It was dark in the hotel room when Flash awakened to hear the telephone ringing. Struggling out of sleep, he reached to roll up the window shade. A few carts were creaking by on the street below. The sky was barely light.
Flash took the receiver from its hook. He was informed by the hotel operator that long distance was calling. As he relayed the message to Doyle, the latter leaped from bed and seized the instrument.
Doyle talked for several minutes and then hung up the receiver.
“Get dressed!” he said curtly. “We’re clearing out of here. And we haven’t much time.”
“We move again. Clewes says to let the Melveredge pictures slide. Arrangements can’t be made with the authorities.”
“Yeah. Not a bad one either. We’re to cover an International polo match at Excelsior City. We ought to be there not later than twelve-thirty.”
“It’s nearly six now. Excelsior City must be at least three hundred miles from here.”
“Nearer three twenty. It means fast stepping.”
Quickly they dressed and crammed their clothing into suitcases. There was no time for breakfast. A clock on the street chimed six-thirty as they pulled out of the drowsing city.
A fog hung low over the valley. Before the sound truck had covered many miles a fine, steady rain began to fall.
Strangely, Doyle offered no complaint about either the weather or the early morning call to duty. Flash stole a curious glance at him. The technician’s face was animated and he whistled a cheerful tune.
“This assignment seems to please you, Doyle.”
“What teams are playing? You haven’t told me anything about the set-up.”
“An American team against one from India headed by Rajah Mitra. Know anything about polo?”
“Herbert Rascomb will be playing on the American team.”
“He’s one of the best players in the country.”
“I never even heard of him until a few days ago.”
“Rascomb doesn’t like publicity. He goes into a rage if his picture is taken. The boys humor him, and he returns the favor by showing them a good time at his lodge.”
“Nothing of the sort. It’s only to show his appreciation. We could do with a day in the north woods, eh?”
Flash avoided answering the question. Instead he inquired:
“Why is Rascomb so against publicity? A pose?”
Doyle shrugged as he steered the sound truck into a filling station.