“You’re mistaken there. He’s been using clever make-up to keep it covered. Now will you go with me to the police station?”
“I still think you’re mixed up somehow,” Doyle protested. “I hate to get involved in this mess. Rascomb isn’t the man to take an accusation sitting down.”
“Then I’ll go to the police alone,” Flash said shortly. “It won’t take me long to make my report. As soon as I’m through we’ll start for Clinton.”
“We can’t get out of here until the truck is repaired.”
“Why not hire a car? We could take the hand camera, get our strike pictures, and come back here later for the truck.”
“We could do that,” Doyle agreed. “Do you feel equal to the trip?”
Flash shook his head impatiently. “No, but I’ll keep going somehow.”
He changed his clothes and hastily packed his belongings in a suitcase. Doyle watched him with a troubled gaze.
“Flash, you look bad,” he said after a moment. “Let me call a doctor.”
“We haven’t time. I’m on my way to the police station now. You might see if you can locate a car while I’m gone.”