“Not a one. I hung some old films on the drying machine as bait and focused my camera there. The flash went off, so I ought to have something on my plate.”
“You can’t blame me,” Old Herm whimpered. “It was dark in there. I brushed against something and a flash went off. It was an accident.”
“A camera doesn’t lie,” said Fred Orris quietly. “Develop your plate, Evans. I’ll keep Herm here until you’ve finished your work.”
Flash shut himself up in the darkroom. With trembling hands he removed the plate from its holder and lowered it into the developer. Everything depended upon the picture. The sympathy of the entire office naturally would go toward Old Herm because of his age and service record. If the shot revealed nothing, the watchman’s story would be accepted in preference to his own. He must expect it.
Carefully, Flash timed the plate. As he removed it from the developer one quick glance assured him that he had his picture! It was slightly blurred but Old Herm was clearly recognizable. And he had been snapped in the act of reaching for the film on the drying machine.
“I have my proof!” Flash thought exultantly. “Old Herm can’t talk himself out of this!”
He washed the plate and as soon as he dared, opened the door and carried it out into the adjoining room.
Old Herm was still there, guarded by Fred Orris. Other newspapermen had gathered from the near-by offices, and had evidently been told the entire story. Flash fancied they gazed at him accusingly, as if to imply that he was unjust to falsely accuse an old man.
Flash offered the wet plate. “Here it is!”
The head photographer studied the evidence a moment in silence.
“This is proof enough for me,” he said. “Old Herm! I never would have believed it! But now that I think back, he came into the office the night your Elston fire pictures were streaked—”
“Let me see that plate,” the watchman demanded.
Orris turned toward him. With a quick swipe of his hand, Old Herm brushed the plate to the floor. It broke into a multitude of tiny pieces.
“Now where is your proof?” the watchman chuckled in triumph. “You ain’t a goin’ to hang this mess on me! No, sir! I got an alibi.”
Fred Orris stooped to pick up the broken pieces of glass from the floor. Those who stood in a circle about the watchman were staring at him with a new expression.