<h2 id="c5"><span class="h2line1">CHAPTER V</span> <br/><span class="h2line2"><i>TROUBLE AT THE GATE</i></span></h2>
<p>There was no mistaking the sarcasm in George
Doyle’s voice. It was his nature to lash out at
others whenever he was confronted with difficulties.
This realization alone kept Flash from making an
angry retort.</p>
<p>“I have no ideas, brilliant or otherwise,” he responded
quietly. “Still, there ought to be some way
to get the truck inside.”</p>
<p>“How?”</p>
<p>“Isn’t there an official around somewhere who might
listen to our explanation?”</p>
<p>“And while we’re trying to find him the races will be
underway. We may as well admit defeat and go back
to the hotel.”</p>
<p>“Let’s wait,” urged Flash. “How about trying another
entrance?”</p>
<p>Before Doyle could reply, two sound trucks bearing
the name of a rival film company, rolled slowly past
and halted. The technician recognized one of the men
and hailed him jubilantly.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</div>
<p>“Hello, Benny! Do a fellow a favor, will you?
Tell the gateman we’re okay.”</p>
<p>“What’s the matter?” the other driver asked.
“Can’t you get inside?”</p>
<p>“Lost our passes.”</p>
<p>“Now isn’t that too, too bad!” The rival newsreel
man grinned wickedly as he shifted gears. “Never
saw you before in my life, George. Watch for our pictures
on the screen!”</p>
<p>The two drivers flashed their passes and drove on
through the gate. Doyle glared after them, calling
names under his breath.</p>
<p>Abruptly, Flash leaped to the ground. Without
explaining to Doyle, he walked back to the entrance.</p>
<p>“No arguments,” the gateman forestalled him.
“You can’t get through without a pass, and that’s
final. Maybe you’re telling a straight story, but orders
are orders.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t there someone around here who would have
the authority to pass us into the grounds?” Flash
asked.</p>
<p>The gateman shrugged. Then his gaze fastened
upon a dignified man who was walking toward the
gate.</p>
<p>“Mr. Hartman could do it,” he said. “You might
talk with him.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</div>
<p>Flash approached the man, and quickly explained
the difficulty. His straightforward manner impressed
the official. He took a quick glance at the <i>News-Vue</i>
truck and called to the gateman.</p>
<p>“It’s all right. Let them through.”</p>
<p>Doyle had no word of praise as Flash slid into the
seat beside him.</p>
<p>“It’s almost time for the race to start,” he grumbled.
“All the good places will be gone.”</p>
<p>While rival newsreel companies had had first choice
for positions, Flash and Doyle still were able to park
their truck so as to obtain an unobstructed view of
Dead Man’s turn. Hurriedly they arranged their
camera and sound equipment, having everything in
readiness for the drop of the starter’s flag.</p>
<p>With a few minutes still to spare, Flash shot several
pictures with his Graphic. He photographed a number
of well known racers as they warmed up their cars
in preparation for the five hundred mile grind.</p>
<p>Observing the previous year’s winner talking with
a dark, foreign looking man who stood beside car 29,
he snapped the pair together.</p>
<p>As the shutter clicked, the racer’s companion,
turned angrily toward Flash. Then pulling his hat
down low, he hastily retreated.</p>
<p>“Camera shy,” thought Flash. “I’ve seen that fellow
before. But where?”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</div>
<p>He was staring after the man when Doyle called to
him. Quickly he walked back to the <i>News-Vue</i> sound
wagon. A policeman stood there, talking with the
technician.</p>
<p>“Anything wrong?” Flash asked.</p>
<p>“There will be if you don’t get this truck out of
here!” the policeman replied grimly. “You’re blocking
the view of race officials.”</p>
<p>“What officials?” Doyle demanded belligerently.</p>
<p>“None of your smart talk,” the policeman returned.
“Either show your permit or move out of here!”</p>
<p>“I can’t see that we’re blocking the judges’ view,”
Flash interposed. “And we’re all set to shoot the
start of the race. If we move now we’ll likely miss it.”</p>
<p>“Why be so tough?” added Doyle.</p>
<p>The policeman had shown visible signs of weakening.
But at Doyle’s question, he became grim again.</p>
<p>“Get going!”</p>
<p>Arguments and explanations were useless. Once
more the green <i>News-Vue</i> truck rolled. This time
Flash shared Doyle’s disgust. No other place was
available which would offer them an unobstructed
shot at Dead Man’s turn. It was at this point of the
track where accidents most frequently occurred.</p>
<p>“If we can’t train our lens there we’ll miss all the
good pictures,” Doyle said gloomily. “One site is as
bad as another now.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</div>
<p>Looking over the big track, they finally chose a
place at random. Scarcely had they set up their apparatus
behind the railing when the first cars roared
down the stretch.</p>
<p>“Start grinding!” ordered Doyle curtly.</p>
<p>Flash pressed a button which controlled a motor.
The camera began its steady whirr.</p>
<p>Motor wide open, a car whizzed past and skidded
around the turn. Flash kept his camera lens trained
on the racers behind.</p>
<p>And then it happened!</p>
<p>Watching through the viewfinder, he saw a driver
suddenly lose control. A car skidded toward the railing.</p>
<p>Flash’s instinct was to leap aside out of all possible
danger, but he held himself to his post.</p>
<p>The car careened toward him. Racers directly behind
could not swerve aside. There was a terrific
crash as car after car piled on each other and went
rolling. Two overturned on the track, and a third
smashed against the fence. The fourth tore away a
section not six yards from where Flash stood. A
body hurtled through the air.</p>
<p>Horrified, but with nerves steady, Flash swung his
camera to catch it all. He kept grinding until the
crowd closed in about the wrecked car, blocking his
view. A siren screamed.</p>
<p>“Get the ambulance!” Doyle yelled at him.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</div>
<p>Flash shot the entire “clean up” scene, only delaying
long enough to first obtain a few “still” shots of
the wreckage for the <i>Brandale Ledger</i>. When track
attendants had carried the injured from the field and
had towed away the battered cars, he drew a deep
sigh. He felt as weak as a rag, but at least he hadn’t
wilted at the critical moment.</p>
<p>“Boy, we shot a picture that time!” Doyle exclaimed
with his first show of enthusiasm. “If we had
stayed with the other newsreel men, we’d have missed
it!”</p>
<p>“The cop booted us into a lucky place, all right,”
Flash agreed.</p>
<p>“No chance of our getting another shot like that today,”
Doyle sighed. “We may as well take some
crowd pictures and then try for ordinary fill-in stuff of
cars coming down the stretch.”</p>
<p>They shifted locations twice, finally returning to a
place at the railing not far from their original site.
Both Flash and Doyle felt that they had experienced
their big moment of the day. They anticipated no
additional favor of luck, but it came when a second
crash occurred close to where they had set up their
equipment.</p>
<p>“What a day!” Doyle chuckled. “Now we’ll shoot
the finish of the race and be done!”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</div>
<p>They managed after considerable difficulty to
squeeze into a hole near the finish line. Flash caught
a picture of the race winner, weary and covered from
head to foot with dust and oil, being congratulated
upon his victory. The man was induced to speak a
few words into the microphone.</p>
<p>“Now we’re through,” Doyle said in satisfaction.
“I certainly didn’t miss any tricks! If the pictures
turn out well, I ought to get a raise.”</p>
<p>They stowed their equipment away and edged the
sound truck into the flow of traffic. Flash waited, expecting
that Doyle would offer some word of praise.
He waited in vain. The technician took the entire
credit for the day’s work to himself.</p>
<p>As they neared the exit gate, they caught sight of
two rival sound trucks.</p>
<p>“Hi, Benny!” Doyle shouted in a loud voice.
“How did you do?”</p>
<p>“Terrible,” was the discouraged response. “We
missed all the crashes.”</p>
<p>“I got everything,” Doyle boasted, “and I mean
everything!”</p>
<p>During the ride back to the hotel, the technician remained
in a high mood. Flash had little to say. He
was tired, and in addition, bored by his companion’s
smug boasting.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</div>
<p>They stopped at the airport where Doyle previously
had arranged for shipment of the cans of exposed film
to the <i>News-Vue</i> offices. Flash made up a package of
his best “still” shots for the <i>Brandale Ledger</i>. With
that duty accomplished, his work was completed. At
last he was free to enjoy his vacation.</p>
<p>“Well, good-bye,” he said, extending his hand to
Doyle.</p>
<p>“Good-bye?” the man echoed in surprise. “Where
are you going?”</p>
<p>“To find myself a bed,” Flash answered. “Then
tomorrow I may go back to Columbia. I want to see
how Joe is doing.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes,” Doyle murmured, frowning. “I’ll have
to drive over there myself tomorrow. Want to ride
along?”</p>
<p>Flash hesitated. The matter of car fare was an
item to be considered. Doyle certainly owed him free
transportation if nothing more.</p>
<p>“Thanks,” he accepted. “I’ll be glad to ride along.”</p>
<p>But later, alone in his hotel room, he regretted the
decision. He did not like George Doyle. And the
technician had no use for him. The journey at best
would be an unpleasant one.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</div>
<p>Flash picked up a newspaper which he had bought
on the street. The headlines were devoted to the auto
races and the two deaths which had occurred. Already
the train wreck story was old, buried on page
two. However, a revised and final list of the known
casualties had been reprinted. Again Albert Povy’s
name appeared.</p>
<p>“I’m sure that fellow was on the train to shadow
Major Hartgrove,” he mused. “But now—well, it
doesn’t matter. The mystery, if any, has been blacked
out by death.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</div>
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