James shrugged. “Probably. Or a still-burning match. People are so danged careless. Wonder it doesn’t happen oftener, the way they toss stuff around.”
Sandy, bending over the wastebasket, sniffed curiously. “Smell this thing, Chief,” he said. “Maybe it’s my imagination.”
“What are you imagining?” But James bent over the basket and took a deep breath. Then he looked up with the same puzzlement that Sandy showed.
“All right, masterminds,” Ken said. “What gives?”
“Film,” Sandy said. “Or at least that’s what it smells like. But why would there be film in Sam’s basket?”
“That’s a good question,” James said. “Let’s go ask Sam if he’s got the answer.” But before they went inside the shop he called one of his men over and instructed him to take the wastebasket to the firehouse and examine it carefully.
There were fewer customers inside the store than there had been earlier, but otherwise it looked very much as it had earlier that morning. Sam Morris, wearing a smoky streak down one cheek, came forward to speak to them.
“Sorry about all the excitement, Chief,” he said. “Your box is repaired,” he added to the boys.
“Gosh!” Ken said. “I’d forgotten all about it.”
“Would there have been any film in that wastebasket, Sam?” James asked.