"Yes, I remember," laughed Tyler. "So he caught his bird, did he, or, rather, you caught her for him!"
"I guess it worked all right," said Hardy, slowly. "He met her and talked with her, and that's usually enough. Still, he was glum as an oyster when he gave me the money."
"Mr. Hardy," called a voice at the foot of the stairs. "Come down, quick; you are wanted! There's a shop-lifter over in the hosiery department!"
Mr. Hardy stopped long enough to hear the words, then he made his way directly to the department mentioned.
He paused at the counter and began examining some goods, and as he did so one of the clerks came up to him as though she expected to wait on him.
"Is this the one?" muttered the detective under his breath, at the same time making a slight motion toward the woman.
"Can't say," whispered the clerk. "I just missed the goods. There were six pairs of hose—they all went together."
Hardy glanced again at the woman, whose face was drawn and haggard. She was by far the poorest customer at the counter.
"'Taint's no use tacklin' them others," he whispered to the clerk, "for if I ever nabbed a rich one she'd make things lively for me—but I guess it's the poor one that's got 'em, anyway."
"She looks desperate," answered the clerk, leaning over the counter. "And, you know, she could sell 'em and make a little something."