“I sure am!” Jim agreed, still gazing ruefully at the ruined negatives. “Funny, though. The camera was checked before I started. I had the range before I pulled the trigger, every shot.” He paused, then added, as though reluctant to excuse himself: “It must have been the heat.”
“Yeah. I suppose so! Well, that was damn expensive heat for you, my lad. It cost you ten thousand bucks.”
“Yes, but—”
Jim had been going to say it had nearly cost him his life but thought better of it. Besides, an idea had come.
“Give me those negatives!” he said, “I’m going to find out what’s wrong with ’em.”
And since they were of no use to Overton, he gave them to Jim.
That night again, Jim Carter presented himself at the Wentworth home in Hartford, and again it was Joan who admitted him.
“Oh, Jimmy!” she murmured, as he took her in his arms. “We’re all so proud of you!”
“I’m glad someone is,” he said.