A week had passed since Harry’s conversation with Miss Welch. During that time the boy had watched Mr. Farley whenever he had the opportunity to do so, without being observed. His vigilance had met with no reward. To all intents the salesman appeared to be perfectly open and above-board in his dealings. Harry felt almost ashamed of himself for shadowing a man of whom he had really no cause for suspicion other than the fact that he had charge of the sets and that Miss Welch had suggested that he might bear watching. Even though there were a chain of thieves among Martin Brothers’ employees, it might not extend to the book department. Still the conversation he had overheard pointed plainly to the dishonesty of someone in Department 85.
Late that afternoon, however, Harry chanced to witness something which bore out Miss Welch’s suggestion. The boy was hard at work, arranging a table of bargain books when the sound of voices in his ears caused him to glance up. Mr. Farley stood before a shelf of special books devoted to arts and crafts. It was situated directly across the narrow aisle in which Harry was working. The man’s back was toward the boy. Beside him stood a pretty young woman. She was talking animatedly on the subject of interior decorating and examining with interest the various books the salesman showed her.
“How much is this book?” Harry heard her ask.
“Five dollars,” was the salesman’s response.
The young woman turned the leaves of the book as though undecided whether she wished to pay that price for it. The salesman watched her narrowly.
“I’ll take it,” she said at last, “but need I have it wrapped? I wish to make a train and I can save time by tucking it in this bag.” She pointed to a leather traveling bag she had set down on the shelf. Fumbling in her hand-bag she took from it a five-dollar note and handed it to Mr. Farley.
“That will be all right, madam,” Harry heard him say. He glanced cautiously up and down the aisle, still with his back toward Harry. The woman hastily opened her traveling bag, dropped the book into it and hurried out of the department. The man watched her out of sight, then he strolled off in the opposite direction without looking back, but as he went, Harry’s watchful eyes saw him thrust the hand that held the money into his trousers pocket. When he withdrew his hand it was empty.
“He’s going to keep that money,” sprang to Harry’s mind, then, anxious to give the man the benefit of the doubt, “Perhaps he has put it in his pocket until he gets his sales book.” The boy strolled slowly behind the salesman, determined to see what Mr. Farley intended to do with the money. It soon became evident that the man was not searching for his book on which to record the sale. He walked to the end of the aisle, then crossed over to the other side of the department. Harry dodged behind a high pile of large dictionaries that had been stacked at the end of the aisle. From this point of vantage he watched Mr. Farley for at least ten minutes. During that time the man made no effort to record the sale. Instead, he approached one of the saleswomen and entered into a conversation with her. Spying a customer who was examining a set of Thackeray, he made his way to his own stock, with Martin Brothers’ money still reposing in his trousers pocket.
Here Harry’s watch ended. He could spend no further time shadowing the man. He went slowly back to the table on which he had been at work, hardly knowing what to do. He had seen Mr. Farley pocket the money, but how could he prove what he had seen, were he to accuse the man openly? He had no way of finding out who the customer was, or where she lived. If Mr. Farley were confronted with Harry’s story he would no doubt deny the whole transaction, or make some sort of clever explanation that would entirely discount Harry’s accusation.