“Now, don’t be in a hurry,” said the officer, coolly. “I’ll hear the guard first, please.” The guard told the story very clearly and plainly.
“Is that correct?” said the sergeant to me.
“Yes, sir; and I can prove—” I began.
“Go slow, young man,” said the sergeant, motioning to me to stop talking. Then he said to the man who had my camera:
“Is that story correct?”
“Entirely, Sergeant.”
“Very good,” the sergeant said. “Now, young man, how can you prove it is your box?”
“Well,” said I, “it’s a Kodak No. 4, and it has a bruise on one corner.”
“Yes,” said the swindler, “I see. That is what has caused the trouble. Mine has a bruise on the corner, too. I dropped it this morning as I was coming through the turnstile.”
“That’s rather slim proof to arrest a man on,” said the sergeant, looking hard at me. Then I began wondering how I could prove my ownership, and I thought of the pictures I had taken.