“We will return to the police station.” Once more Newton Mills led the way.
They spent the remainder of that day in a vacant basement room at the police station. To Johnny their occupation seemed passing strange.
First they filled a barrel with cotton waste. Next they went to a room in the station where a great number of used arms were stored. These had been taken from hoodlums, suspects, and police characters. With his arms full of pistols of all possible descriptions, Johnny returned to the basement.
For four hours after that, they practiced the same bit of drama over and over. Newton Mills loaded a pistol and fired it at the barrel of waste. Johnny retrieved the bullet from the waste. This bullet was bagged, numbered and recorded. After that a different pistol was fired, and the identical process repeated.
Darkness fell before they finished. As Johnny left the basement he fancied that he still heard the sharp crack of small fire-arms.
“We will return to the shack,” said Newton Mills. “No. First we will go to the laboratories.”
They took an elevator, mounted five floors, then entered a room. The walls of the room were lined with all manner of instruments. With some of these Johnny was thoroughly familiar. Others were of a sort of which he knew nothing.
Newton Mills requested the loan of two microscopes, some prisms, a curious type of camera and various odds and ends of equipment. These he wrapped in a bundle. He tucked the bundle tightly under his arm.
“To-morrow,” he said as they descended to the main floor, “I shall not require your services.”
Johnny was disappointed. His curiosity had been roused by the strange occupation of that day; it had been redoubled by the package under Newton Mills’ arm. He had hoped that the morrow would reveal the purpose of it all.