“Very interesting indeed,” Ken agreed. “Do you suppose Grace is our friend Watch Crystal? Do you think—?”
He let the question die away. They had turned the corner into the block where the Tobacco Mart stood. The man they called Watch Crystal was visible at its door, peering impatiently out and down the street. When he saw Pete approaching he called to him.
“Hurry up! This is a rush order!” He was waving a small package, about the size of two cartons of cigarettes.
“O.K. I’m coming, Mr. Grace.” There was more surprise than anything else in the boy’s voice. “Somebody must want a smoke awful bad,” he added as he drew near his employer.
Grace ignored his attempt at humor. “Take a taxi,” he ordered. “And take one back here. You’ll be bringing another package with you.”
“Somebody returning their old cigar stubs?” Pete asked.
Grace snapped at him. “I don’t pay you to ask idiotic questions. Get going! The address is on the package.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Grace.” Pete turned away, his eyes already ranging the busy square for a vacant taxi.
“There’s one for us!” Sandy had sighted a cab that was just swinging around the corner behind him. He made a dive for it and Ken rushed after him.
“Just pull over to the curb and wait a minute,” Sandy directed.