“And for that reason I’m to let him crack me on the head—”
“You’re cracked now!” Wells interrupted with a trace of impatience. “Herm is an inefficient, simple old fellow, but he’s harmless. If you ask me, it’s not very sporting of you to try to throw the blame upon him. Better get a new theory.”
A wave of anger swept over Flash, but it was gone in an instant. In a way, Joe was giving him a warning it would be well to heed. He had forgotten how affectionately Old Herm was regarded by many of the employees of the Ledger. Any hints or direct accusations against the watchman would only serve to rally many loyal defenders.
“Some day I’ll learn to keep thoughts to myself,” he reflected grimly. “What I need is absolute proof!”
Flash knew of no way to gain evidence against the old man, and he had moments when he even doubted that the fellow was responsible for the loss of the arson picture.
“But if Herm didn’t do it, then it must be Fred Orris,” he reasoned. “Both of them had the opportunity.”
And then an idea came to Flash. In thinking over past events, it dawned upon him that always when he had encountered difficulties in the darkroom, he had been working on an important story. Evidently the person who plotted his undoing bided his time, waiting until he was in possession of an unusual picture.
“I’ll set up a camera trap in the darkroom!” he decided. “Then I’ll pass around the word that I have some remarkable shots! That should prove enticing bait for my victim!”
His mind made up, Flash only awaited a suitable opportunity for putting his plan into effect. Knowing that Fred Orris nearly always dropped into the office late Tuesday night after the theatre, he chose that evening to carry out his scheme.
Slipping into the office when it was deserted, Flash set up his camera in a corner of the darkroom, focusing it upon the drying machine. Two feet away he stretched a cord and fastened it to the camera trigger. The slightest pressure upon the cord would open the lens and set off the flash bulb.