“All right!” He started at the sound of a voice. “All right, Jimmie, me boy.” It was Scottie. “Give me that cigar lighter with the bit of baby ribbon inside. That thing you call a candid camera ... I’m ready to develop that film.”
“All—all right. Here it is,” Jimmie stammered. Then they all crowded excitedly into the narrow dark room; John Nightingale, Tom Howe, Denny Sullivan, Jimmie, and that red-haired girl named Mary Dare.
CHAPTER III
THE DARK ROOM
Jimmie had experienced many a thrill watching his pictures come into being on the shiny film, but never such a one as this. “So much depends upon it,” he thought as a chill ran up his spine. And much did; the fate of a man gone wrong, the safety and happiness of many he might yet spring upon unsuspectedly in the night; yes, perhaps the very lives of some might depend upon that picture. How eagerly, then, the five of them waited as Scottie rattled paper, held the white ribbon of film to the light, then began moving it dexterously through the developing solution.
Hushed silence followed. Jimmie was thinking, “What sort of person is this Silent Terror? Is he short or tall, dark or light? Will he be masked? How are we to know him? What distinguishing mark does he bear that will brand him for the future? What——”
“Why, Jimmie!” Scottie broke in upon his thoughts, “there’s nothing on this ribbon of yours!”
“Noth—nothing,” Jimmie stammered. Then, excitedly, “Yes, sure there is. Just one picture! There at the end. It—it’s coming through!”
“So it is!” said Scottie. At once he devoted all his attention to that end of the film.
“Think of wasting a whole film on one little picture,” Scottie murmured.
“Money well spent,” put in Tom Howe. “There’s a thousand dollar reward on that man’s head.”