<h2 id="c8"><span class="h2line1">CHAPTER VIII</span> <br/><span class="h2line2"><i>DISTRUST</i></span></h2>
<p>Without reading further, Flash replaced the
letter on the desk. Scarcely had he moved
away, when George Doyle stepped from the clothes
closet. He glanced sharply at the young photographer,
but Flash’s face gave no indication that anything
was wrong.</p>
<p>Doyle removed the remaining garments from the
bed. Then, walking quickly to the desk, he picked
up the letter, and thrust it into his pocket.</p>
<p>“Don’t let me interrupt you if you’re busy,” Flash
remarked.</p>
<p>“I was only writing a letter to a pal. I’ll finish it
another time.”</p>
<p>The bellboy pocketed Flash’s tip and left the two
together. A constrained silence settled between them.
Flash began to unpack his shirts and socks.</p>
<p>“Staying long in Columbia?” Doyle inquired after
an awkward moment.</p>
<p>“A day or two, perhaps.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</div>
<p>Flash spoke shortly. Doyle glanced at him curiously,
aware that for some reason he was offended.</p>
<p>For the next few minutes the technician made a
special effort to be agreeable. Flash could not respond.
He felt that the man’s sudden friendliness
was only a pose.</p>
<p>“Doyle has no honor,” he thought. “Instead of being
loyal to Joe, he’s scheming to install a friend in
his job. Between them they’ll arrange it so that Joe
never does get his place back again.”</p>
<p>The telephone jingled. Doyle answered, and learning
that a telegram had arrived for him, ordered it
sent up.</p>
<p>“It must be from the <i>News-Vue</i> Company,” he remarked.
“My boss is the only one who knows where
to reach me.”</p>
<p>The telegram was brought to the door. Doyle
ripped open the envelope. With feet propped on the
foot of the bed, he read it and chuckled.</p>
<p>“It’s from Clewes himself.”</p>
<p>“District manager of the <i>News-Vue?</i>” Flash recalled.</p>
<p>“That’s right. The auto race pictures turned out
great. When Clewes wastes money on a congratulatory
telegram you know you’ve hit the bull’s eye!”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</div>
<p>Flash could not help feeling elated that his first
work as a newsreel cameraman had been successful.
He waited for Doyle to read the telegram aloud or
offer it to him. Instead, the technician stuffed it into
his pocket.</p>
<p>“I’m going to jog downstairs and get something
to eat,” he said genially. “Coming along?”</p>
<p>“No, thanks.”</p>
<p>After Doyle had gone, Flash flung himself on the
bed, relieved to be left alone. He wanted to think.</p>
<p>Although annoying, it didn’t really matter that
Doyle belittled his efforts and withheld praise. What
worried him was the letter he had read by accident.
Should he warn Wells that the technician was trying
to transfer the <i>News-Vue</i> job to a friend? And what
could Joe do about the matter? Nothing. It would
only serve to make him uneasy.</p>
<p>Flash could see only one solution, and that, not to
his liking. Still thinking the matter over, he arose,
washed, and scribbled a hasty letter to his mother.</p>
<p>Deciding not to mail it in the hotel box, he walked
to the post office. As a matter of routine, he asked
if any mail had arrived for him, general delivery.</p>
<p>Thumbing through a thick stack of mail, the post
master proffered a thin envelope bearing the name of
the <i>Brandale Ledger</i>.</p>
<p>As Flash eagerly opened the letter, a crisp new bill
fluttered to the floor. He picked it up and saw that it
represented twenty dollars. The letter was from
City Editor, Riley. Scattered phrases seized his eye:</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</div>
<p>“... Your train wreck pictures scooped the East....
shots of the Indianapolis races best we’ve run in
years.... Congratulations on the excellent work!
Accept this twenty dollars as a bonus, and have a
good time on your vacation.”</p>
<p>Flash pocketed the money and read the letter
twice. At least Riley appreciated his work even if
George Doyle didn’t! He was glad to know that all
his pictures had turned out well. A big load had been
lifted from his mind.</p>
<p>Leaving the post office, Flash glanced at his watch.
Two hours had elapsed since he had left the undeveloped
camera films at Mr. Dee’s photographic
studio. He wandered slowly about for a half hour
longer and then dropped into the establishment.</p>
<p>“Your pictures are ready,” the photographer said,
offering him the packet. “However, I’m afraid you’ll
not be very well pleased. Only two of the prints came
out well.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t expect much from them,” Flash replied.
“I hope you printed them all.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I did.”</p>
<p>Flash paid the bill, and took the prints over to a
window. Running rapidly through them he came to
the picture which Major Hartgrove had requested.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</div>
<p>There was nothing so very startling about it.
Major Hartgrove appeared as an unrecognizable,
shadowy figure, with his face half turned away from
the camera. But as Flash studied the scene carefully,
he distinguished the faint outline of another form—a
man slipping away into the darkness.</p>
<p>“I wonder if that might not have been the person
who ran when I called to him!” he reflected. “It
might be the same man who struck Major Hartgrove
and tried to rob him.”</p>
<p>By this time Flash no longer doubted that the
army man had been the object of an attack. What
the mysterious assailant had been after he could not
guess, unless the Major had carried valuable military
plans or other documents upon his person. Certainly
no ordinary thief had been responsible for the assault.</p>
<p>“I would think Povy might have had a hand in it,”
he mused, “only Povy was killed in the wreck. So
he’s out.”</p>
<p>To make certain no mistake had been made in the
records, Flash decided to investigate further the following
day. While very unlikely, there was still a
chance that Albert Povy’s name had been listed by
mistake.</p>
<p>“The Major won’t learn much from this picture,”
he thought. “But it’s no good to me. I’ll take it
around tomorrow just to keep him from breaking a
blood vessel.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</div>
<p>Rapidly he glanced at the remaining prints. The
pictures taken at the auto races were only moderately
good, and without news value.</p>
<p>With a shrug, he pocketed the envelope and returned
to the hotel where he dined and went to bed
early.</p>
<p>He did not hear Doyle come in, but when he awoke
in the morning, his roommate already was up and
dressed. The technician stood by the window, looking
over the prints which Flash carelessly had left
lying on the dresser.</p>
<p>“These aren’t such hot shots,” he commented, observing
that Flash was awake.</p>
<p>“Just some of my bad ones. I study them to learn
my mistakes.”</p>
<p>“Ambitious, aren’t you?” Doyle’s lip curled in
amusement. “This one of Rascomb is the best of the
lot.”</p>
<p>Flash rolled out of bed.</p>
<p>“Rascomb?” he questioned. “Who’s he?”</p>
<p>Peering over Doyle’s shoulder he saw that the man
was gazing at an auto-racing picture. It was a shot of
one of the drivers talking with a distinguished looking
individual in street clothing.</p>
<p>“That’s Rascomb,” identified Doyle, jabbing at the
figure with his thumb. “You see him at most of the
big sporting events.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</div>
<p>“Never even heard of him. But I thought there
was something familiar about his face! Still, I can’t
remember ever having seen him before the day of the
races.”</p>
<p>“Rascomb has plenty of dough,” Doyle remarked
enviously. “Swell car, a plane of his own, even his
own private landing field. He’s a good polo player
and has a hunting and fishing lodge up in the north
woods. The news lads always give him favorable
publicity, and he returns the favor with invitations to
his lodge.”</p>
<p>“Have you ever been there?” Flash inquired curiously.</p>
<p>“No, but the fellows who have gone tell me he’s a
wonderful host. Gives you everything.”</p>
<p>Flash dressed leisurely. As he combed his hair,
he saw through the mirror that Doyle was watching
him with a peculiar, speculative expression.</p>
<p>“Any plans for this morning, Flash?” he inquired
casually.</p>
<p>“None in particular. I thought I would go over
to the hospital. Would you like to come along?”</p>
<p>Doyle shook his head. He seemed relieved by
Flash’s answer.</p>
<p>“No, I’ll be tied up all morning. I want to check
over my sound equipment and get ready to roll when
my new assignment comes through. Tell Joe hello
for me.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</div>
<p>Flash ate breakfast and reached the hospital in
time for the ten o’clock visiting hours. The door of
Major Hartgrove’s room stood ajar. But the bed was
empty and attendants were stripping off the linen.</p>
<p>A nurse was passing in the hall. Flash stopped her
and inquired where he would find the Major.</p>
<p>“You are too late,” she replied. “Major Hartgrove
left the hospital early this morning.”</p>
<p>Flash went on to Joe Wells’ room. He had made
up his mind not to tell his friend of George Doyle’s
treachery. However, when Joe again urged him to
take the newsreel job for at least a month, he gave
the matter rather serious consideration.</p>
<p>“The only reason I might do it would be to protect
you, Joe,” he replied. “If I held the post until you
were up and around again, no one could steal it from
you.”</p>
<p>“Oh, that wouldn’t happen,” his friend responded
carelessly. “I have a good stand-in with the <i>News-Vue</i>
people.”</p>
<p>“Even so, you can’t tell what will happen these
days,” hinted Flash.</p>
<p>“Then will you take the job if I can land it for
you?”</p>
<p>“I’ll not promise yet, Joe. Tell you what I’ll do.
I’ll wire Riley and see what he says. I can’t afford
to jeopardize my own place on the <i>Ledger</i>, you know.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</div>
<p>The matter was allowed to rest. Leaving the hospital
before the visiting hours were over, Flash dispatched
the telegram, and then returned to the hotel.</p>
<p>As he passed through the lobby he was surprised to
see George Doyle sitting in a near-by chair, his back
turned. He was talking earnestly with an alert-eyed,
gray-haired man of forty.</p>
<p>Instantly it struck Flash that Doyle had wished to
have him away from the hotel at the time of an anticipated
interview. Impulsively, he crossed the
room, intending to test out his theory by speaking to
the technician.</p>
<p>Doyle did not see him approach. As Flash paused
just behind the upholstered chair, he arose and extended
his hand to the man who faced him.</p>
<p>“I’m glad you liked my work,” he said heartily.
“And I’m sorry about Evans. He’s given me to understand
he wouldn’t be interested in any proposition.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</div>
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