“Stealing,” reported Pep’s first captor, stepping forward briskly. “You can go, officer. We’ll let you know if we need you later.”
“All right,” nodded the policeman, lightly, and retired with a knowing look on his face.
“Stealing; eh?” spoke Slavin, bending a scowling face towards Pep. “Picking pockets?”
“Say, you don’t have to ask that,” retorted Pep, hotly. “No one better than yourself knows I don’t have to do that.”
“He was stealing, all the same,” insisted his captor, and as Pep realized the special emissary of Slavin. “I caught him red-handed.”
“What doing?” inquired the other man, evidently Slavin’s business partner.
“You get him to give you that camera and you’ll probably find out,” was the explanation. “I know the fellow, for I’ve seen him before. He’s one of the Standard crowd.”
The speaker concluded by snatching at the camera. Pep was off his guard for that. His despoiler handed it to Slavin, who looked it over casually and pushed it into a drawer of his desk with the words:
“We’ll keep that for evidence and look it over later. Stealing a film; eh?” he interrogated the previous speaker.
“That’s what. He had that camera in his lap ready for snapping. It’s an old trick and I suspected him, knowing the crowd he came from.”