“To find myself a bed,” Flash answered. “Then tomorrow I may go back to Columbia. I want to see how Joe is doing.”
“Oh, yes,” Doyle murmured, frowning. “I’ll have to drive over there myself tomorrow. Want to ride along?”
Flash hesitated. The matter of car fare was an item to be considered. Doyle certainly owed him free transportation if nothing more.
“Thanks,” he accepted. “I’ll be glad to ride along.”
But later, alone in his hotel room, he regretted the decision. He did not like George Doyle. And the technician had no use for him. The journey at best would be an unpleasant one.
Flash picked up a newspaper which he had bought on the street. The headlines were devoted to the auto races and the two deaths which had occurred. Already the train wreck story was old, buried on page two. However, a revised and final list of the known casualties had been reprinted. Again Albert Povy’s name appeared.
“I’m sure that fellow was on the train to shadow Major Hartgrove,” he mused. “But now—well, it doesn’t matter. The mystery, if any, has been blacked out by death.”
CHAPTER VI
MAJOR HARTGROVE’S VISITOR
The long journey to Columbia proved less disagreeable than Flash had anticipated. For the most part, George Doyle attended strictly to his driving. True, he bemoaned the hard life of a newspaper cameraman, the ingratitude of his superiors. But by this time Flash had learned to expect a steady stream of complaint.
Reaching Columbia, they drove at once to the city hospital. Although the building still was overcrowded with patients, Joe Wells had been assigned to a private room.