Getting up abruptly from the telephone table, he went into the darkroom and closed the door. He distrusted the head photographer more than ever now. Orris hadn’t liked him from the day he had started work on the Ledger. While he had no proof that the man had destroyed his pictures, a suspicion took root in his mind. After this he would be more careful than ever, remaining constantly on the alert for treachery.
Thinking there was a possibility that the janitor knew something of the matter, Flash sought the man. He likewise questioned a scrub woman who cleaned the news room at night. As he fully expected, neither of them could throw any light upon the mystery. All the waste paper baskets had been emptied, and if ever the pictures had been consigned there, they were burned.
Later that morning, Flash was testing his camera, when Riley stepped into the office, a batch of prints in his hand.
“Anything wrong?” Fred Orris asked in alarm.
“Nothing in particular,” Riley replied. “I was wondering why we can’t have these pictures printed with a duller finish. Give ’em a softer tone.”
“But Mr. Riley, all the other editors want glossy prints.”
“Is there any reason why I can’t have a duller finish?”
“Well, yes, there is,” Orris responded in a conciliatory tone. “You see, the ferrotype machine only dries the prints one way—with a gloss.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to take them this way.” Riley shrugged and started to move off.
Flash, who had been listening to the conversation, stepped forward.