“All right,” nodded Harry. His eyes followed Teddy as he ran down a basement stairway. He turned in the direction of his own department. Suddenly a peevish voice addressed him: “Where’s the perfume counter, boy?” He felt a decided poke between the shoulders.
Harry whirled and saw a cross-looking old man with a cane partly raised, as though to poke him again if necessary.
“Two aisles down, turn to your left, sir,” answered Harry politely.
“I’d like to know who can make anything of that information,” snapped the old man. “You take me down there, boy. That’s what you’re here for.”
“Very well, sir, I will.” Harry led the way down the aisle toward the perfumes, while the old man trotted after him, grumbling that he couldn’t see why department stores tried to hide their wares if they expected to sell them.
It was at least ten minutes before Harry succeeded in getting away from the ill-natured customer, who insisted that the boy call a salesgirl to wait on him.
“Oh, dear,” he breathed in consternation, as, free at last, he hurried toward his department. He had caught sight of the clock in the book department. It was seventeen minutes past eleven. He hurried down the aisle that separated the books from the jewelry, so intent on reaching the exchange desk that he did not see a man, carrying several books, who stepped from a narrow aisle, formed by several tables, into the main one.
Crash! The books fell from the man’s hands to the floor. The impact of the collision sent both man and boy backward several steps.
“I beg your pardon, sir. I did not see you coming.” Harry stooped. Gathering up the fallen books, he presented them to the stranger, a fine-looking man of perhaps forty-two, with keen, gray eyes and black hair, lightly touched with gray at the temples.