“I’m glad you dropped around,” he declared heartily. “You and your friend ran away the other night before I had an opportunity to thank you for saving both my life and my store.”
“You did have a rather narrow escape,” Flash acknowledged. “Has anything new happened around here since then?”
“I haven’t had any more trouble if that’s what you mean. I figure whoever set the fire assumes the store is being watched by the police.”
“And is that the case?”
The furniture store owner crumpled an advertising circular and tossed it into the waste paper basket.
“No, I asked for a special guard, but they said they couldn’t give it to me. The police force is undermanned and the commissioner lacks the courage to fight the rackets. Either that, or he’s tied up with them!”
“I suppose it’s not easy for the police to get evidence,” remarked Flash. “Most store owners who are approached probably pay the tribute and keep quiet.”
“Sure,” agreed Sam Davis. “They reason that the police can’t really give them any protection. It’s cheaper to pay a few dollars a week than to have your store wrecked, as I very well know! Nearly always, the only fellows caught are the agents for higher-ups.”
“And the store owners are afraid to testify against them for fear of getting rough treatment later on.”
“That’s it,” Davis nodded grimly. “Why, I know a half dozen men who have taken out insurance with this North Brandale Company rather than risk having their buildings fired.”