Tom Wetherby returned to his home in New York early on the morning of the day following the storm. He knew nothing of the robbery until weeks afterwards, when a long letter from Will Vaughan arrived, detailing the terrible plight of Wentworth, and rehearsing all the circumstances.
"Too bad! too bad!" muttered Tom, as he finished the letter. "I don't believe Wentworth guilty any more than Will does. His face is as honest and open as the day."
Will's letter called the lightning plates taken at Whitonville to mind, and he determined to do so now; accordingly he went up to his dark-room and was soon as busy as a bee. One after another the plates were developed, fixed, and washed, until plate-holder No. 7 was reached. Tom hesitated as he drew the slide and removed the plate from the holder.
"Oh, pshaw!" he exclaimed, "what's the use of bothering with this one?" for he remembered with a smile the wild grab for the camera and the dazzling flash that came before he could straighten the tripod.
"I don't suppose there's anything on it—but here goes, for fun, anyway!"
He popped it into the tray, poured the developer over it, and awaited results. After a while the image began to show, and little by little the detail came out.
"Hello! what's that?" Tom's eyes fastened on the negative with astonishment. His face assumed an expression of intense interest, for moment by moment the image grew stronger and stronger. With the utmost care he completed the process, and then, opening the dark-room door, flew down the stairs two steps at a time, tore into his bedroom, grabbed Will's letter from the desk, and read the concluding paragraph as follows:
"My heart aches for Frank and his mother and Alice. I don't believe one word of the charge against him; but, like all the rest of his friends, am powerless to help him. The trial comes off on the 18th."
"The 18th, and to-day is the 17th! It's a close call, but it's got to be done, and I'll do it," cried Tom, in a whirl of excitement.
He hurried to the telephone in the library, called up his father's office in the lower part of the city, and while waiting for the connection looked at his watch. It was quarter of three o'clock. Then the customary "Hello!" came over the wire.