“Odd jobs,” was the indefinite reply. “Mostly packing the stuff we send away. We don’t do any retail business.”
“Does Mr. Murdock run the business?”
“When he’s here,” nodded Nolan. “He’s the big finger.”
“Where does he buy all of these things?” Chick inquired, glancing at the counter and shelves.
“Don’t buy them,” said Nolan tersely. “We make most of them. We’ve got a workroom in the basement.”
“I might——”
What Chick would have said was cut short by a shout from below, a command from Bart Bailey.
“Bring Donovan down here, Nolan,” he cried. “Murdock wants to talk with him.”
“All right,” Nolan shouted; then, to Chick: “I’ll turn the key in the door. Some one might steal in and swipe something.”
He strode to the street door and locked it while speaking, and Chick quick to note the significance of all this, seized the opportunity presented. He shifted a revolver to the side pocket of his coat, then followed Nolan down the narrow back stairway.