Chapter XXV · BEFORE PRESS TIME.

Young Mr. Gale, with an exceedingly peevish expression upon his handsome countenance, dropped into police headquarters with the intention of having a little talk with his friend, Chief Hodgins.

He was greatly disappointed when the patrolman on guard at the head of the stairway told him that the chief was not in.

“He’s taking a day off,” the man explained. “He’s gone out of town, I believe; but we expect him back to-morrow morning. Can’t your business wait until then?”

“Hardly,” Gale replied. “The matter I wished to see him about requires immediate attention. Who’s in charge while he’s away?”

“Captain Callman. Would you like to see him? He’s in the chief’s office now.”

The captain greeted his visitor cordially when he heard that the latter was the son of the proprietor of the administration organ. Chronicle men were as welcome at police headquarters as Bulletin men were obnoxious.

The captain listened with great interest to what Gale told him, and a troubled expression came to his face.

“Do you know whose pictures they’ve got?” he inquired uneasily.

“I know a couple of them. There were six altogether, but I haven’t the slightest idea who the other four were. It was quite impossible to recognize the faces in the negatives.”

“Well, even if you couldn’t recognize the faces, it seems to me that you ought to have been able to distinguish the uniforms,” said Callman anxiously. “Didn’t happen to notice whether one of ’em was wearing a captain’s uniform, did you, young man?”

“Why, yes,” said Gale. “There was a captain among them. It was a very clear snapshot—the best of the lot. It was taken on Main Street—I could tell that by the buildings in the background. But I don’t know which captain it was. As I have said, it wasn’t possible to distinguish the faces on the films.”

“I think I know who it was, all right,” growled Callman. “I’ve got an idea that it was me. I’ve a hazy recollection that somebody took a flash-light picture of me on Main Street last night.”

“A hazy recollection?” Gale echoed, with an inquiring inflection.

The captain nodded gloomily. “Yes; I don’t remember much about it, but I’ve got a faint idea that the thing happened. You see, some of my friends gave me a little dinner as a token of their esteem last night, and—well, there must have been something wrong with the lobster salad, I guess. I had a fierce attack of—er—ptomaine poisoning, and when I left the festive board to go on duty I was pretty wabbly on my legs, and my head wasn’t very clear; but I’ve got just a dim recollection of a fellow standing in front of me with a camera, and of a flash light going off. I had clean forgotten all about it, but what you have told me has brought it back to me.”

“Gee!” exclaimed Gale sympathetically. “So one of those snapshots is of you, eh? That’s too bad, captain. But what are you going to do about it? Surely you don’t intend to let those stiffs publish your picture?”

Callman scowled. “Not if I can help it. But how can I stop ’em?”

“Well, if I were in your place I shouldn’t hesitate at anything,” said Gale. “If necessary, I’d march a squad of cops into the Bulletin office, and seize those films and the cuts made from them.”

Callman considered this suggestion for a few moments, then shook his head. “No, I don’t like that very much. It would be too high-handed a proceedin’. If it wasn’t a newspaper that we had to deal with, I might try it; but it’s dangerous to monkey with the liberty of the press. That’s one thing the people won’t stand for.”

“But those snapshots were taken in violation of the law—the new anticamera law,” argued Gale. “Surely that gives you the legal right to confiscate them.”

“No, it don’t,” said Callman regretfully. “I was talkin’ with the district attorney about that the other day, and he told me that while we can arrest a newspaper photographer for taking pictures without a license, we can’t stop the newspaper from publishing the pictures.

“Besides,” he added, “if I did as you suggest, it would probably get the mayor sore. He’s a little leery about this new camera law.”

Gale was somewhat discouraged, but suddenly he brightened up. “Well, here’s another suggestion, captain,” he said. “Why not try what bribery will do? The Bulletin’s photo-engraving plant is run by a fellow named Neilson. What’s the matter with sending somebody to see him, and offer him a good price to hand over the negatives and destroy the cuts?”

Callman nodded approvingly. “That sounds much better. But are you sure that the man can be bribed?”

“Pshaw! Every man has his price,” was the cynical reply. “And I don’t suppose this Neilson hates money more than most of us.”

“I’m not sure that it would work,” said Callman, “but it’s worth tryin’. How would you suggest goin’ about it? It’s a little dangerous, of course, but I’m willing to take a chance.”

“I don’t think there’d be the slightest danger, captain,” said Gale. “I’ve got a plan by which it could be worked with perfect safety.”

He proceeded to explain this plan to the acting head of Oldham’s police force, and that official thought very well of it, and decided to put it into effect immediately.

An hour later, a large, red-faced man named Rudolph Meyer, who kept a delicatessen store not far from police headquarters, and who was under certain obligations to Police Captain Callman, entered the Bulletin Building, and ascended the stairway leading to the photo-engraving plant.

At the top of the first flight he was intercepted by Miggsy. “Hey! Where d’yer suppose you’re going, mister?” the boy demanded.

“I want to go by der place where der cuts iss made,” Mr. Meyer explained. “I haff a little order for some advertising cuts which I wish to give.”

“Oh, some job work, eh?” said Miggsy. “All right; I’ll show you the way up to the plant.”

“You needn’t trouble, my boy,” said Mr. Meyer hastily. “I find it all right by meinself.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all, mister,” declared Miggsy, with a grin. “This way, please.”

Mr. Meyer did not appear to be tickled to death by this attention, but he followed the boy up the stairs without making any further protest.

Neilson was working on the police cuts when they entered the room. He looked up suspiciously at his visitors. Carroll had warned him to be strictly on his guard while the snapshots were in his possession.

“Here’s a gent who wants to do some business with you. Mr. Neilson,” Miggsy announced. And then, greatly to Meyer’s relief, the boy went downstairs, leaving him alone with the photo-engraver.

The visitor lost no time in getting down to business. There was no telling when the boy or somebody else might come into the room, and Mr. Meyer was exceedingly averse to saying what he had to say to Neilson in the presence of a third party. At no time in his life had he felt more inclined to indorse the old saying that “two is company, three is a crowd,” than at this minute.

“I want some cuts made,” he began. “I am getting out a leedle advertising circular for my wine and liquor business. Here iss one of the pictures which I wish made into a cut.”

He drew a small oblong of saffron-hued paper from his pocket, and held it before Neilson’s eyes.

“Why, that ban a fifty-dollar bill,” exclaimed Neilson in astonishment.

Mr. Meyer took from his pocket another slip of paper. “And here, mein friend, is another leedle picture which I wish made into a cut,” he announced.

The engraver’s eyes opened wider. “That ban a hundred-dollar bill!” he exclaimed.

“Nefer mind what they are, mein friend,” said Meyer. “I want them both made into cuts for mein leedle advertising circular. You can do it—yes?”

“Sure,” Neilson replied. “Why not? When must the cuts be ready?”

“Oh, there’s no hurry. Keep these leedle pictures for as long as you like.” Mr. Meyer put his head closer to the engraver’s, and lowered his voice. “In fact, mein friend, you can keep them forever—if you will do me a leedle favor.”

Neilson’s eyes glistened hungrily. “What’s the favor?” he demanded eagerly. “I ban willing to do whole lot of favors for a hundred and fifty dollars.”

In a tense whisper, Mr. Meyer explained how the money was to be earned. The Bulletin’s photo-engraver did not appear to be horrified or indignant.

“Oil right,” he said phlegmatically; “I do it. I ban sick of this here yob, anyway. Give me the hundred and fifty dollars. It ban look good to me.”

He held out his hand, and, as the yellowbacks came in contact with his long, slim fingers, his ears caught a faint, clicking sound, which came from a large canvas screen at the other end of the room.

Then there was a chuckle, and a voice cried exultantly: “All right, Ole; we’ve got it!”

Mr. Meyer glanced uneasily toward the screen. From behind that piece of furniture stepped two young men. One of them had a camera in his hand.

“What’ll I do with this here dirty money, Mr. Carroll?” inquired Neilson, his usually stolid countenance animated by a broad grin.

“Give it back to the gentleman, Ole,” Carroll chuckled. “He may need it to buy Bulletins with to-morrow morning. I’ve no doubt he’ll want a whole lot of copies, inasmuch as his portrait is going to occupy such a prominent position in the paper.”

TO BE CONTINUED.