Adair set up his portable tripod and focussed the group amidships. Dave turned over the photographs in the portfolio.
"You'll find a pretty good picture of that rascally pilot," said Adair. "Third one, I think."
"I've got it," nodded Dave, "and--say!"
So violent was this ejaculation that Adair was startled into snapping the camera shutter before he was quite ready.
"You've spoiled my picture for me," he said, but not at all crossly. "Why, my friend, what's struck you?"
Dave was wrought up all out of the common. Generally cool and level-headed, his nerves seemed to have suddenly gone to pieces.
He had dropped the portfolio, and Bob was scrambling to preserve its scattered contents. Dave himself held a single photograph in one hand; with the other he was pulling Adair by the arm. He drew the surprised artist out of direct range of the others.
"Look here," he said, with difficulty steadying his trembling voice, "this picture?"
"Yes," nodded Adair, with a casual glance at the photograph--"our friend, the pilot."
"There is no trouble recognizing him," said Dave. "It's the other fellow in the picture, I mean."