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Updated: July 13, 2025
At a roll-top desk, arranged for the use of the clerk in charge of the negatives and prints, was a young boy. "Where's Wagnalls?" demanded Manton. "He went out, sir," the boy replied, respectfully enough. "Said he would be right back and for me to watch and not to let anything get out." The promoter led the way into the first room.
I put it up on top of a rack." "When was this?" "About four days ago the day Miss Lamar was killed." The expression on Manton's face was ghastly. "I didn't send down any can to you, Wagnalls," he insisted. "It was your writing, sir!" Kennedy rose. "What did you do with orders like that, such as the one you claim came with the can of undeveloped negative?"
Slipping the case into his pocket, he glanced about on the floor and something just within the negative room caught his eye. Once more he bent down. With a speculative expression he picked up the cork-tipped stub of a cigarette. At this instant Manton returned, breathing hard as though his pursuit of the missing Wagnalls had been very determined.
"I put nothing away or give nothing out except on written order from Mr. Manton. Anything coming in is negative and it's in rolls, and I rehandle them because they're put away in the flat boxes. I'd know in a minute if a roll was phony." "You're sure nothing special " "Holy Jehoshaphat!" interrupted Wagnalls. "I'd forgotten!" He faced Manton.
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