Behind him, a board creaked. Every muscle taut, Flash whirled to see a dark figure looming in the doorway.
“Who is it?” he demanded sharply. “That you, Wells?”
There was no answer, but the man lunged at him. Flash threw up his hands to ward off the blow. He acted an instant too late. A heavy, blunt object crashed down on his head.
With a low moan of pain he sagged to the floor and knew no more.
CHAPTER XVIII
SUSPICION
Flash opened his eyes to the glare of an unshaded electric light. Someone was sponging his head with a damp cloth. Struggling to a sitting posture, he brushed the back of his hand against his throbbing head.
“My pictures!”
“Take it easy,” cautioned a quiet voice.
The whirling room righted itself before his eyes, and Flash saw Joe Wells kneeling on the floor beside him. He was still in the darkroom but the overhead light had been turned on.
“What hit me?” he mumbled. “It wasn’t you, Joe?”