“I haven’t any definite theory,” Flash replied evasively.
“Well, don’t get ideas about Old Herm. He’s simple minded, but hardly a criminal. Why, the fellow has a crippled leg—”
“Just the same, he could have done it. He’s strong as an ox.”
“You’re almost as goofy as Old Herm,” Wells scoffed. “First you think Orris did it, and next you blame the watchman. Maybe it was Riley!”
“I’m not accusing anyone,” Flash defended himself. “All I’m doing is trying to check every angle and keep an open mind.”
“Doesn’t sound very open to me. I’ll grant you some mighty queer things have been going on here, though. I’m getting the creeps myself when I close myself into the darkroom.”
“The next time our mysterious visitor pays a call he may not be so gentle in his methods,” replied Flash. “We ought to get him before he gets us!”
“Why not make Colt 45’s standard equipment for all Ledger photographers,” Wells said jokingly. “We could have target practice out in the auto lot.”
“You wouldn’t be laughing so hard if you had been the one to get cracked,” Flash retorted. “Tell me something. What was the name of Old Herm’s son?”
“Never heard it. Why don’t you ask him?”