“Oh, daddy, let me see!” cried the girl ingenuously, and she checked his arm in its gyration.
For one brief moment I saw mingled annoyance and consternation flash over his features. Then they cleared to a decision, and the next second I witnessed its carrying out.
“Wait!” he exclaimed suddenly, as she made as if to peer into the tray itself. “You might get your dress or hands stained. Come now, I’ll take the plate out itself. It’s about fixed, anyway.”
He reached his forefinger into the hypo in a measured groping for the edge of the glass, but his eye held me full as he withdrew it.
“Here, now girlie,” and he lifted it clear of the liquid.
She stuck her little head out prettily, her arms back of her, against possible drip.
But she saw nothing, for the negative fell to the floor, where it was shattered to a thousand pieces!
“Oh, oh, daddy!” she cried, in genuine grief.
“Why, it’s nothing at all, honey,” said he. “I was just showing Mr. Grey my method of developing, and the picture wasn’t a bit valuable. It’s no matter, except to show how clumsy and butter-fingered I’ve got to be. Come, let’s see what that yellow lad’s got for dinner.”
Once more I read my part for silence as we filed from[Pg 41] the dark room and across the outer stateroom, but mystery was gathering thick about me.