jerry
recalled. “Cleaned up an arson gang by getting a picture of the head
man, didn’t you?”
“The police did the work,” Flash corrected carelessly, “but my pictures
helped. And on the strength of them, Editor Riley is giving me a month’s
vacation instead of the usual two weeks. I start tomorrow.”
“Where are you going, Flash?”
“Don’t know yet. I may take in the Indianapolis auto races.”
The pair had reached a street corner. As they halted to wait for the
traffic light to change, an automobile rolled leisurely by close to the
curb. Flash stared.
“See that fellow at the wheel!” he exclaimed, grabbing Jerry’s arm.
“Sure. Who is he?”
“Bailey Brooks!”
“And who is he?” Jerry demanded bluntly.
“You haven’t read about Bailey Brooks, the aviator and parachute
jumper?”
“Oh, sure,” Jerry nodded, “the fellow who has been having so much
trouble. I remember now. Government officials refused him permission to
test that new parachute he invented.”
“And for a good reason. Brooks claims his new ’chute will open up at a
very low altitude. But a month ago when it was given the first test, a
jumper was killed.”
The automobile had been held up by a red light. Jerry was staring at the
driver with deep interest when a green-painted sound truck bearing the
sign, _News-Vue Picture Company_, rolled up directly behind the car.
“Say, that sound truck seems to be following Bailey Brooks!” Flash
exclaimed, excitement creeping into his voice. “Something must be in the
wind!”
“Sure looks that way,” agreed Jerry. “The newsreel lads must be after
pictures.”
“Do you know what I think, Jerry? Brooks is slipping off somewhere on
the quiet to make his parachute jump despite government orders! Gosh,
that’s worth a picture! Whether he succeeds or fails, the _Ledger_ will
want it.”
Already the traffic light had changed from red to green. The automobile
and the sound truck started to move slowly ahead. Flash knew that if he
were to learn the destination of Bailey Brooks and the newsreel men, not
a moment must be lost.
“Listen,” he said crisply to his friend. “Telephone the _Ledger_ office
for me, will you? Tell Riley I’m after a hot picture!”
Without waiting for Jerry’s reply, he signaled a taxi, leaping on the
running board as it slowed down.
“Follow that green sound truck!”
The chase led through the business section of Brandale into open
country. There the car and sound truck chose a road which wound along
the ocean. Some twelve miles from the city, they both drew up at the
base of a high cliff overlooking the beach.
“Wait for me,” Flash instructed the driver.
As he stepped from the cab, he saw that his hunch had been right. Bailey
Brooks was unloading parachute equipment from his automobile.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Brooks,” he greeted the aviator. “Are you making a
jump from the cliff?”
“You’ve guessed it,” the man grinned. “What paper do you represent?”
“The _Ledger_. Mind if I take a few pictures?”
“Go ahead,” Bailey Brooks responded cordially. “The publicity ought to
do me some good.”
Flash took a pose of the man beside his car, but decided to save his
remaining films for the actual jump.
He wandered over toward the green sound truck which had maneuvered into
position near the base of the cliff. A sound technician and two helpers
were stringing up their microphone. Two cameramen, on the roof of the
truck, were attaching the tripod of a large turret-front camera to the
metal platform.
The younger man turned slightly and Flash recognized him as a
photographer who, until three months previously, had been employed by
the _Ledger_.
“Joe Wells!”
The cameraman looked around, and climbed quickly down from his perch.
“Well, if it isn’t Flash Evans!” he exclaimed heartily. “What are you
doing out here?”
“Oh, I saw your wagon roll by, and I figured I might get a good picture
if I trailed you.”
“Same old Flash, always playing hunches,” Joe chuckled. “But you figured
right. Brooks may crack up instead of cracking silk.”
“I hope not. Still, that cliff doesn’t look very high.”
“He’s a fool to try it,” Wells declared in a low tone. “But if he’s bent
on committing suicide just to prove his ’chute will work, that’s his
lookout. Ours is to take pictures.”
The sound technician had finished setting up his equipment. Working with
quiet efficiency, he stationed Bailey Brooks in front of the microphone,
and took his own position at the mixing panel.
After the recording had been made, Joe led Flash over to the truck.
“Meet our sound expert,” he said carelessly. “George Doyle.”
The technician, a sullen, serious man of twenty-eight, did not bother to
remove the monitor phones from his ears. He stared at Flash, mumbled a
few words, and turned his back.
To cover up the rudeness, Joe said quickly:
“Why not quit the _Ledger_, Flash, and come in with a real outfit? If
you’ll consider it I’ll ask _News-Vue_ to give you a chance.”
“Thanks, Joe, but I like my work at the _Ledger_. I start my vacation
tomorrow.”
“You’re fitted for newsreel work,” Joe declared persuasively. “You have
steady nerves, good judgment, and you’re cool in an emergency. I know,
because I’ve worked with you. Better think it over.”
Flash smiled and offered no response.
A moment later Bailey Brooks came over to say that he was ready to make
the jump. Leaving George Doyle and the others below, Flash and Joe began
the steep ascent with the aviator. Burdened as they were with heavy
equipment, they took it slowly, proceeding in easy stages.
Presently, pausing to rest, Flash glanced downward. He noticed that a
coupe had drawn up in a clump of bushes not far from the cliff. A man
with field glasses was watching their progress.
“We have an interested watcher,” remarked Flash. “Wonder who he is?”
Both Joe and Bailey Brooks turned to gaze in the direction indicated.
“I can’t tell from this distance,” said the parachute jumper. “It looks
like Albert Povy’s automobile.”
“Povy?” inquired Joe Wells in a startled voice.
“Yes, he’s one of the few persons who has been interested in my new
’chute.”
An odd expression settled over the newsreel man’s face. He said no more.
But, as the climb was resumed, he dropped some distance behind Brooks to
whisper with Flash.
“If that’s really Povy in the car, he must expect something to come of
this test today! I’m telling you, his reputation isn’t very good!”
Flash had no opportunity to learn more about Povy, for Bailey Brooks had
paused. He waited on the trail until the two men caught up with him.
At the summit of the cliff the three flung themselves on a flat rock to
rest. Bailey Brooks seemed nervous. His hand trembled as he lit a
cigarette.
“This jump means a lot to me,” he said. “Since my pal, Benny Fraser, was
killed testing out the ’chute, government authorities have advised me
that my design is unsound. But I know better. I’m willing to risk my
life to prove it.”
“And when you succeed, I imagine the government will suddenly take an
interest,” Flash remarked.
“Sure. They’ve had their experts studying the invention for months. They
claim it has defects which can’t be overcome.”
Brooks arose, tossed aside his cigarette and began to strap on his
harness.
“If I succeed everything will be swell. If I fail, I won’t know it. So
what’s the difference?”
The man spoke with attempted carelessness. Yet, he could not hide his
real feelings from the two observant photographers. He was not so
confident as he would have them believe.
Joe Wells set up his automatic hand camera near the edge of the cliff,
winding the spring motor and loading the film. Flash stationed himself
at a slightly different angle, focusing his Speed Graphic.
“All set?” inquired Brooks.
“Any old time,” said Wells, and signaled the _News-Vue_ men below.
A dizzy, nauseous sensation came over Flash as he gazed downward. If the
’chute failed to open—and the odds were against Brooks—would he have the
courage to keep on taking his pictures? He wondered.
“Good luck, Brooks,” said Wells. “Happy landing.”
“I won’t need luck,” the man answered jerkily. “Not with a ’chute like
this baby.”
He stepped to the edge of the cliff. For a long moment he stood there,
gazing out across the sea, savoring the glint of sunlight upon the
tumbling waves.
“Whatever happens,” he said, “keep grinding.”
Then with lips compressed, face tense, he stepped off into space.