<h2 id="c2"><span class="h2line1">CHAPTER II</span> <br/><span class="h2line2"><i>OVER THE CLIFF</i></span></h2>
<p>At terrific speed the body of the jumper hurtled
toward the earth. The parachute did not open.</p>
<p>Grim-faced, his horrified eyes focused upon the falling
figure, Flash shot his first picture. His heart was
in his throat, but he was able to keep his hand steady.
Swiftly he extracted the holder and made ready to
take a second exposure.</p>
<p>“It’s curtains,” he thought. “The ’chute never can
save Brooks now.”</p>
<p>And then, even as he abandoned hope, the silken
umbrella cracked open.</p>
<p>Perspiration oozed from Flash’s forehead. Joe
Wells laughed aloud, so great was his relief.</p>
<p>The danger, however, was not entirely over. As
Flash took a picture of the great umbrella drifting
downward, he noted that it was falling at a rapid rate
toward the sea. For a time it appeared that Brooks
would strike the water with great force.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</div>
<p>But the aviator began to pull on the risers, and succeeded
in working away from the shore. He landed in
a plowed field some distance away. The wind billowed
the ’chute, dragging him for a few feet. Brooks
then skilfully pulled on the underside risers and the
big umbrella flattened out.</p>
<p>“He’s safe,” observed Wells, taking a deep breath.
“I hope he makes a fortune. A jump like that is
worth it.”</p>
<p>The two photographers began to pack their cameras
into carrying cases.</p>
<p>“By the way, what did you start to tell me about
Albert Povy?” Flash inquired curiously.</p>
<p>“He was supposed to have been mixed up in shady
espionage business a few months ago. I understand
government operatives have kept a sharp eye on him.”</p>
<p>“And now he seems to be interested in Brooks’ parachute?”</p>
<p>“It looks that way. If Brooks has any sense he’ll
steer clear of the fellow. Suppose we get down there,
Flash.”</p>
<p>Together they began the dangerous descent. By
the time they reached the base of the cliff, Bailey
Brooks had walked back from the field, and was receiving
the congratulations of the <i>News-Vue</i> men.</p>
<p>As Flash and Joe added their praise, a tall, dark
stranger crossed the open space to the sound truck.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</div>
<p>“A beautiful jump, Mr. Brooks,” he praised. “You
remember me, don’t you? My name is Povy—Albert
Povy.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I remember you very well,” the jumper replied
dryly. “Did I demonstrate what my ’chute
could do?”</p>
<p>“You certainly did,” the man returned heartily.
“It was amazing! I never would have believed it possible,
if I hadn’t witnessed it with my own eyes. You
know, we may be able to do business together, after
all.”</p>
<p>A guarded expression came into Bailey Brooks’ steel
gray eyes.</p>
<p>“I’m open to propositions,” he said.</p>
<p>“Come over to my car,” invited Albert Povy.
“We’ll talk.”</p>
<p>Flash and Joe Wells were closed out of the conversation.
Swiftly the <i>News-Vue</i> men loaded their
equipment aboard the truck and prepared to leave.</p>
<p>“Listen, Flash,” said Joe as he climbed into the
sound truck. “When you’re through at the <i>Ledger</i>
this afternoon, drop around at the <i>News-Vue</i> offices.
I want to talk with you.”</p>
<p>He handed over a card bearing the company address,
and the truck rolled away.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</div>
<p>Reminded that he had pictures of his own to rush
back to Brandale, Flash stuffed the card into his
pocket, and hurried to the waiting taxi. As he drove
off he saw that Brooks had gone with Albert Povy.</p>
<p>“Wonder if he knows the man’s reputation?” he
thought. “I suppose he must.”</p>
<p>Flash dismissed the matter entirely from his mind.
He never expected to see either of the men again. His
only concern was the possibility of future news stories
or pictures.</p>
<p>The taxicab made a quick trip back to Brandale.
Flash paid the bill and kept a receipt to show Riley as
proof of his expense.</p>
<p>He was hurrying through the news room on his way
to the photographic department when the editor
hailed him.</p>
<p>“Hey, Evans, where have you been all afternoon?”
The editor gave him a quizzical glance.</p>
<p>Flash paused. “Didn’t Jerry Hayes telephone
you?”</p>
<p>“Some kid called in. He said you were after a big
picture.”</p>
<p>“I nailed it, too,” Flash said confidently. “Bailey
Brooks just disregarded orders and tested his parachute
out at Eagle Cliff.”</p>
<p>“Killed?”</p>
<p>“No, the test was a success. So far, the <i>News-Vue</i>
people are the only ones to get pictures. Mine ought
to be dandies.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</div>
<p>“Good work!” approved Riley. “We can use them,
and the story, too. Crack ’em through.”</p>
<p>In a few minutes’ time Flash had developed his pictures
and made the prints from wet films. His work
finished, he was loitering in the news room when Riley
motioned for him to come over to the desk.</p>
<p>“You may as well call it a day, Evans,” he said.
“Those were fine pictures you turned in.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, Mr. Riley.”</p>
<p>“You start your vacation tomorrow, I believe?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir, I do.”</p>
<p>“You’ve earned it,” Riley said with an attempt at
geniality. “Where are you planning to spend your
month off?”</p>
<p>“Home mostly. I may visit some friends in Indianapolis
and take in the auto races.”</p>
<p>Riley pounced upon the information with the avidity
of a bass after live bait.</p>
<p>“We could use some good pictures, Flash. How
about covering the races for the <i>Ledger</i>?”</p>
<p>“Well—my plans aren’t definite. I may not be able
to make it.”</p>
<p>“Buy yourself a ticket to Indianapolis at the <i>Ledger’s</i>
expense,” Riley urged, guessing the reason behind
the young man’s indecision. “Why not hop the special
streamliner which leaves here tomorrow morning?”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</div>
<p>“I’ll do it!” Flash decided suddenly.</p>
<p>“Good! Take any equipment you may need, and
send your pictures back by plane.”</p>
<p>Flash returned to the photography department for
his camera. After saying good-bye to several friends,
he went downstairs where his pay check awaited him.
He was finished with work an hour earlier than usual.
It would seem strange, he thought, being off duty for
an entire month.</p>
<p>As Flash reached for bus fare, he pulled the card
Joe Wells had given him from his pocket. The address
of the <i>News-Vue</i> Company was only a few blocks
away.</p>
<p>“May as well drop around there and kill a little
time,” he reflected. “But I don’t aim to let Joe talk
me into leaving the <i>Ledger</i>.”</p>
<p>Flash presently found himself standing before a tall
white stone building located not far from the waterfront.
He consulted the room directory in the lobby
and rode the elevator up to the sixth floor.</p>
<p>A receptionist was asking him whom he wished to
see when Joe Wells, hearing a familiar voice, stepped
from one of the offices.</p>
<p>“Hello, there, Flash,” he greeted cordially. “Come
on in.”</p>
<p>He led the photographer into a small room crowded
with desks, waving him to a chair.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_16">16</div>
<p>“I’ll be through in a minute. Then I’ll show you
around. I want to write up this dope sheet first.”</p>
<p>“Take your time, Joe.”</p>
<p>The <i>News-Vue</i> man inserted a sheet of printed paper
in a typewriter, rapidly filling in the blanks.</p>
<p>“I’m getting ready to take off for Indianapolis tomorrow,”
he remarked casually. “George Doyle
started on ahead with the sound wagon about an hour
ago. I follow by train and meet him there.”</p>
<p>“Maybe I’ll see you,” Flash replied. “I’m covering
the races myself. For the <i>Ledger</i>.”</p>
<p>“I never could go back to working on a paper now,”
Joe commented. “Too tame compared with the newsreels.
Flash, why don’t you consider—”</p>
<p>“No!” Flash cut in with a laugh. “I’m not listening
to any arguments.”</p>
<p>Joe shrugged and said no more. He spent the next
half hour showing his friend the newsreel cameras and
explaining their operation.</p>
<p>“We ordinarily use one with a front turret, carrying
three or four lenses,” he instructed. “This particular
camera holds four hundred feet of film in its magazine
and can be hand-cranked or driven with either a 110
volt A.C. motor or a 12 D.C.”</p>
<p>“I suppose power is generated from storage batteries?”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</div>
<p>“Yes, our trucks are equipped with chargers. Sometimes
we are able to plug into a service line. But why
am I telling you all this? You know as much about it
as I do.”</p>
<p>“Hardly,” Flash corrected. “But I have done a
little studying.”</p>
<p>After a trip through the laboratories where positives
were being made from “master blues,” Joe led his
friend into the projection room.</p>
<p>“We’re in luck,” he said. “They’re showing those
Bailey Brooks pictures.”</p>
<p>In the darkened room several editors, script writers
and a commentator, sat at dimly lighted desks. On
the wall before them a strip of film was being run
through. To Flash the moving figures seemed grotesque,
for blacks and whites were in reverse.</p>
<p>“What’s this?” demanded an editor as he watched
the spectacular leap made by Bailey Brooks. “Just
another parachute jump?”</p>
<p>Information provided by Joe Wells’ caption sheet
was read aloud.</p>
<p>“That’s interesting stuff,” decided the editor.
“Run it full. Cut down that racing shot from Cuba.
Now what do we have on the Japanese earthquake?”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</div>
<p>For several minutes Flash watched the work of cutting
and assembling the eight different subjects which
would be used in the completed newsreel. He ended
his tour by visiting a studio where the various shots
were synchronized with music and the explanatory
speech of a commentator.</p>
<p>“The releases will be shown in Brandale theatres in
another hour,” Wells declared, escorting his friend to
the elevator. “In this business speed means everything.”</p>
<p>Although he would not have admitted it, Flash was
strangely impressed. Riding home in the bus, he reflected
that Joe might be right about newsreel work
offering more thrills than fell to the lot of an ordinary
photographer. He would like to try it. But for the
present he couldn’t consider leaving the <i>Ledger</i>.</p>
<p>At home a warm supper was waiting. As he shared
the well-cooked meal with his mother and younger
sister, Joan, Flash mentioned his assignment to cover
the Indianapolis races.</p>
<p>“Working on your vacation?” Mrs. Evans inquired
mildly. “Really, Jimmy, you need a rest.”</p>
<p>“Shooting a few pictures won’t be work, Mother.
I’ll enjoy it. And I’ll get a free trip.”</p>
<p>It was true. Flash never had considered professional
picture-taking as drudgery. Save for a month
when persons had sought to undermine his job, he had
thoroughly enjoyed the time spent on the <i>Ledger</i>.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</div>
<p>Flash, who seldom answered to his real name of
Jimmy, was seventeen, the son of a former newspaper
editor. Since Mr. Evans’ death several years earlier,
the little family of three had been hard pressed to
make ends meet. But Flash’s recent salary increases
had made things much easier. That was one reason
why he could not give up a sure job for the more uncertain
calling of newsreel cameraman.</p>
<p>“I see you have set your heart upon the Indianapolis
trip,” Mrs. Evans remarked, “so you may as
well pack your bag.”</p>
<p>Early the next morning when Flash reached the
railroad terminal he found it buzzing with activity.
He stood in line to buy his ticket, noting that Indianapolis
seemed to be the popular destination. Special
rates had been offered, and only Indiana passengers
were allowed on the streamliner.</p>
<p>Flash swung aboard. Wandering through several
cars, he finally came upon his friend, Joe Wells.</p>
<p>“Hello, there,” the newsreel man greeted him.
“Let’s go back to the club car and grab a seat before
they’re all taken.”</p>
<p>The train began to move. Joe led the way through
the corridors. So quietly did the streamliner run that
they scarcely were aware of its gathering speed.</p>
<p>At the entrance to the club car, Joe halted suddenly
and Flash bumped into him.</p>
<p>“See who is here,” he muttered, indicating a man
who sat reading a magazine.</p>
<p>“Albert Povy!” Flash exclaimed in an undertone.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</div>
<p>Offering no additional comment, the two photographers
entered the car. They took the only vacant
chairs which chanced to be directly across from the
man who held their attention.</p>
<p>Flash scrutinized the passenger with keen interest.
There was something about Povy which fascinated
and yet repulsed him. The man was tall, well-built,
with a hollow, almost gaunt face. A faint but jagged
scar on his left cheek evidently had resulted from an
old war wound.</p>
<p>Povy glanced up and met Flash’s steady gaze. He
stared hard at the young man for a moment and then
glanced away. If he recognized either of the photographers
he gave no further sign.</p>
<p>Joe nudged Flash. Raising a newspaper to shield
his face, he called attention to a middle-aged man of
military bearing who was writing a letter at the desk.</p>
<p>“Major Creighton Hartgrove,” he whispered. “Retired
from the army. It’s rumored, though, that he’s
doing secret work for the government.”</p>
<p>As Wells spoke, Hartgrove arose and left the club
car. A moment later, Albert Povy put aside his magazine
and followed. Or at least, Flash gained the impression
that the man seemed to be interested in the
Major’s movements.</p>
<p>He ventured such an opinion to Joe, who made light
of his observation.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</div>
<p>“You’re as imaginative as ever, Flash,” he scoffed.
“I shouldn’t have told you lurid tales about Povy’s
reputation.”</p>
<p>Several times during the day as the streamliner
raced westward, Flash caught glimpses of the two men.
It struck him as significant that usually the pair were
in the same car. More than ever he became convinced
that Major Hartgrove was being watched and was
himself aware of it.</p>
<p>Joe Wells had scant interest in either of the men,
and as the day wore on, slept much of the time. When
a colored steward gave the first call for dinner, he
shook himself awake.</p>
<p>“Let’s amble into the diner before the big rush
starts, Flash.”</p>
<p>They walked forward through two cars, and had
just entered the third where Major Hartgrove sat,
when the train’s air brakes suddenly were applied.</p>
<p>“Now what?” gasped Joe, clutching a seat for support.</p>
<p>The next instant he and Flash both were hurled
violently from their feet. There was a deafening
crash, and the car crumpled like an accordion, burying
them beneath the debris.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</div>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />