As he went hurriedly through the news room again, the alarm instrument sounded once more. Clang! Clang! Clang! followed by a space and ten quick taps.
“Get going, Evans!” shouted Dewey. “That’s a three-alarm!”
Clutching his camera, Flash bolted out the door. A three-alarm fire meant a front page story and a chance at front page pictures! This was his big opportunity to redeem himself for the Gezzy-Brady mistake. But he wouldn’t have long to work alone. Forrest and Ralston soon would be on the job.
As he reached the street he could see smoke rising in black clouds only a few blocks away. A bright red fire truck, brasswork gleaming, bell clanging, roared past.
Flash ran to the corner and signaled a man in a black coupe.
“Take me to the fire?” he shouted.
“Sure,” the man grinned, opening the door. “Hop in.”
Flash swung into the car, and they raced off in the wake of the thundering engine.
CHAPTER V
THREE ALARM FIRE
By the time the automobile reached Fulton street, Flash could see shooting flames. The entire southern sky had taken on a bright crimson glow, and a high wind, blowing from the direction of the waterfront, carried acrid fumes and smoke.