“I beg your pardon,” he began, “I didn’t—— Oh, Mr. Rexford, I was looking for you.” The man with whom he had collided was the man he sought. “Please come quickly, or it will be too late. Two men are trying to steal some books. They’re in the mail-order room. That is, they were there, if they haven’t got away. We must slip in at the upper door without making any noise.”
Mr. Rexford followed Harry without question. To the boy it seemed an hour since he had stolen from the mail-order room on his anxious quest for the buyer. In reality not more than four minutes had passed. “I’ll stay back,” he whispered as they neared the door. “You go in.”
Just inside the upper door stood a tall filing cabinet. It effectually screened Mr. Rexford’s noiseless entrance into the room. By crouching to one side of it he could lean forward and thus view all that went on, the darkness of the room protecting him from observation. Outside the doorway Harry waited in an agony of suspense. No sound came from within the room. He wondered if the Frenchman had returned while he was hunting Mr. Rexford, if the quick exchange of packages had already been made and the two thieves had stolen away.
Mr. Rexford, however, had heard someone moving in the vicinity of the desk. He knew, if Harry did not, that one of the men was still there. Who they were he could not guess. The sight of Harry’s troubled face as he cried out to him to come quickly was sufficient to convince him of the seriousness of the situation.
It was not long before the watcher heard a stealthy footfall. Someone had entered through the lower doorway. A dark figure left the protection of the desk. “I thought you’d changed your mind about coming back,” drawled a low voice.
Mr. Rexford started in astonishment.
“It is not long—ten minutes, perhaps,” rebuked the newcomer. “Here is the portiere. The package is small. You can——”
The room was suddenly flooded with a penetrating light, revealing the Frenchman in the act of holding out a package to the sleepy-eyed salesman, Mr. Farley.
“What does this mean, Farley?” Mr. Rexford confronted the astonished pair. The man Farley turned deathly pale. The package dropped from his hand. The Frenchman evaded Mr. Rexford and leaped for the door. The next second there was a rumble, followed by a loud crash. The man had stumbled over an empty truck, sending it rumbling against a book table, while he sprawled headlong to the floor.
The noise, coupled with the man’s fall, brought several workers to the scene. The Frenchman scrambled to his feet and was about to slink off when Mr. Rexford’s authoritative voice called out from the mail-order door, “Don’t let that man get away. I want him. Take him to my office and keep him there until I come.”