Garry, on the balcony, using the binoculars to try and locate the helicopter’s upthrusting blades, heard his name called.
“Garr—ry!” The hail came from the lower floor.
He raced down the stairway.
Don, waiting, impatiently tried to hear the words that seemed to come up in excited, quick calls of amazement.
Soon his comrades came stamping up the stairs.
“The key didn’t fit the cabinets!” Chick set down the large black leather case he had been dragging along, and puffed for breath. “But—it—did—fit—one—of—the lockers—in the pilots’ locker room!”
“Oho!” Garry came after his smaller companion, dragging a compact and intricate-looking mechanism. Don, staring, recognized it.
“That’s a projector ‘head!’” he said excitedly. “And you found it, in a pilots’ locker—whose?”
“Oh! I don’t know that,” Chick argued. “I think it’s a spare one. What does it matter! The key was in the chief’s vest, the one he puts on when he is working around in here. What more proof do you want! You argued that he was guilty of throwing the spook pictures! Well——”
Don, examining the projector apparatus, which comprised an upper canister, or flat magazine, into which a reel of film could be placed, a film guide, a ‘gate’ and aperture, with mechanism for snatching the film through, and its lower guide and magazine, looked up.