“I’m not so sure. I figure there’s a string attached somewhere.”
“A string? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know myself,” Flash admitted. “I’ll be frank and say Rascomb has me puzzled.”
Driving back to Excelsior City, the newsreel men located themselves at the Parker Hotel. Not wishing to be far from a telephone, Doyle insisted upon dining in the building. Later he returned to his room. Flash remained in the lobby reading a newspaper until after nine o’clock.
Entering the bedroom, he found Doyle gloomily playing a game of solitaire.
“Your telephone call didn’t come through?” Flash asked.
“No! Rascomb must have been handing me a line! It’s enough to make a fellow sick!”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get the invitation, George,” Flash said sincerely. “Still, I don’t see how you could have made the trip. We’re supposed to be working for News-Vue.”
“No new assignment has come through. They expect to give us a day off now and then.”
Flash began to check through his suitcase to see what clothes he would need to buy. He had written his mother for additional shirts and underwear, but it would take days for a package to overtake him. The suit he had worn in his river plunge must be sent to the cleaners. Whether or not it ever could be worn again was problematical.