Jimmy led the two policemen upstairs where they examined the wet films. For several minutes they studied the negatives in dead silence while the sergeant compared the car license number with several he had noted down in a little leather book.
“That black sedan was a stolen car,” he said. “Probably abandoned by this time.”
“The heavy-set bird looks like Legs Jovitch,” added the other policeman. “Can’t be sure from this film. Son, rush these through, will you? We’ll have prints made at headquarters.”
“I oughtn’t to take them out of the water for a minute or two yet,” Jimmy protested. “And they take quite a while to dry—”
“Push ’em through as fast as you can,” the sergeant interrupted. “I’ll telephone headquarters.”
As Jimmy worked in the darkroom with the second policeman at his elbow, he thought swiftly. While he wished to cooperate with the law, he didn’t like to relinquish the films and a possible opportunity to profit from them. Vaguely he recalled having read a newspaper story about Legs Jovitch being a notorious bank thief who had escaped from New York state police. Quite by luck he had come into possession of pictures which might pack a news punch.
“I’m glad to let you have these films except for one thing,” he said to the policeman. “I thought I might sell them to the Ledger.”
“Tell you what we’ll do. It’s against regulations but you can ride along to headquarters with us. We’ll have extra prints made there.”
“Suits me fine.”
“Now what do you remember about those two men?”