“What was he stealing?” interrogated Slavin’s partner.
“The camel film,” was the reply.
“Eh? What’s that?” ejaculated Slavin, with a start. Then he swept Pep’s face with swift suspicion and added: “Of course that—one of our own specials. You’re in fine business, you Standard people; aren’t you? I believe I’ll just hand you over to the police.”
“I wasn’t stealing your films,” protested Pep.
“What do you call it, then?” sneered Slavin.
“I wanted a photo for a friend of mine, who was interested.”
“Yah, that!” jibed Slavin. “It’ll be a fine thing to have the public know that a partner in the high and lofty Standard goes around stealing New Idea films; won’t it, now? Say,” he added to his partner, “we’ll just cage this fellow. It will be a downfall for old Strapp and his crowd and a capital advertisement for us. Call the officer and make a regular complaint, Norris,” he ordered, to the man who stood on guard between Pep and the doorway.
Pep felt that he had placed himself in something of a quandary. He thought quickly and to some purpose. He turned upon Slavin in a defiant, fearless way.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort, I’ll guarantee,” he said boldly, “if you think twice about it.”
“Oh, is that so?” jeered Slavin. “Why won’t I?”