“Let’s see,” he muttered to himself. “I’m using the finest grain developer I have. I’d better give it fourteen minutes.” Carefully he set his timer.
“While I’m here,” he said then, still talking to himself, “I might as well develop that print of the fire this afternoon. If I want to print it up in time to mail to Chief James as a New Year’s card....”
Once more his hands were busy, and he turned the lights off and on again.
“There,” he said finally. “If it’s a good negative I’ll make a nice big print of it, so he can hang it up in his office, labeled ‘Firemen at Work.’”
For the first time since they had come into the darkroom he turned around to look at Ken. His black-haired friend was conscientiously rocking the first film tank back and forth, as Sandy had so often asked him to do in the past.
“Thanks,” Sandy said. “That ought to be enough now.”
“You’re quite welcome. Any time.” Ken sat down, stretched out his legs, and stared up at the ceiling.
Sandy’s mouth finally split in a wide grin. “All right,” he said. “I give up. What kind of booby trap?”
Ken spoke as if there had been no interruption in their conversation.
“The important thing is to set it without the folks knowing anything.”