<h2 id="c10"><span class="h2line1">CHAPTER X</span> <br/><span class="h2line2"><i>CHECKING FACTS</i></span></h2>
<p>With fifteen minutes to spare, Flash made a
quick trip to the railroad station. His next
errand was anything but to his liking. Yet he was unwilling
to leave Columbia without verifying a certain
fact.</p>
<p>He found the station agent in his little office behind
the ticket window.</p>
<p>“What may I do for you, sir?” the man questioned.</p>
<p>Introducing himself as a representative of the
<i>Brandale Ledger</i>, Flash added that he was checking
upon the death of a man reported killed in the streamliner
crash.</p>
<p>“Sorry I can’t help you on that,” replied the agent.
“It’s against orders to give out information about the
accident. You’ll have to see some other person.”</p>
<p>Flash was persistent. He explained that any information
obtained would not be published in a newspaper.</p>
<p>“I’m trying to learn about a man named Albert
Povy.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</div>
<p>“I guess I can tell you about him,” the agent conceded.
“He was among the victims.”</p>
<p>“The body was shipped from here?”</p>
<p>“It was.”</p>
<p>“To relatives?”</p>
<p>“Couldn’t tell you as to that. The body was
claimed by a man named Rascomb. Herbert Rascomb.”</p>
<p>Flash was startled by the name. He wondered if
it could be the same man George Doyle had been telling
him about. But that scarcely seemed possible.</p>
<p>“And where was the casket sent?” he asked after
a moment. “That is, what city?”</p>
<p>“To a place called Clear Lake.”</p>
<p>Flash thanked the agent for the information and
left the station. He was ten minutes late in reaching
the parking lot. Doyle was waiting in the sound
truck, appearing none too pleased at the delay.</p>
<p>They drove out of town with Doyle at the wheel.
The truck made good speed. For a time neither of
them spoke.</p>
<p>“Oh, by the way,” Doyle said at length, “what sort
of salary did Clewes give you?”</p>
<p>“Somewhat less than Joe was getting,” Flash answered
vaguely. “More than I’ll earn probably.”</p>
<p>“You’ll be getting a double salary while you’re on
vacation, won’t you?” Doyle could not hide his envy.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</div>
<p>“Yes, but it won’t last long.”</p>
<p>Flash decided to ask a few questions himself. A
little later he introduced the subject of the sportsman,
Rascomb, asking Doyle the man’s first name.</p>
<p>“Herbert. Herb Rascomb.”</p>
<p>“And where is his lodge located? What town is it
near?”</p>
<p>“Couldn’t tell you exactly,” responded Doyle. “I
understand it’s not far from where we’re heading—Melveredge
Field. But why this sudden interest in
Rascomb?”</p>
<p>“Merely curious, that’s all. What sort of reputation
does he have?”</p>
<p>“Reputation? Oh, he steps around in fast company,
if that’s what you mean. He has a lot of foreign
friends.”</p>
<p>“Was he ever mixed up in trouble with the government
or anything of the sort?”</p>
<p>“Rascomb? Say, that fellow is in the blue book.
The only thing he’s interested in is having a good
time. If he did get into trouble he could buy himself
out.”</p>
<p>Again Flash fell silent, for he saw that Doyle had
grown irritated by his questions. It struck him as an
interesting fact that Rascomb had been connected
with Albert Povy, a man of dubious reputation.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</div>
<p>Actually there was no good reason why the pair
should not have been friends. With a large circle of
acquaintances, Rascomb could have met Povy in his
travels about the country and, learning that the man
was without relatives, might have claimed the body
out of kindness. In any case, it was none of his affair.
He never expected to see Rascomb again.</p>
<p>Throughout the day the sound truck rumbled
steadily eastward, making only brief stops for oil and
gas. Twice Flash offered to relieve Doyle at the
wheel, and both times was turned down.</p>
<p>Toward dusk they pulled into a busy little city of
some fifty thousand population. They had reached
their destination. Melveredge Field was located
close by.</p>
<p>Doyle glanced at his watch.</p>
<p>“Ten after five,” he announced. “Too late to do
anything tonight. We’ll find the Clarinda Hotel and
call it a day.”</p>
<p>Flash nodded. Doyle never bothered to consult
his wishes. He quickly had learned that the easiest
way to get along with the technician was to have no
opinions of his own. So far any differences they might
have had were trivial. But clashes were certain to
come later.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</div>
<p>Flash had been relieved to learn that <i>News-Vue</i>
paid all traveling expenses. The arrangement, however,
had one distinct drawback. He and Doyle were
expected to share the same room.</p>
<p>“We see too much of each other as it is,” thought
Flash. “Before the end of a month we won’t be on
speaking terms.”</p>
<p>They registered at the Clarinda Hotel and inquired
for mail. There was none. The anticipated orders
from the <i>News-Vue</i> Company had not yet arrived.</p>
<p>The newsreel men both were tired and dirty from
their long journey.</p>
<p>“Me for the tub,” Doyle announced.</p>
<p>Slamming the bathroom door behind him, he started
the water running, and remained soaking for nearly
an hour. Flash became irritated at the long delay.</p>
<p>“Say, have you gone to bed in there?” he called at
last. “You’re not the only dirty pebble on the
beach!”</p>
<p>Doyle did not answer, nor would he hurry. He
took another half hour to dress. Finally be unlocked
the door and sauntered out.</p>
<p>“What’s all the shouting about, Flash?”</p>
<p>“You’ve been in there exactly an hour and a half!”</p>
<p>“Well, it’s all yours now,” Doyle shrugged. “Such
impatience! Dear! Dear!”</p>
<p>Flash glanced at the tub. It was rimmed with dirt.
Every bath towel had been used.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</div>
<p>“Say, you lug—” he began.</p>
<p>An outside door slammed. The culprit had gone.</p>
<p>Ringing for more towels, Flash cleaned the tub
and hastened through his own bath.</p>
<p>“I’ll get even with him tomorrow,” he thought.
“We’ll see how he likes it when the joke is on him.”</p>
<p>It was after seven o’clock when Flash finally left
the hotel in search of a restaurant. He sauntered
along, pausing to read menus printed on the plate
glass windows. Suddenly he felt a hand touch his
shoulder.</p>
<p>Flash whirled around. For a moment he did not
recognize the smiling young man who stood there.
Then he gave a pleased cry:</p>
<p>“Bailey Brooks! What are you doing out this
way?”</p>
<p>“Oh, prowling around,” the parachute jumper replied.
“Had your dinner?”</p>
<p>“Not yet.”</p>
<p>“Then let’s go inside. I’m meeting a man, but he’s
not due to show up for fifteen minutes.”</p>
<p>Flash felt flattered that Bailey Brooks had remembered
him. He was even more pleased when the
parachute jumper praised him for the pictures he had
taken at Brandale.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</div>
<p>“All the publicity helped,” Brooks declared warmly.
“Since the parachute test proved successful, several
concerns have been after me. I’ve not had a definite
offer yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”</p>
<p>The two young men entered the restaurant and
selected a table not far from the door. Flash hesitated,
and then said:</p>
<p>“Too bad about Povy.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” The smile faded from Brooks’ face. “He
was interested in my invention. Offered me a good
price for it, too. But probably it’s just as well the
deal didn’t go through.”</p>
<p>“Why do you say that?”</p>
<p>“You know who Povy was, don’t you?”</p>
<p>“I’ve heard rumors.”</p>
<p>“He was mixed up with a spy ring years ago and
probably was doing espionage work at the time of his
death. That was the main reason I held off about
selling him the parachute. I liked Povy personally
but I never trusted him.”</p>
<p>“I wonder what government employed him?”</p>
<p>“I never learned. Povy was very cautious in his
dealings. He revealed nothing about himself. All
he ever told me was that he represented a firm which
would pay well for my invention, providing the tests
were successful.”</p>
<p>A waitress came to take orders and Flash gave his.
Bailey Brooks said that he would wait for a man with
whom he had a dinner appointment.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</div>
<p>“You say several other persons are after your invention
now?”</p>
<p>“Several is an exaggeration,” Brooks admitted with
a grin. “One private party and the United States
Army.”</p>
<p>“So that’s why you’re here!”</p>
<p>Brooks nodded. “The ’chute is to be given exhaustive
tests out at Melveredge Field. If it comes
through okay, I’ll be sitting pretty.”</p>
<p>“When will the tests be made?”</p>
<p>“All week. There’s an endless amount of red tape.”</p>
<p>“I’m with the <i>News-Vue</i> people now,” Flash explained
abruptly. “Any chance to get some shots of
the tests?”</p>
<p>“Not a glimmer. Melveredge Field is closed tighter
than a drum these days. I doubt if they’ll even allow
you near the place with a newsreel camera.”</p>
<p>Flash mentioned the chain of events which had led
him to spend his vacation working for the <i>News-Vue</i>
Company. The parachute jumper immediately recalled
Joe Wells and expressed regret over his accident.</p>
<p>“While I was in Columbia I inquired about Albert
Povy,” Flash presently remarked. “You know, I
thought there might have been some mistake about
his death.”</p>
<p>“There wasn’t?”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</div>
<p>“No. His body was shipped to a place called Clear
Lake.”</p>
<p>“That town isn’t so far from here,” Brooks said
thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of it.”</p>
<p>“Povy’s body was claimed by a man named Herbert
Rascomb. A well known sportsman and—”</p>
<p>Bailey Brooks had been toying with a silver knife.
It slid from his hand, making a clatter as it struck the
floor.</p>
<p>“Rascomb?” he asked in a strange voice. “Did you
say Rascomb?”</p>
<p>Flash could see that the information had startled
the parachute jumper. But before he could explain
further or ask a question, the door of the café swung
open.</p>
<p>A dapper man in army uniform strode across the
room directly toward the pair at the table.</p>
<p>“Ah, here is my host now,” murmured Bailey
Brooks.</p>
<p>Flash turned his head. The man who approached
was Captain Ernest Johns.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</div>
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