hear is the motor. Come, I'll show you," and he started toward his room, followed by Joe.
"Is—is that right?" asked the hotel clerk, doubtfully.
"Are you sure it isn't dynamite?" inquired the officer.
"Well, if we're not afraid to take a chance in going in the same room with what you call an infernal machine, you ought not to be," said Joe, with a smile.
This was logic that could not be refuted, and they followed the boys to the room. There, just where they had left it, was the camera, the motor clicking away industriously. It worked intermittently, running for five minutes, and then ceasing for half an hour, so as not to use up the reel of film too quickly. Also, it made a diversity of street scenes, an automatic arrangement swinging the lens slightly after each series of views, so as to get the new ones at a different angle.
"Now we'll show you," said Blake, as, having noted that all the film was run out, and was in the light-tight exposed box, he opened the camera and showed the harmless mechanism. Several of the hotel employes crowded into the room, once they learned there was no danger.
The boys explained the working of the apparatus, and this seemed to satisfy the officer.
