I took the camera from under the mattress where I had hidden it when Cinderella appeared, and gave it back to Hill.
“I think, Hill, that risk or no risk——”
“Of course!” he snapped at me. “It’s got to be done now! And if it comes off, Posh Castle gets the photos. Have some soup?”
It was a merry dinner, and the coffee at the end was nectar.
“Now,” said Hill, by way of grace after meat, “let us begin to minimize that risk. Watch me!”
THE “POSH CASTLE MESS” WHO FED US IN OUR IMPRISONMENT
For fifteen minutes I stood over him, my eyes on his clever hands, watching for a glimpse of the camera as over and over again he took it out, opened it, sighted it, closed it, and returned it to his pocket. I rarely saw it until it was ready in position, and then only the lens peeped through his fingers, but when I did I told him. It was the first of a series of daily practices.
“Once I know the feel of it I’ll do better,” he said at the end; “I should be pretty good in about three weeks.”
“You’re pretty good now, but where does my part come in?”