Already the traffic light had changed from red to green. The automobile and the sound truck started to move slowly ahead. Flash knew that if he were to learn the destination of Bailey Brooks and the newsreel men, not a moment must be lost.
“Listen,” he said crisply to his friend. “Telephone the Ledger office for me, will you? Tell Riley I’m after a hot picture!”
Without waiting for Jerry’s reply, he signaled a taxi, leaping on the running board as it slowed down.
“Follow that green sound truck!”
The chase led through the business section of Brandale into open country. There the car and sound truck chose a road which wound along the ocean. Some twelve miles from the city, they both drew up at the base of a high cliff overlooking the beach.
“Wait for me,” Flash instructed the driver.
As he stepped from the cab, he saw that his hunch had been right. Bailey Brooks was unloading parachute equipment from his automobile.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Brooks,” he greeted the aviator. “Are you making a jump from the cliff?”
“You’ve guessed it,” the man grinned. “What paper do you represent?”
“The Ledger. Mind if I take a few pictures?”