Page 26 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
Digby nodded. “Those plates were all his old work. They were best stored in the darkroom, so he kept them all there. The calotype negatives, once they’re developed and the image fixed, are stable in light.” Digby tipped his head toward the cabinets that lined the wall between the back of the office and the front of the darkroom. “All his calotype negatives are in those cabinets, but if you want to look at the photographs he took yesterday, like as not the negatives are in the drawer, waiting to be developed. It didn’t look like he’d finished making the solutions when…when the killer came in. And Mr. Q wouldn’t have roared if the door opened then, because he’d have known his day’s work was safe in the drawer—it’s light-tight, you see.”
“So,” Gray said, “he wouldn’t have been instantly furious, but he would have been surprised.” He caught Izzy’s eyes. “That explains why he didn’t call out—the killer surprised him at his work and gave him no chance.”
Izzy was still struggling to make sense of Digby’s revelations—and even more importantly, the implications. She focused on her young printer’s devil. “So you think Quimby’s photographs from yesterday—the negative calotype papers—are still in the darkroom, waiting to be developed. Will they still be useable?”
“Oh yes.” Digby answered with complete assurance. “Long as they’re in that drawer, they could wait for days, possibly even weeks.”
Izzy held her breath. “Digby, do you know how to develop the images and treat them? Print them so we can see the pictures Quimby took?”
Digby nodded, again with certainty. “Mr. Q’s been having me make up all the solutions, and he’s had me developing and printing some of our photographs all on me own, so I’d know how to do it.”
God bless Quimby’s well-hidden heart of gold.
“Perhaps before we get our hopes up”—Lipson placed a massive hand on Digby’s shoulder—“we should check that drawer you mentioned.” Lipson glanced at Izzy and Gray. “Just in case the killer took those calotype negatives away with him.”
“Excellent idea.” Gray nodded to Lipson. “Why don’t you go into the darkroom with Digby and take a look in this drawer.”
“We’ll need to close the door and put the red light on,” Digby warned as he turned and readily led the way.
Everyone else remained where they were, waiting on tenterhooks to learn what Lipson and Digby discovered in the drawer.
When the pair re-emerged from the darkroom—Digby zealously turning the Occupied sign over—Izzy couldn’t wait any longer. “What did you find?”
Lipson’s wide smile gave her the answer. “There are seven papers in the drawer, and”—he glanced at Digby—“our young man here says they’re all in good nick, and he can print the photographs off all of them.”
Digby looked hopefully at Izzy. “If you’d like me to, ma’am?”
Izzy could have kissed him. “I think that would be another excellent idea.” Then she glanced at the clock. “But it’s already past eleven.” She returned her gaze to Digby. “How long will it take you to develop the negatives, then print a set of photographs? Can it be done in a day?”
Digby screwed up his face in thought, then nodded. “It’ll take ’til about five o’clock, but if I use the stove to help dry the prints, I could easily do it all today.”
Gray glanced at Izzy. “We should probably get three sets of prints made—the police will want one.”
She nodded. “And it would be wise to have an extra set in case anything goes wrong.” She refocused on Digby. “How much longer will it take to do three sets of prints?”
“Oh, only minutes, ma’am. Not much more time to do three prints as one. The time’s all in the setting up, see?”
Tentatively, she asked, “Are you free to work longer today, Digby? I know your mama counts on you at home, so if you have anything you need to do, we can wait until Monday.”
To her relief, her young devil was already shaking his head. “No trouble, ma’am. I can stay and get it done today.” He sobered, and for an instant, sorrow shadowed his natural exuberance. “’Sides, I want to do whatever I can to help catch the beggar what killed Mr. Q.”
“We’ll do your usual chores,” Mary volunteered, and Gerry and Tom nodded. “So you can start straightaway.”
Digby looked to Lipson for approval, and the manager nodded. “Off you go, lad. We all want to see the blighter who did for Quimby strung up, and it sounds like the clues the police’ll need are in those photographs.”
That, Izzy thought, summed up the situation perfectly. They all stood and watched Digby set the darkroom sign to Occupied again, then disappear into the darkroom and shut the door.
The rest of the staff looked around, then returned to the usual Saturday morning chores, most of which revolved around cleaning the press and its plates, and cleaning and re-sorting the type into the appropriate boxes Maguire and Jim used when they set the type for a page.
Izzy remained at the end of the counter, looking over the workshop and thinking. Gray hovered beside her, his gaze on her face. After reviewing what awaited her in the office, she said, “As I’ll be staying until Digby emerges with the photographs, I’ll have all afternoon to take care of everything on my desk. Given the staff lost so much time with the police and then with our deliberations, I’m going to help them with their tasks so they can get away at twelve as usual.”
Pushing up her sleeves, she walked to where Lipson was poking at something under the big cylinder of the press. When he glanced up at her, she asked, “What can I do to help?”
He grinned. “Why don’t you help Maguire and send Matthews to me. I could do with another pair of hands here, but yours are too small.”
She laughed and went to do his bidding.
Seconds after she settled with a pile of type-filled blocks from the previous edition to pick apart into their component letters, Gray appeared on her left. He pulled up a stool, sat and watched her for several minutes, then reached for a spare bodkin tool and pulled one of the boxes to be disassembled toward him.
