Flash rose to his feet and went over to examine the water tank. He swirled his hand deep into it without finding a film rack.
“My Tower pictures are gone, too,” he announced. “Not that I care about them. Whoever the fellow was, he made a clean sweep of everything. And look at that!”
Flash pointed to a tiny puddle of water beneath the tank which obviously had been made when the films were removed. A line of drops led through the doorway of the darkroom to the outside hall.
The two photographers followed the trail a few steps toward the back stairway, and then lost it.
“Let’s ask Old Herm and the elevator man if they’ve seen anyone leaving the building,” Wells proposed.
“All right,” Flash agreed. “But it won’t do any good.”
The passenger elevator did not operate after eleven o’clock. They located the man who handled the freight cage. He told them he had seen no strangers in the building during the past hour.
“Who has come down in the last ten minutes?” Flash inquired.
“No one—that is, not in the elevator. I saw a photographer take the stairway. He rung for me and then didn’t wait.”
“A photographer!” Flash exclaimed. “Who do you mean?”