The game over, Doyle seemed in no haste to leave the club grounds.
“I’ll be back in a little while,” he said vaguely, and wandered down to the stables where Rascomb last had been seen.
Presently Flash saw the pair disappear into the clubhouse together. He settled himself in the truck for a long wait.
“Doyle is breaking his neck to make a good impression on that fellow,” he thought. “Oh, well, it’s none of my affair.”
He was half tempted to follow Doyle into the clubhouse. While he had no desire to seek Rascomb’s favor, he would enjoy driving the sportsman into a corner with another question about Albert Povy.
A half hour elapsed before Doyle returned to the truck. He was in high spirits.
“Rascomb and I had a long talk together,” he declared enthusiastically. “I think I’ve swung it!”
Doyle nodded as he guided the sound truck down the winding road to the main highway.
“He’s been thinking of getting up a week-end party out at his place. If he does he’ll telephone us tonight at the Parker Hotel.”
“Rascomb isn’t a fellow to hold a grudge. You were short with him but he’s overlooking it.”
“He was interested in you,” Doyle admitted. “Asked a lot of questions.”
“Oh, nothing out of the way. Just who you were, where you came from, and what sort of fellow you were. If the invitation comes through, we’ll both be included.”
“It was decent of you to put in a good word for me,” Flash said. “Nevertheless, I don’t think I’ll be interested.”
“Then you’re a sap! Rascomb would show us a wonderful time. And it wouldn’t cost us a penny.”
“I’m not so sure. I figure there’s a string attached somewhere.”
“I don’t know myself,” Flash admitted. “I’ll be frank and say Rascomb has me puzzled.”
Driving back to Excelsior City, the newsreel men located themselves at the Parker Hotel. Not wishing to be far from a telephone, Doyle insisted upon dining in the building. Later he returned to his room. Flash remained in the lobby reading a newspaper until after nine o’clock.
Entering the bedroom, he found Doyle gloomily playing a game of solitaire.
“Your telephone call didn’t come through?” Flash asked.
“No! Rascomb must have been handing me a line! It’s enough to make a fellow sick!”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get the invitation, George,” Flash said sincerely. “Still, I don’t see how you could have made the trip. We’re supposed to be working for _News-Vue_.”