"Yes; we happen to have it by the merest chance, although it is rather a rare drug in the materia medica. I will get it for you at once."
The customer's face assumed an air of satisfaction as the clerk spoke, and he sat down on a stool in front of the counter.
James Cromwell quickly placed a small parcel in his hands, and the customer, drawing out a pocketbook, which appeared to be well-filled, paid for his purchase.
He then walked out of the shop, and to the corner of the street, where he waited for an uptown car. As he left the shop, a ragged boy of ten, with a sharp, weazened face entered.
"I want an ounce of carmels," he said.
"Wait a minute; do you want to earn a quarter?" demanded the shopman, abruptly.
"I reckon I do," answered the urchin.
"Then you must follow the gentleman who just went out of the shop: find out where he lives, and what his name is. Come out, and I will point him out to you."
Just outside of the door, James Cromwell cast his eyes up the street and saw his late customer in the act of jumping on board a Fourth Avenue car.