“I wouldn’t!” Don saw Chick’s argument.
“I’d be uneasy, and uncertain, and I’d worry until, finally, I might feel compelled to come and see just how much you had against me!”
“That’s my plan!” retorted Chick.
Garry agreed with Don. It was clever of the youngest chum.
“While we wait, we might as well see if we have evidence, or whatever it may be—against anybody!” Don added.
Chick lifted the wet film from its washing bath, handling it carefully by the edges to avoid spoiling the wet, swollen, delicate surface emulsion containing the pictures.
Holding it up to the light, he showed a smoky, already somewhat distorted image in one piece of the clipped film.
“I can see—letters,” Don said, peering toward the light. “There’s an ‘A’ followed by a figure ‘one’ and then—it’s spoiled by scraping on the floor when the fixing trap got upset.”
“Just on the edge of the last ‘frame’ of moving picture film, you can see a flat, opaque blur,” Garry commented. “That’s an aerial picture, taken from above! I’ve seen those air photographs in the movies. What’s to prove this is a picture of our swamp? It’s all fogged!”
“I count more on our ‘ghost’ coming here than on that film,” Chick declared. “I’ll put that in a drying clip, and hang it behind the tanks in case we can use it sometime. Now, here’s the other clipping!”