In the work-bench, directly under the tree, was an open drawer in which Oscar kept his paints, brushes, and various odds and ends.
Stuart moved up close beside this drawer, looked first at Sam, then at Miles and Oscar, who were still talking earnestly in the recess, and as quick as thought pulled something out of his coat pocket, raised a sheet of sand-paper that lay on the bottom of the drawer, and placed the object, whatever it was, under it.
This done, he backed up against the drawer, and pushed it to its place. He leaned on the bench for a few seconds, looking toward Oscar, as if he were listening to what he was saying, and then suddenly straightened up.
"I must be going," said he, starting toward the door. "I hope I haven't put you to any trouble, Oscar."
"None whatever," replied the latter.
And Sam noticed, with no little satisfaction, that he did not ask the clerk to call again.
When Stuart closed the door behind him, Sam shut up his knife and slammed his stick down in the corner. The noise attracted the attention of Miles, who looked over his shoulder, and was surprised to see Sam holding one forefinger upon his lips, and beckoning eagerly to him with the other.
Miles came out into the shop with an inquiring look on his face, while Oscar lingered in the recess to arrange the plumage of one of the specimens which had become rumpled while he was handling it.
Sam walked over to the drawer of the work-bench and opened it, standing with his back toward Oscar.
"I know now what that rascal came here for," said he, in a scarcely audible whisper, "and I want you for a witness."