“Dick Ronne’s father? No, nor the boy either. But why are you so interested, Jimmy?”
“Well, I thought Old Herm Ronne might have been the boy’s father. He had a son by that name who died, and he knew Dad.”
“Dear me,” murmured Mrs. Evans, frowning. “And the old fellow works in your building?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Flash said quickly. “He’s always been very friendly. I rarely ever see him.”
Dismissing the subject, he locked the remaining doors for his mother, and followed her up the stairway.
“I want to get up early in the morning,” he said carelessly. “If my alarm doesn’t go off at five be sure to wake me.”
“Five!” his mother gasped. “My, but you are ambitious!”
Flash did not tell her what he had in mind. He had decided to try to learn more about Old Herm, his habits, and where he lived. If his plan came to nothing, no one need ever know that he had regarded the watchman with suspicion.
Even before the alarm went off at five o’clock, Flash was awake. He dressed quietly, and brewing himself a strong cup of coffee, caught a bus going downtown.
Timing himself, he drew near the rear entrance of the Ledger building at exactly six o’clock, the hour Old Herm went off duty. He stepped into the loading dock where Jeff, a colored boy, was polishing a car.