Old Herm was forgotten. Amazed at the change which had come over the head photographer, Flash rushed for a telephone. Tersely he informed the desk sergeant at police headquarters that the long missing picture had been located.
“We’ll have a man right over there,” he was promised.
Flash hastened back to the photography department. The door of the darkroom was closed, but in a moment it opened, and Fred Orris stepped out. He offered a print for the younger photographer to see.
“It’s a perfect picture,” he praised. “Look how those faces stand out. Ever see those fellows before, Flash?”
“Only at the time I snapped the picture.”
“This one on the left looks mighty familiar to me, but I can’t seem to place him.”
“That’s the man spoken of by the others as ‘H. J.’ He’s supposed to be the brains of the arson ring.”
“I know I’ve seen his picture before,” Orris repeated. “But where?”
As he was staring at the print, two men strode into the department. Flash recognized them as plainclothesmen from headquarters, Burnett and Kimball.
“Let’s have a look at that picture,” said Burnett.