Presently the taxi pulled up in front of the Globe building. Flash leaped out, and paying the extra fare he had promised, hurried inside. Although the trip from the airport had been made in record time, he was afraid he had arrived too late.
He pressed his finger on the elevator button and held it there until the cage descended.
“What’s the big idea?” demanded the elevator man indignantly. “I can’t hurry no faster.”
“Has Luke Frowein been here in the past fifteen minutes?”
“No, he ain’t,” the man snapped. “Anyway, he usually comes in the other door.”
Flash ran around to the rear entrance of the building. As he turned the corner, a battered press car wheeled into the loading dock and stopped with a lurch. Luke Frowein climbed down. With a friendly wave of his hand at a trucker who was loading papers, he proceeded toward the rear entrance.
Flash had stepped inside the deserted vestibule beyond view. He waited.
Whistling a cheerful tune, Luke Frowein entered the building. He quickly broke off as he observed the young photographer.
“That was a dirty trick you tried to play on me!” accused Flash. “Give me my pictures!”
“Your pictures?” repeated Frowein mockingly. “Don’t know what you’re prattling about, son.”