“The fellow Jerry and I chased down the alley was about my height,” Flash contributed thoughtfully. “He wore a dark suit and a floppy-brimmed hat. Not much to go on.”
“I’d know the man by his voice if ever I ran into him again,” declared Sam Davis. “He had an unusual way of pronouncing his words. Oh, yes, another thing! He began nearly every sentence with, ‘Listen, you!’”
“You’ll report to the police, of course?”
“Oh, sure!” The building owner shrugged. “But what good will it do? They’ve known for months that this sort of business was going on, but they can’t get evidence which will stand up. The gang is a big one and the higher-ups are too clever to be caught.”
“Mind if I take a picture or two?” Flash questioned abruptly.
“A picture? What for?”
“I’m Evans, a photographer for the Ledger,” Flash explained. “My paper may be able to use the story.”
“Go ahead. I’d like nothing better than to see this so-called North Brandale Insurance Company exposed. Take as many pictures as you like.”
“You’ll have to hurry,” added Jerry as he heard the wail of a fire siren from far down the street. “We’re going to have visitors.”
Flash seldom went anywhere without his miniature camera and a few extra flash bulbs tucked in his pocket. He was grateful now for the habit which made it possible to take advantage of a golden opportunity. He snapped two pictures of Sam Davis, one showing him trussed up, and another against a background of smoking ruins. As he finished, firemen clomped down the stairway.