“Not yet. But we will. He hasn’t a chance against six men.”
“Where’s Fleur?”
“Over by the hangar. He’s out cold. How are you feeling now?”
“Shaken up,” Doyle answered, “but I’ll be all right as soon as I collect my wits. Too bad we didn’t get a picture of that crash. It was a beauty!”
The technician’s words reminded Flash of his automatic newsreel camera which had been carried in the rear of the automobile. He groaned at the thought.
“What’s the matter, Flash?” Doyle asked in surprise.
“My camera! It’s probably ground to powder!”
“Maybe not. I packed it carefully in the case.”
Darting back to the car, Flash began to burrow in the wreckage. He pulled out the cases of equipment and eagerly examined them. So far as he could tell the camera was not damaged, but only thrown out of adjustment.
“I may as well waste some film just for the fun of it,” he said to Doyle with a grin.