THE PHOTOGRAPHER'S ART AND ARTFULNESS
When the lawyer came back from lunch, the new clerk went out to his.
His meal consisted--apart from a sandwich and glass of beer--of the
absorption of the contents of a catalogue of photographic materials.
He spent the greater part of his dinner hour on the second floor at
Benetfink's in Cheapside. That firm's photographic department is there.
He was purchasing a small snapshot hand camera, and the difficulty he
had was in getting one which went off at short range.
He wanted to photograph a picture at about two yards' distance. He
succeeded finally in procuring what he wanted.
Gerald knew nothing of photography, and the assistant very kindly
"loaded" his camera for him.
There is a dark room on the premises kept for the convenience of
customers, and a few moments later, Gerald emerged--armed with the
loaded camera.
When he returned to the office, Mr. Loide went out to keep an
appointment at the West End of London. That left the floor free for
Gerald.
He went into his employer's room, and stood opposite the fireplace. With
the "view finder" on his camera, he brought the mantel within focus.
He did that because hanging above the mantel was an oil painting of the
lawyer.
There was a little tablet let into the frame of the painting inscribed,
"From a grateful client."
Gerald rather wondered whether the artist--the client filled with
gratitude--could have been quite sane; but his business just then was
with the painting--not the painter.
He had described the room to Benetfink's assistant, the light it faced,
and so on; and had been told to pull down the lever, count seventy-five
seconds by his watch, and then let go.
These instructions he carried out.
First he measured off two yards, and piling up tin boxes till he got the
level he required, he snapped his first photograph for seventy-five
seconds' exposure.
He used all six plates, varying the distance of his tin boxes support an
inch each time, to insure focus.
Then he packed up his camera, replaced the tin boxes, and waited till
closing time.
He left the office at half-past five, mounted a tram-car in the City
Road, and with his camera in a hand bag made for the regions of the
Euston Road.
For some reason the Euston Road is famous for the number of its
photographers--the lower class of that art.
The double description is used as it is a calling full of artfulness and
craft. The this-style-in-a-frame-for-a-shilling sort seem to look on it
as a happy hunting ground.
The tout outside produces samples of the photographic art--created
perhaps a dozen miles away--and lies with the freedom of a cyclometer.
Night makes but little difference to these artists. They have an
arrangement of what the outside man calls "magnesia," which he will
assure you "results in as good a picter as if tiken in the brord
dielight."
Gerald entered one of these art studios. He found the man inside quite
as full of art as the outside one.
When Gerald stated his business and needs, the man shook his head, and
spoke of terms which made Gerald put the camera back in his bag.
The art of the photographer fell before that act, and his artfulness
came into play--it looked like money walking away.
When Gerald spoke of trying another photographer, the studio man thought
he could manage it--became sure of it, and a bargain was struck.
Benetfink's man had told Gerald something. Told him that after
development, the negative could have a bath of spirits of wine, and be
dry enough to print from in ten minutes.
He had also sold Gerald a packet of special printing paper, which could
easily be printed on by the light from an ordinary gas jet.
Ultimately--things were a trifle tight in the neighborhood of Euston
Road; to servant girls and their military admirers photography seemed to
have lost its charm--the photographer agreed to develop the six plates,
and print one copy of each for six and sixpence.
Four of the plates turned out failures in the developing dish; the other
two were all right. When, later on, the printing paper came out of the
little printing frames, Gerald was quite satisfied.
He cheerfully paid the six and sixpence, and walked away with two
unmistakable pictures of Loide, the lawyer, in an envelope in his
pocket.
The next morning he went to Eldon Street before going to his office, and
was cheered to hear that the steamboat agent was much better, and was
coming to business that morning.
Gerald asked if he would be in between two and three o'clock, and was
answered affirmatively.
So it came about that in his dinner hour he walked round to the agent's.
The agent was in.
"I have come to see you about the Europia murder case."
"Have you?" replied the agent, somewhat wearily; "and what particular
line is yours--newspaper? If so, I haven't a scrap of fresh news for
you."
"No," said Gerald, with a smile; "there's nothing journalistic about
me."
"Not the police then again, surely! I understood from Inspector Welch
that they had dropped the matter."
"Maybe the English police have," answered Gerald quietly; "but the
American force hasn't. I'm from the other side--come over in the Europia
last week."
"Oh! Is that so? Anything fresh? I suppose so, by your coming across the
pond."
"Well, I think we are striking a trail. I want you to help me a little.
I see by one of the newspaper interviews that you stated to a reporter
that you would know the two men who booked the particular berth in which
the murder took place."
"That's so. One thing, my memory's keen on, is faces. If I see a man
once, I know him again. I could locate him in a crowd."
"That will perhaps help us."
"I don't think so. They photographed one of the bodies found on the
boat, and it was sent across here for identification. Inspector Welch
brought it here, but bless your soul, it wasn't a tiny scrap like either
of the men."
"So I understand."
"Inspector Welch didn't quite believe me. Thought I placed too much
reliance on my memory. Almost said so. But I know right enough where my
strong point lies. I didn't recognize that photograph simply because it
wasn't the picture of either of the men. But the moment I get a
photograph of either of the real men before me, you'll see I'll pick it
out from fifty others."
"You are sure you would know it?"
"Know it! I'm dead certain--cock-sure."
"Well," said Gerald, as he quietly drew the daguerreotype of Josh Todd
from his pocket and put it on the agent's desk, "is that like either of
them?"
"That's one!--that one!" cried the agent excitedly, as he banged his
fist on the desk. "I'd know him from a thousand. That's the man that
spoke with a Yankee accent and came in first."
"So," said Gerald quietly, although in his excitement his blood was
racing through his veins, "and possibly this may be the portrait of the
other one?"
He placed the picture he had brought away from the Euston Road studio
before the agent.
"By God, sir, you're right! That's 'em--that's 'em both. You've got the
right men, sir--you've got 'em. I always said if the American detectives
took the case up over here, they'd strike the trail. No English 'tec can
touch 'em for cuteness. If you know where to put your hands on these two
men, you're able to solve the Europia mystery."