At mention of the word “police,” the slim fellow spoke in a low tone to his companion, who promptly leaped into the sedan. They drove rapidly away, the car turning at the first corner.
“Someone stop them!” cried the woman helplessly. “I haven’t the license number.”
No other automobile had taken up the pursuit, and indeed, considering the speed of the first car, pursuit seemed useless. Jimmy stepped forward.
“Excuse me,” he said to the woman. “I just took two pictures of the smash-up. The license number ought to show on the negative.”
“Then I could trace the men and have them arrested!”
“Yes,” nodded Jimmy, “and if they refuse to settle, my pictures will serve as court evidence.”
“Thank you, young man. Thank you,” the woman said gratefully. “I’ll be glad to pay you well for your work. How soon may I have the pictures?”
“In an hour. I’ll hurry home and develop them for you right away.”
The woman, Mrs. Clyde Montross of East Moreland Drive, gave Jimmy her engraved card. He, in turn, gave the woman his name and address. Without waiting for the arrival of the police, he hastened toward home in company with his friend, Jerry.
“That was a nice break for me,” he declared. “I should pick up five dollars at least for my pictures. And if the case comes to court I ought to get a witness fee, too.”
“How about selling your pictures to the _Ledger_?” asked Jerry.
“They wouldn’t be interested. Accident cases are too common.”
“It’s queer how those fellows drove off when someone spoke of calling the police.”
“Oh, they were afraid of being arrested, all right,” Jimmy agreed carelessly. “Well, so long, Jerry. See you later.”
They parted company and Jimmy entered a pleasant, white-painted cottage. His mother was baking cookies, while Joan, his twelve-year-old sister, was perched on the kitchen sink.
“Hello, Jim,” she sang out. “Did you get the job?”
He shook his head, helping himself to a handful of warm cookies.
“No, but I have a chance to pick up a little pocket money by selling some auto-crash pictures. I’m going to develop them now. Mother, I wish you’d tie Joan up so she doesn’t come barging into the darkroom when I’m half finished.”
“I’ll try to keep my eye on her,” Mrs. Evans promised, smiling. Mrs. Evans was a slender, gray-haired woman with kindly blue eyes and a pleasant disposition.
