Michaels looked at him in astonishment when he inquired about the prints. “How do you expect me to make them, Mr. Gale,” he said, “when you’ve got the negatives downstairs?”
“What’s that?” exclaimed Gale. “Got the negatives downstairs! What the dickens are you talking about, Michaels? I handed them to you over an hour ago.”
“Sure you did, Mr. Gale; but you took them back again five minutes afterward.”
Gale frowned. “You don’t look drunk, Michaels, but you certainly talk like it,” he said indignantly. “You know very well that I was only up here once. What do you mean by saying that I took these films back again?”
“Well, I don’t mean that you came yourself, but you sent for them, which is the same thing,” rejoined the photo-engraver. “You don’t mean to say that you didn’t send your cousin, Miss Gale, up here for them?”
Gale’s face turned pale. “I certainly did not!” he gasped. “Do you mean to tell me that she was up here?”
“She certain was, sir—five minutes after you went down.”
“And asked for the pictures?”
“Sure thing. Is anything wrong, Mr. Gale?”
“Anything wrong! I should say there was!” snapped Gale. “You careless fool! Don’t you know better than to hand out negatives to any Tom, Dick, or Harry that comes here and asks for them? What kind of a system have you got in this place, anyway?”