“We won’t tell them about it until we have some more proof,” Ken assured him.
“More proof?” Sandy emphasized the first word.
“Sure.” Ken ignored the skepticism in his voice. “I think we’ve already got some. And if somebody makes another attempt to break into the house tonight—”
“Huh? Nice cheerful thoughts you have.” Sandy scooped up a handful of snow and packed it thoughtfully between his gloved hands. “But maybe you’re right. At least you may be near enough right so that we ought to put the chains on both doors tonight.” Sandy hurled his snowball at a hydrant and hit it squarely.
“Why?”
“Why?” Sandy repeated blankly. “Because you just told me somebody might be planning to try to get in.”
“Exactly. And if the attempt fails, we’d have no proof that it ever happened.”
“Perhaps,” Sandy said politely, “you could express yourself a little more clearly. It would require a great effort, of course, but won’t you just try for my sake?”
Ken grinned. “In words of approximately one syllable,” he said, “what I’m suggesting is that we make it easy for someone to get in, but that we be on hand to catch him. In other words, that we set a booby trap.”
Sandy gave one loud agonized groan and then announced that he refused to discuss the matter. Down in the basement darkroom, beneath the Advance office, he went about the business of mixing up his developing solutions in dignified silence. With a great show of concentration he figured out a method for suspending the tiny film from his new camera in a tank designed for much larger film. He turned out the lights, put the roll into the tank, fastened the lightproof cover in place and then turned the lights on again.