“No new assignment has come through. They expect to give us a day off now and then.”
Flash began to check through his suitcase to see what clothes he would need to buy. He had written his mother for additional shirts and underwear, but it would take days for a package to overtake him. The suit he had worn in his river plunge must be sent to the cleaners. Whether or not it ever could be worn again was problematical.
As he sorted garments, Flash came upon the envelope which contained photographic prints. He poured them out on the table, examining them one by one.
Reaching the last print, a peculiar expression crossed his face. “That’s queer,” he muttered.
He went through the stack a second time, taking care that two did not stick together. The picture he sought was not there.
His chair made a grating sound on the bare floor as he turned to face his roommate.
“Doyle,” he said quietly, “tell me the straight truth. Did you remove a picture of Herbert Rascomb from this envelope?”
George Doyle slammed the deck of cards together, tossing the box into a suitcase which lay open on the floor. He regarded Flash with an insolent, offended gaze.
“Now what would I want with any of your pictures?”
“I thought you might have looked at them while I was downstairs.”
“You thought!” Doyle mocked. “Why don’t you come right out and accuse me of being a sneak thief! Your personal effects are of no interest to me, little man! Not the slightest.”
“I’m not accusing you,” Flash replied quietly. “I was merely asking.”
“I didn’t mean to imply anything. But it still seems queer that the picture isn’t here.”
Doyle lighted a cigarette in his most deliberate manner and then asked:
“A snap I took of Rascomb at the races. The only good picture in the lot.”
“It was in the envelope yesterday when I showed the pictures to Captain Johns and Bailey Brooks.”
“Then maybe they took it,” Doyle suggested sarcastically. “Why don’t you get out search warrants?”
Flash allowed the matter to rest, yet he was not altogether convinced that his roommate knew nothing about the missing picture.
“Herb Rascomb may have asked him to get it from me,” he thought. “I made a mistake in talking too much today at the polo match.”
The telephone rang. Doyle leaped to his feet.