_A HINT TO THE WISE_
As Flash entered the bedroom, a stocky, middle-aged man in a captain’s
uniform, turned to face him. He regarded the young man with an alert,
penetrating gaze.
Major Hartgrove, his head and leg swathed in bandages, sat in a wheel
chair by the window. He too appraised the visitor.
“You wished to see me, sir?” Flash inquired.
The Major nodded. “Captain Johns,” he said gruffly, “this is the young
man I was telling you about. The photographer who pulled me out of the
wreck. Your name—”
“Evans. Jimmy Evans.”
“I am pleased to meet you, sir,” Captain Ernest Johns spoke cordially
and extended his hand. “So sorry I must be going. Another appointment.
You will excuse me?”
Without waiting for a reply, he departed, carefully closing the door
behind him. Clearly the speedy leave-taking had been prearranged.
“Sit down!” invited the Major abruptly.
His tone was so explosive that Flash jumped. He dropped into a chair
opposite the army man.
“Evans,” said the Major, “I’ve tried to locate you ever since the night
of the wreck. Where have you been hiding?”
“Indianapolis,” Flash returned, and explained how he had substituted as
a cameraman for Joe Wells.
“So you’re a professional photographer?” inquired the Major. “Took a few
pictures of the train wreck, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have they been published?”
“I couldn’t say. I sent some of my films to the _Brandale Ledger_.
Haven’t had time to hear from my editor yet.”
The Major took a quick turn across the room in his wheel chair. He came
back to the window again.
“If I remember correctly you shot a picture of me.”
“Of you?” Flash asked in surprise.
“A flash bulb went off just as I was trying to pull myself from the
wreckage.”
“Oh, yes, I remember,” Flash nodded. “I doubt if that picture will be
much good. I didn’t send it with the others.”
The Major relaxed in his chair.
“You still have it?” he demanded.
“Yes, but I haven’t had time to develop the film yet.”
“How long will it take?”
“Why, I don’t know,” Flash replied. “I have no developing outfit with
me. I could send it to a local newspaper—”
“Not to a paper,” Major Hartgrove interrupted. “To a studio where
photographic work is done. I’ll want no publicity.”
Flash smiled, rather amused by the army man’s assured way of giving
orders.
“As soon as the film is developed, bring it to me,” the Major resumed.
He hesitated, and then added: “Under no circumstances must that picture
be published until after I have seen it. You understand?”
“I hear,” responded Flash dryly. “I can’t say I understand. After all,
I’m a professional photographer. If a picture has news value it’s my
duty to publish it unless I have a mighty good reason for doing
otherwise.”
The Major made a rumbling noise in his throat.
“Young man, a hint to the wise is sufficient. There are certain things I
am not in a position to explain. However, great harm might result if
that picture were printed. I wish to make it clear that if you disregard
my wishes, you may find yourself in trouble with the government.”
“I doubt if the picture would be worth it, Major. However, I’ll try to
cooperate with you.”
“I am glad that you are taking a sensible attitude,” the army man
returned. “I assure you the picture has no value save to myself and
possible enemies. Upon second thought, you are to bring the film to me
undeveloped.”
Again Flash smiled. The Major mistook his silence for consent.
“Where is the film now?” he questioned.
“In my luggage.”
“Then please bring it to the hospital without delay,” the army man
requested in dismissal.
Flash walked to the door. There he paused.
“Oh, by the way,” he said carelessly, “did you ever learn who it was
that struck you over the head?”
Major Hartgrove made a swift turn in his wheel chair.
“What was that?” he demanded.
Flash repeated the question.
“You’re mistaken, young man,” the Major snapped. “No one struck me. What
gave you that idea?”
“Merely your own words. When I helped you from the wreck you muttered
that someone had struck you and taken your wallet.”
“Then I was dazed. I may have been hit by a falling timber when the car
was derailed. Nothing was stolen from me. An absurd notion!”
“Oh, I see,” said Flash. “My mistake, Major.”
Without waiting for a reply he went out the door, softly closing it
behind him.
George Doyle had remained at the elevator.
“Well, did the Major make you a pretty little speech of gratitude,
Flash?” he inquired curiously.
“He made me a speech. Period.”
Doyle pressed a button and the automatic elevator descended to the lower
floor.
“What was it all about?” he probed.
Flash had no intention of confiding in the technician and so made an
evasive answer. Doyle took the hint, but he lapsed into sullen silence
as they walked back to the parking lot where the sound truck had been
left.
“Where are you going now?” he inquired, watching Flash gather up his
camera and luggage.
“The hotel. I think I’ll stay here a day or so and rest up before I
start back to Brandale.”
“I may hole in myself,” Doyle responded. “I gave _News-Vue_ this town as
my address. I’m stuck here until Clewes sends me orders. I’ll probably
be seeing you at the hotel.”
“Well, if we shouldn’t meet again, good-bye and good luck with your
pictures.”
“Same to you.”
They shook hands with a show of cordiality and parted company. Flash was
glad to be done with the pretense. He never could like George Doyle and
was relieved to escape from him. Doubtlessly, the technician felt the
same way about him.
At the corner, beyond Doyle’s view, Flash paused. Opening his handbag,
he removed the holders which held all the exposed films still in his
possession.
“Wonder why the Major is so anxious to see that picture of himself in
the wreck?” he mused. “At the time I snapped it I didn’t think I had
anything. Maybe I was wrong.”
Deeply puzzled, he could not guess why the picture had any special
significance. Yet he shrewdly reasoned that Major Hartgrove would not
bother to obtain the negative save for a very particular reason.
The army man’s assured way of expecting his orders to be obeyed without
question annoyed Flash. Obviously, the Major had sought to confuse him
by contradicting his first story that he had been struck over the head
by an assailant.
“I’ll have the film developed and see what all the shooting is about,”
he decided. “Then maybe I’ll deliver it to the Major, and maybe I
won’t.”
Walking along Main street, Flash presently came to a small photographic
studio. Entering he spoke to the owner, Mr. Dee.
“I have some films here to be developed and printed. How soon may I have
them?”
“Tomorrow.”
“This is rush work. I’ll be glad to pay extra but I need them right
away.”
“Make it three hours, then,” replied the photographer.
“I’ll be back for them later,” nodded Flash.
He walked on two blocks to the Columbia Hotel. The lobby was crowded. In
response to his inquiry for a single room, the clerk shook his head.
“We’ve been filled to overflowing ever since the train wreck. Folks
coming to see their relatives in the hospital, you know. For a while we
were selling cot space in the halls.”
“No chance then?”
“We did have a double room but it was assigned a few minutes ago. If you
don’t object to sharing it, I could put you in there. The young man who
occupies it isn’t much over your age, and is very respectable, sir.”
“How about him complaining?”
“He took it with the understanding he might be compelled to double up.
The room has twin beds.”
“All right, I’ll take it,” decided Flash.
A boy conducted him up two flights of stairs, through a dingy hallway.
He knocked and opened the door of Room 42. Flash stepped inside.
At the writing desk sat George Doyle. They stared at each other.
“I seem to be your new roommate,” said Flash at last. “Hope you don’t
mind.”
“No, of course not. Come on in.” Doyle spoke with an attempt at
friendliness. “Wait, I’ll take my junk off the bed.”
He arose and carried an armload of garments into a near-by closet.
The bellboy opened a window. An unexpected gust of wind carried a sheet
of paper from the writing desk. Flash stooped to pick it up. A name
caught and held his attention. It was his own.
Without meaning to read what Doyle had written, he saw the entire
paragraph at a glance:
“... rid of that pest, Evans at last. If you put in your application
without delay, you should get Wells’ job, and hold it permanently.”