Suddenly he halted and bent low over the table. “Where’s your magnifying glass?”
“Here,” Sandy said, handing it to him. “Why?”
Ken was holding one print close to the light and peering at it through the glass.
Sandy grinned proudly. “Is that the one where you can even tell what time it is by the kitchen clock?”
“It’s the one of Mom sitting alongside the cupboard. But look where the box is—the iron box, I mean.”
Sandy shrugged. “I remember where it was then—on the kitchen scale. Mom put it there while she was working on the lining.”
“And you put it there the night Dad got home. Remember?” There was mounting excitement in Ken’s voice. “Just before Dad dropped it.”
“That’s right. I did. So?”
“Then you said something about how much it weighed. Do you remember what you said?”
Sandy looked at him questioningly, but a moment later he obediently wrinkled his brow in an effort to recall the moment. “Let’s see. I said something about how heavy it was for its size. And—wait—I think I said it weighed exactly four and a half pounds.”