"Was there anyone else about, anyone but Mr. Shirley?"
"No. I—I remember I wondered about the vault man."
"What was Mr. Shirley down there for, Miss Loring?"
"He"—she hesitated—"he said he had seen some one hanging around and—and he didn't want to report anything until he was sure. He—he thought he could accomplish more by himself, although I told him he was—was wrong."
"Whom did he see hanging around?"
"He wouldn't tell me."
Shirley was too weak to question and the girl too unstrung to stand further interrogation. In response to Manton's call several people came up and willingly helped the two toward the comfort of their dressing rooms.
At the fire chief's suggestion the stream of water into the basement was cut off. Manton led the way, choking, eyes watering, to the front of the vaults. Feverishly he felt the steel doors and the walls. There was no mistaking the conclusion. The negative vault was hot, the others cold.
"The devil!" Manton exclaimed. A deep poignancy in his voice made the expression childishly inadequate. "Why couldn't it have been the prints!" Suddenly he began to sob. "That's the finish. Not one of our subjects can ever be worked again. It's a loss of half a million dollars."
"If you have positives," Kennedy asked, "can't you make new negatives?"