Wells did not speak until the two had been let off at the third floor.
“I know what you’re thinking, Flash,” he said. “But you have Orris all wrong. He’s surly, and there’s no denying he’s been unpleasant to you, but he’s not the type to hit a man with a blackjack or steal films!”
“Did I accuse him?” countered Flash.
“No, not in words.”
“Let’s skip it, then. The pictures are gone, and that’s all that counts. I’ll have some fancy explaining to do, especially to the police.”
Flash was irritated because his friend deliberately had withheld information from him. But he felt duly grateful when Wells went with him to the night editor, supporting his story as to what had happened in the darkroom.
The ordeal, while embarrassing, was not as hard a one as he had anticipated. Although disappointment over the loss of the picture was keen, Wells’ theory that Flash had been attacked by a member of the arson ring, received credence. And he could not be blamed for having fallen down upon an assignment since the work had been extra.
It was not so easy to explain to the police officer who came later for the promised picture. Flash was given to understand that he had thwarted justice, and that the policeman who had permitted him to keep the film very likely would be reprimanded. He was asked a number of sharp questions. At first, the officer seemed rather suspicious, and after that, plainly disgusted.
“Your picture would have been of great value to us,” he told Flash curtly. “Both of the men escaped.”
“How about the man you did capture? Won’t he talk?”