“Barrack’s at the sandwich counter. Watch Crystal is standing in line in front of the hot table,” Ken murmured.
They prolonged the task of filling their water glasses until Barrack, with an almost empty tray, made his way through the room to a table for six in a far corner. Two chairs at the table had been tipped forward, to mark the places as reserved. Barrack set his tray down in front of one of them, righted the chair, and sat down. He put the package he was carrying—it was about the size of a small suit box—on the floor near his feet. Then he began to eat his single sandwich, washing down the mouthfuls with swallows of coffee.
An irritated voice snarled at Ken’s elbow. “That’s the sixth time you’ve rinsed out that water glass. You going to stay here all day?”
Ken looked around into a pair of eyes as irritated as the voice. “Sorry,” he muttered, and moved away.
“We’d better get a sandwich ourselves,” Sandy suggested. “We’ll be less noticeable doing that than hanging around here.”
They made sure that neither Barrack nor the second man looked their way as they hastily collected a pair of corned beef sandwiches and two glasses of milk. Then they sought out a table from which they could continue their observations.
They had just managed to find a satisfactory place when Sam Morris’s former customer moved away from the food counters. His tray was crowded. It was easy to see why he had taken so long to collect his lunch.
He made his way straight between the crowded tables to the one where Barrack sat, lowered his tray to the space in front of the second tipped-up chair, and then sat down there. He didn’t look at Barrack as he began to eat.
Barrack was almost finished by that time. He took the last bite of his sandwich, swallowed the last of his coffee, and stood up. Without looking back over his shoulder he headed for the door.
Sandy moved halfway out of his chair. “Should we follow him? Or—” He glanced back at the table where the second man was still eating. “Hey—look! Barrack forgot his package.”