He led Flash and the policeman to the sixth floor. The register, which was located in the front part of the building, gave conclusive proof that it had been punched at the hour Old Herm claimed.
“You see, it’s just like I told you,” the watchman declared. “I don’t know what this is all about, but I been tendin’ strictly to my work all evening. And I ain’t seen no one in the building except those that have a right to be here.”
“It probably was an inside job,” the officer commented, dropping the lost key into the watchman’s hand.
“Was something stole?” Old Herm asked anxiously.
“A film from the photography department,” responded the policeman briefly.
“An important one,” added Flash. “I had just finished developing it when someone slugged me on the head.”
“Shoo, you don’t say!” Old Herm muttered. “That’s bad. Nasty lookin’ cut, too. Will it get you into trouble, losin’ your picture?”
“It won’t do me any good,” Flash returned.
Turning, he followed the police officer down the hall, leaving the old watchman to stare after them.
When they were beyond earshot, Flash said: “You were satisfied with his story?”