"I have them here in my note-book," replied Mr. Mann, feeling in his pocket. "Do you remember the names of those you met at that club?"
Richard thought a moment.
"Harrison, Foley, Nichols and Springer, I think. I'm pretty good at remembering names," he returned.
Mr. Mann got out his notebook.
"Here they are!" he cried. "Andrew S. Foley is one, and Henry Nichols the other." He jammed the volume back into his pocket. "It's as clear as day. There is no necessity for your going with me now. You can return to the store; but remember, not a word of this, even to Massanet."
"I'll remember, sir."
When Richard returned to the stock-room, his friend, of course, wanted to know what was up, but the boy only replied that it was all right, and that Mr. Mann had requested him to keep silent.
Throughout the entire establishment there appeared to be the feeling that something was about to happen—what, no one knew.
As the two boys were returning home that evening, they met the street urchin Pep, who greeted them politely. He had a bigger bundle of papers than ever, and seemed to be prospering in his street trade.
Nevertheless, he had a sober, earnest look upon his countenance that caught Richard's eye immediately.