"Yes, you can approach from the other side through the American History room."
Hastening through various corridors of the vast building, they found themselves among the American History collections gathered in the smaller room adjoining the great hall on the south. This room was completely lined with books, and lighted by a skylight. It communicated with the main reading-room by an arched opening.
Taking care not to show themselves in this opening, the librarian described to Evan the exact location of seat 433 outside, and pointed out a spot where Evan could command a view of seat 433 through the archway. Evan proceeded to the spot, and, taking down a book at random, affected to be lost in studying its pages. Then, half turning and letting his eyes rise carelessly, he glanced into the great room.
It took him an instant or two to focus his eyes. The line of tables seemed endless, the hundreds of figures reading, scribbling or snoozing seemed indistinguishable from one another. Then Evan remembered the librarian had said: "433 is the fourth seat from the passageway between the tables; the person sitting there will have his back to you." Evan's eyes found the spot: he saw a familiar pair of thin, high shoulders under a grey coat.
His first feeling was one of surprise. Somehow he had not expected one so young and insignificant to be given so important a part in the game. For a moment he wondered if the strange-eyed, wary little youth could be their sole antagonist. That would indeed be a humorous situation. But he did not believe it possible. Certainly the letter had been written by one older and more experienced.
Evan remained where he was, making believe to be absorbed in his book, and letting his eyes rise from time to time as if in contemplation. He was about sixty feet from the youth in an oblique line. Once the little fellow looked around, but Evan saw the beginning of the movement and was deep in study in plenty of time. The sober background of filled bookshelves afforded Evan good protective colouring. Across the smaller room the librarian was likewise affecting to be reading, while he nervously watched Evan and awaited the outcome.
Finally Evan perceived the library attendant coming down the long room bearing the two big volumes in their faded purple calf binding. He speculated whimsically on what a sensation would be caused should he drop one and a thousand-dollar bill flutter out. But library attendants know better than to drop books.
He laid the books on the table beside the youth, and went back. The grey-clad one, with another casual, sharp glance around him, took up volume one, the thicker of the two, and, slouching down in his chair, stood the tall, open book on his lap in such a way that no one either in front or behind him could see exactly what he was doing. "Not badly managed," thought Evan. Evan could only guess that he was turning to the specified pages and slipping out the bills. There was one action that Evan recognised from the movement of the shoulders. He had slipped his hand in his inner breast pocket.
"He's got them now," thought Evan.
Sure enough the youth presently let the book fall on the table and wiped his face with his handkerchief.