Throughout the day, the young photographer was rather preoccupied. Fortunately, his assignments were of a routine nature, requiring no special thought or effort. He was glad when four o’clock came.
Flash went home for dinner, but immediately afterwards he gathered up a stack of books to return to the public library. Leaving them there, he then was free to carry out his plan.
Eight o’clock found him at Old Herm’s rooming place. Without ringing the bell, he entered the front hall. Scanning the mail boxes he saw that the watchman occupied suite 15.
Moving noiselessly up the dark stairway, Flash located the number on the second floor. He listened a moment and tested the door. It was locked as he had anticipated. However, he was fully prepared, having provided himself with a skeleton key.
The lock was of the common type. Flash gained entrance without difficulty and took the precaution of re-fastening the door. He switched on a light.
A hasty glance about revealed a dirty, untidy two-room apartment. Old Herm had not bothered to make his bed after rolling out of it. Nor had he washed the pile of dishes in the sink.
Flash moved quickly to the window, lowering a shade which was half way up. While he knew the watchman would be at work, he did not care to attract the attention of any other person in the building.
Turning around once more, his gaze focused upon a picture of a young man. It stood on the center table, mounted in an expensive gold frame. Beneath it, lay a white carnation.
“That must be a picture of Dick Ronne,” thought Flash. “Poor old Herm!”
His conscience gave him a twinge. Perhaps he was unjust and overly suspicious to entertain distrustful thoughts. The watchman couldn’t help being queer. Probably his son’s death had made him that way.