“Have they been losing stock?” asked Harry.
“Yes, but you just keep it under your hat. A lot of stuff has skidooed out of the department since Christmas. I’ve heard it’s not shoplifters, either.”
“Then it must be——”
“Employees,” supplied Miss Welch. “A friend of mine told me that it’s the same all over the store. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a gang.” She nodded wisely.
“A gang?” questioned Harry.
“Yes, a gang, Innocent. When I was inspecting in Harrington’s store the detectives got next to a gang of thieves there. It was sort of an endless chain; inspectors and sales were both mixed up in it. One person would steal one thing and another would steal something else; then they’d exchange. Sometimes they’d send their friends in to cart stuff out. Sometimes they’d buy things for almost nothing and the inspectors would pass it. They kept it up for two years and then——”
“Miss Welch,” Harry’s voice trembled with excitement, “I want to tell you something.” The boy recounted in a low voice the curious conversation he had overheard on the morning he had been seated in the bin.
“Whada you think of that!” exclaimed the girl. “My, but it would have been some feather in Kiddy’s cap if he’d got a look at those two. Better keep your eyes peeled. Mark my words, there’ll be more of it in your department. Why didn’t you tell Mr. Rexford?”
“I hated to, because I couldn’t prove a single thing. I was afraid I might make trouble for some innocent person,” returned Harry. “I thought maybe one of the men might be that Mr. Farley who has the sets, but I was mistaken.”
“Farley. U-mm. Let me see. That’s that fellow with the sleepy eyes. Looks like the real thing. Still, you never can tell. Sometimes these harmless-looking people are fakes. Why don’t you do a little Sherlocking on your own account?”