“For some reason, Rascomb especially wants you. And it will be a wonderful opportunity for us to get some unusual newsreel shots.”
“Of what?” Flash asked, showing faint interest.
“Rascomb has invited Rajah Mitra as one of his guests. If we can get him togged up in full dress regalia he ought to be worth fifty feet at least!”
“Maybe,” Flash conceded.
“We might get some good nature pixs while we’re there,” Doyle went on eagerly. “It’s wild around Clear Lake. How about it?”
Flash had no time to consider. While he was reluctant to accept Rascomb’s hospitality, he did have a curiosity to see him again, if only to ask about Albert Povy.
“All right, I’ll go,” he decided.
Doyle relayed the message to Rascomb and hung up the receiver.
“Rascomb and his guests are motoring out to the lodge tonight,” he explained. “We leave in the morning. Rascomb says it will be a slow trip over dirt roads so we ought to get a fairly early start.”
Flash nodded and began to prepare for bed. Long after Doyle had gone to sleep, he lay in the darkened room, staring at a patch of electric light which shone through the window. There were a number of things which puzzled him. Why had Rascomb insisted upon including him in the invitation? He felt satisfied the sportsman had not liked him particularly.