Down the counter the woman studying the mahogany clock called out, “Mr. Morris, I think I like the one you showed me first. May I see that again?”
“I’ll be right back,” Sam muttered, and hurried away.
“I certainly picked a fine day to break the crystal of my watch,” the man behind the boys said, and they turned to smile sympathetically into his pleasant middle-aged face. “If it weren’t such a good timepiece, I’d let it go for a while, but I hate to have it get dirty.”
When Sam hurried back, looking more harried than ever, he shook his head at the customer behind the boys. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’m mighty busy today, and it takes quite awhile to cement a crystal into place.” He took the small iron box from Sandy’s hands.
The owner of the watch spoke up quickly. “Don’t bother with cement,” he said. “If you could just snap a crystal into place, I could get it cemented after Christmas, in New York. I’m just passing through Brentwood and—”
Sam shrugged. “All right. I could do that. Come back in about half an hour.” He took the watch. “You too,” he added to the boys. “I’ll try to have this ready by then. Won’t take me long—if I just have a chance to get at it.” He moved rapidly toward the partition at the rear.
“He’s certainly an accommodating gentleman,” the owner of the watch said, as all three of them began to edge their way through the crowd together.
“He certainly is,” Ken agreed. “If I owned a store I wouldn’t open the doors on Christmas Eve.”
“See you in half an hour,” the man said with a friendly wave as they separated on the sidewalk to go in opposite directions.
Back at the office they found Richard Holt in the middle of one of the lively tales he always brought back from his trips. “And they found that the phones in the police chief’s own office were being tapped,” he was saying. “So—” He broke off as the boys entered. “What luck?” he asked.