Chapter V: A Telling Shot

Chief of Police Hodgins let out a bellow of rage the next morning when his startled gaze rested upon the front page of the Oldham _Daily Bulletin_.

The editor of that belligerent sheet had eagerly availed himself of Hawley’s snapshots and the latter’s suggestion as to how to use them. Both negatives had turned out excellently, and, although there wasn’t a great deal of difference between the two poses, Carroll decided to use them both, so as to make as big a showing as possible. They appeared side by side at the top of the page, and above them, stretched across the full width of the page, was the heading which the Camera Chap had composed.

Beneath the cuts was an editorial from the pen of Fred Carroll, written in very short sentences, and with many words capitalized--a style of editorial which he had copied from the New York _Sentinel_. The first paragraphs were as follows:

“The above genuine snapshots tell their own story. They were taken
at police headquarters at two o’clock yesterday afternoon. They
show our chief of police in a thoroughly characteristic pose. A
brief study of these interesting, and genuine photographs will
enable the reader to understand why CRIMINALS regard Oldham as
their HAPPY HUNTING GROUND.

“Most police officials believe in keeping their eyes open and their
mouths closed while on duty. Our chief of police reverses that
old-fashioned policy. As these snapshots show, he does HIS police
duty with his eyes CLOSED and his mouth WIDE OPEN. Citizens and
property owners may not approve of this original policy, but, no
doubt, BURGLARS, STRONG-ARM MEN, and other CROOKS heartily indorse
it. Of course, they are thoroughly satisfied with our SOMNOLENT
chief of police.

“Night before last there was a daring burglary, committed in this
town. Bold thieves got away with plunder worth many thousand
dollars. We frankly confess that the _Bulletin_ is not, as yet, in
possession of the full details of that burglary. We tried to find
out about the crime, but were unsuccessful. When a _Bulletin_
representative called on Chief Hodgins, to ascertain the
particulars, he found him SNORING. The _Bulletin_ representative
was too polite to disturb the chief’s daylight slumbers, so,
instead of interviewing him, he took his picture. That could be
done without WAKING him. Besides, our representative thought that
the taxpayers of Oldham would find these snapshots much more
interesting and illuminating than a mere detailed account of the
burglary.”

There were several more paragraphs couched in the same strain. Chief Hodgins read it through to the very end. Then, in a paroxysm of fury, he tore the paper in small pieces, growling, as he did so, like a terrier worrying a rat.

“I’d give a whole lot to have that camera feller here right now,” he muttered. “Confound these fools for letting him get away! They’re a lot of boneheads!”

This criticism of his subordinates was scarcely just, in view of the fact that the chief himself had led the squad of police which laid in wait for Hawley outside the Bulletin Building with the intention of placing that young man under arrest as soon as he stepped out of the newspaper office. Not having a warrant, they had not dared to force their way into the editorial rooms, so the chief and his men had stationed themselves outside, confident that sooner or later the Camera Chap must come out and fall into their clutches.

But Carroll, suspecting this ambush, showed Hawley how to make his escape by means of a window at the rear of the building, and the Camera Chap was on his motor cycle, dashing up the steep road which led to his host’s mountain retreat, long before the police became aware of the fact that they had been outwitted.

Chief Hodgins was, of course, as much to blame as any of his men for this fiasco; but as it was some relief to his feelings to abuse his subordinates for their “gross carelessness,” he did not hesitate to do so. The chief’s bump of logic and his sense of fairness were so underdeveloped that they were almost minute quantities.

Just as he got through with his performance of savagely rending the offending copy of the _Bulletin_ into small pieces, the telephone on his desk rang. It was the voice of the mayor which came to him over the wire. The mayor’s name was Martin Henkle. He was a big, burly man, whose voice when he was angry was so gruff that in comparison Chief Hodgins’ manner of speech was sweetly melodious. By that token, his honor was exceedingly peeved now.

“Is that you, Hodgins?” he growled over the wire.

“Yes, Mr. Mayor,” was the meek reply.

The head of the police department had turned very pale. Mayor Henkle’s wife was his second cousin, but in spite of this relationship he stood in great fear of his honor.

“Huh! Seen this morning’s _Bulletin_ yet?” the latter inquired hoarsely.

“Yes, sir, I have,” replied the chief, glaring at the fragments of paper on the floor. “And of all the dastardly outrages that ever---”

“A fine spectacle you’ve made of yourself!” came the snarling interruption. “You big, fat-headed boob, I gave you credit for possessing a little more sense, or I’d never have appointed you. The whole town is laughing over those pictures. Everybody I met this morning on my way to the city hall was reading the _Bulletin_. You’ve made a laughingstock of my administration.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mayor,” said Hodgins humbly. “The fact is, that rascally photographer took an unfair advantage of me. I wasn’t really asleep, of course. I had--er--just closed my eyes for a minute, thinking out a scheme for catching those burglars--I always sit with my eyes closed, you know, when I’m thinking--and before I knew what was happening, that fellow sneaked in and took those snapshots.”

The chief had invented this explanation on the spur of the moment. It sounded so good to him that he was just congratulating himself upon his ingenuity when a snort of contempt from the other end of the wire filled him with consternation.

“That won’t do,” growled the mayor. “You’ll have to think up a better one than that, Hodgins, if you want to get away with it. Anybody with a grain of common sense can tell from those pictures that you were fast asleep. Men who think with their eyes closed don’t open their mouths, too. Besides, that fellow took two pictures. You must have been in a mighty sound sleep, or you’d have heard him come into the room and nabbed him before he had a chance to take the second.”

“Well, perhaps I dozed off a little, Mr. Mayor,” the disconcerted policeman admitted. “I’ll not deny it. You see, I hadn’t had much sleep the night before, and I haven’t been feeling very well lately. After all, I guess it ain’t such a terrible crime for a hard-working public official to take a short nap in his private office.”

“You should have locked your office door, you big, blundering baboon!” snarled the mayor. “I’m not kicking so much at your falling asleep at your desk as I am at your permitting the _Bulletin_ to catch you napping. The whole town is grinning at you, and, of course, I--being responsible for your appointment--have got to bear the brunt of it. I don’t mind being roasted, but I can’t stand being laughed at.

“And, what’s more, I don’t intend to stand for it!” the mayor went on, a menace in his tone. “I tell you, Hodgins, you’ve got to square yourself with the public regarding those pictures if you want to keep your job. I don’t see how you’re going to do it--there’s no denying the evidence of the camera--but unless you can swing public sentiment your way, I’ll be compelled to remove you from office. So you’d better get busy.”

The chief of police started to protest, but found himself addressing a “dead” wire. The mayor, after delivering this ultimatum, had abruptly disconnected.

For several minutes Chief Hodgins paced the floor of his private office, a scowl upon his round, fat face.

“Wish I had that Camera Chap here right now,” he muttered. “I’d twist his confounded neck. Square myself with the public! How am I going to do that?”

Then suddenly his face lighted up. “Guess I’ll go and have a talk with my friend Gale, of the _Chronicle_,” he mused. “He ought to be able to help me out of this trouble. When it comes to clever tricks, there ain’t an editor in the country is equal to that chap. Ten to one he’ll be able to dope out a way to turn the tables on that miserable rag of a _Bulletin_.”