“Hardly,” Gale replied. “The matter I wished to see him about requires immediate attention. Who’s in charge while he’s away?”
“Captain Callman. Would you like to see him? He’s in the chief’s office now.”
The captain greeted his visitor cordially when he heard that the latter was the son of the proprietor of the administration organ. Chronicle men were as welcome at police headquarters as Bulletin men were obnoxious.
The captain listened with great interest to what Gale told him, and a troubled expression came to his face.
“Do you know whose pictures they’ve got?” he inquired uneasily.
“I know a couple of them. There were six altogether, but I haven’t the slightest idea who the other four were. It was quite impossible to recognize the faces in the negatives.”
“Well, even if you couldn’t recognize the faces, it seems to me that you ought to have been able to distinguish the uniforms,” said Callman anxiously. “Didn’t happen to notice whether one of ’em was wearing a captain’s uniform, did you, young man?”
“Why, yes,” said Gale. “There was a captain among them. It was a very clear snapshot—the best of the lot. It was taken on Main Street—I could tell that by the buildings in the background. But I don’t know which captain it was. As I have said, it wasn’t possible to distinguish the faces on the films.”
“I think I know who it was, all right,” growled Callman. “I’ve got an idea that it was me. I’ve a hazy recollection that somebody took a flash-light picture of me on Main Street last night.”
“A hazy recollection?” Gale echoed, with an inquiring inflection.