A boy conducted him up two flights of stairs, through a dingy hallway. He knocked and opened the door of Room 42. Flash stepped inside.
At the writing desk sat George Doyle. They stared at each other.
“I seem to be your new roommate,” said Flash at last. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, of course not. Come on in.” Doyle spoke with an attempt at friendliness. “Wait, I’ll take my junk off the bed.”
He arose and carried an armload of garments into a near-by closet.
The bellboy opened a window. An unexpected gust of wind carried a sheet of paper from the writing desk. Flash stooped to pick it up. A name caught and held his attention. It was his own.
Without meaning to read what Doyle had written, he saw the entire paragraph at a glance:
“... rid of that pest, Evans at last. If you put in your application without delay, you should get Wells’ job, and hold it permanently.”
CHAPTER VIII
DISTRUST
Without reading further, Flash replaced the letter on the desk. Scarcely had he moved away, when George Doyle stepped from the clothes closet. He glanced sharply at the young photographer, but Flash’s face gave no indication that anything was wrong.