AN UNLUCKY DISCOVERY
On the following morning Mr. Jarvis was distinctly nonplussed by a
summons to the office of the system manager of Martin Brothers. Once
there he was shown a neatly typed report of his lapses of yesterday
and sarcastically taken to task for his lack of knowledge in regard
to store geography, and, yet more reprehensible, his ignorance of a
certain very humble portion of his own stock, namely soda straws.
To complete his humiliation he was handed a printed list of the store’s
departments and their location and curtly requested to study it. The
manager’s dry comment, “One of the first principles of store efficiency
should consist in a thorough knowledge of the store itself,” rankled in
the assistant’s soul. He left the office consumed with a dull, helpless
rage against the unknown spotter who had brought him to grief, little
dreaming that the prime offender marched daily about Department 40.
In some peculiar manner, explainable only by a certain Titian-haired
youth, the story of Mr. Jarvis’ fatal attempts at direction crept
about the department and the salespeople of 40 enjoyed a good laugh
at his expense. Although Teddy could not know it, his little joke on
the assistant had been the means of striking the first definite blow
for Mr. Keene. The shrewd system manager had not been impressed by Mr.
Jarvis, and he mentally ticketed the assistant as a man of pretension
rather than worth. Later this secret opinion was destined to be brought
to bear on a number of conditions in house furnishings hitherto
unrevealed.
But while Teddy Burke was sailing serenely along from one day to
another, Harry Harding’s working hours were not filled with unalloyed
content. With the beginning of December the book department saw the
first stirrings of the rush, which, until Christmas, made it one of the
busiest spots in the store.
The vast amount of books that had to be carted from the stock-room to
the department made Leon Atkins’ frequent presence on the tenth floor a
disagreeable necessity. The moment he was out of Mr. Brady’s sight he
fell back into his slothful habits. True, he no longer napped in the
bins, neither did he distinguish himself by any really useful effort.
He deemed it prudent, however, to let Harry strictly alone. He firmly
believed that Harry had been the one to call Mr. Brady’s attention
to his derelictions, and he was a trifle afraid to court a further
exposure. Intent on exacting petty revenge, he made it a point to
aggravate Harry by every possible means that would defy detection.
To return from his luncheon only to find a certain bin he had left
in perfect order reduced to chaos was a common occurrence with
Harry. Books which he placed in one bin had a trick of mysteriously
disappearing at the very time they were needed. Later, after he had
listened to the grumbling of the salespeople because he had failed to
produce instantly the stock they required, a distracted search would
reveal them roosting placidly in an alien bin.
Harry knew only too well by whose hands his truck was spirited away
on a busy morning when he needed it most. Unable to secure the loan
of another truck he had toiled wearily throughout a whole day lugging
heavy piles of books downstairs by hand. When in desperation he had
spent almost the whole of the following morning in frantic search for
his missing truck, he had finally discovered it in a remote corner of
the tenth floor securely chained and padlocked to a staple in the wall.
Harry felt that he was above noticing such petty meannesses. Were he to
accuse Leon as author of them he knew that the latter would make loud
denial. He had no wish to reopen the squabbles of early Fall. Still,
the frequent admonitions of the impatient members of the department,
“Now do try to hurry those books down, 45,” or “What makes you so slow,
boy?” cut him to the quick.
Of late it seemed to him that Mr. Rexford had treated him a trifle less
kindly than was his wont. He sadly wondered if anyone had complained
of him to the buyer. Before he had gone on his vacation he and Mr.
Rexford had been on the most friendly terms. As a matter of fact, the
increasing business of the department had completely occupied the
buyer. Only one adverse criticism against Harry had reached his ears,
but that was a long one.
In speaking to Mr. Brady of the boy’s usefulness, the assistant had
said with a shake of his head: “Harding is not the boy he was last
year. You’ve spoiled him by making too much of him. That Farley affair,
together with winning that prize for his address last June, has given
him a swelled head. He’s one of the sly, quiet kind that pretends to
be an angel, but just the same he’s careless and a trouble maker. When
he’s in the stock-room he picks on Atkins’ boy all the time. Atkins
himself told me so. He’s getting so he can’t be relied on to fix a
table right. He mixed one for Miss Breeden a while ago and we had a row
with a customer over two-priced books under a one-priced sign. I called
Miss Breeden down for inattention to her stock, but it was more young
Harding’s fault than hers.”
“It is hard to believe all that, Brady,” had been Mr. Rexford’s
incredulous reply.
“Can’t help it. It’s the truth,” Mr. Brady had insisted. He was really
honest in this. Mr. Atkins and Miss Breeden had done their best to thus
impress him.
Mr. Rexford had silently reserved judgment of Harry until hearing
the boy’s side of the story. Twice he had set out to seek the lad
and question him. Both times he had been interrupted in his quest.
Afterward business stress had driven it from his mind. If he had
chanced to encounter Harry face to face an understanding would have no
doubt ensued, but, as it happened, he saw him only from a distance and
at times when he was occupied with other things. And thus an intangible
shadow rose between the boy who was ever earnestly striving to do his
best and the man whose good opinion he valued above all.
Several mornings after Harry had rescued his truck from durance vile,
his work took him to the selling-floor for the morning. A long row of
shelves that ended where the jewelry department began were awaiting a
refilling of titles temporarily out of stock. The shelves were under
the charge of a pleasant young woman who handled the rebound fiction
and her confidence in Harry was sufficient to allow him to go on with
the work she had begun while she served a steady stream of customers.
From his position before the shelves, he glanced now and then toward
the exchange desk where Miss Welch reigned supreme. He also had an
excellent view of the jewelry department and in his boyish way he
marveled at the number of people who were able to purchase the costly
articles that lay beyond his reach.
At either end of a counter very close to him which was devoted to
the display of expensive rings lounged a detective. During the month
of December the great department stores are obliged to keep an
especially vigilant watch over their jewelry sections. At such a time
light-fingered gentry are always abroad and each year the stores suffer
from their depredations.
It was in one of the occasional glances which Harry leveled at the ring
counter that his cursory attention became fixed on a well-dressed woman
who was engaged in critical examination of a small tray of rings. Harry
watched her in fascination as she tried on one ring after another and
held up a plump white hand to view the effect. Now and then she turned
for approval to her companion, a slender, very blonde young woman with
shifty blue eyes. By the alert watch which the salesman behind the
counter kept on the tray Harry knew that the rings must be valuable.
At length the woman narrowed her field of selection to one ring, a
good-sized ruby set between two equally large diamonds. She held it
up for her companion’s inspection. The blonde girl shook her head and
shrugged her disapproval of it. Harry noted that she immediately turned
her eyes to another part of the tray. While the elder woman focussed
the salesman’s attention, Harry saw the other’s slim fingers dislodge
a ring at the extreme edge of the tray. She regarded it casually, made
a move as though to return it to its velvet bed, examined it again
and carelessly laid it on the counter close beside the tray. Had the
salesman been less occupied he might have noticed this. His attention,
however, was on the prospective buyer of the other ring. The woman
was holding it toward him, her forefinger on the ruby. As she touched
it she shook her head vehemently. The man smiled a refutation of her
protest. Reaching into a coat pocket he drew forth a small lens.
Holding it to his eye he took the ruby ring from the older woman’s hand
and peered at it through his glass.
Just then Harry saw something which made him grow hot and cold. While
the salesman was thus engaged, the older woman kept her eyes directly
on him. One plump hand lightly grazed the edge of the tray as she
leaned far forward. With the swiftness of lightning it left the counter
and dropped to her side, carrying with it the ring which the younger
woman had carelessly neglected to replace.
Amazement of the daring theft dazed the boy for an instant. Then he
realized that he must act with all speed. It was evident that he had
seen something which had not been observed by even the detectives. He
glanced toward one end of the counter to note that one of them had
disappeared. At the other end stood Mr. Prescott, his gaze focussed on
a group of women near him.
For a second the obnoxious duty of fastening theft upon a woman caused
Harry to falter briefly. Then he squared his shoulders and walked
resolutely to where Mr. Prescott stood. A backward glance informed him
that the two pilferers were still at the ring counter. Had he looked
back once more he would have discovered that the blonde young woman was
no longer in evidence. Her companion alone remained there, still deep
in conversation with the salesman over the ruby ring.
“Mr. Prescott.” Harry’s voice sank to a breathless whisper. “Come
quick. I saw a woman steal a ring. She has it in her coat pocket now.
She’s still at the counter talking to the salesman.”
Mr. Prescott’s eyes narrowed. His face became an emotionless mask as he
muttered without perceptible movement of the lips, “Which is she? Don’t
point. Walk toward her, stop for a second directly behind her, then
walk on. Don’t look back at me.”
Implicitly Harry followed the detective’s directions, then went back
to his work. He dared not look again toward the ring counter, although
he knew nothing would happen there. Mr. Prescott would trail the woman
entirely out of the store before seeking to detain her. When an hour
later he was summoned to Mr. Prescott’s office, he went trembling
in every limb. Having done his duty to Martin Brothers, a painful
experience was ahead of him.
As the door of the detective’s office closed behind him, he
instinctively felt that something had gone wrong. True, the prisoner
was there, seated on an oak bench, the picture of raging innocence.
Mr. Prescott, too, looked like a thundercloud as he beckoned Harry to
his desk. “Is this the woman you say you saw steal a ring?” he coldly
questioned.
Harry quailed inwardly, but his tones were firm as he replied: “Yes,
sir. This is the woman.”
“He lies,” burst forth the prisoner furiously. “I wouldn’t dream of
doing such a dreadful thing!”
“Please be still, Madam,” snapped the detective. “I’ll hear what you
have to say later.” Scowling at poor Harry, he continued: “What kind of
a ring was it? Tell me what you saw.”
“I can’t describe the ring, sir.” Harry went on to relate what he had
seen.
“It’s not so,” shouted the accused. “I was alone. A young woman who
stood beside me asked me several questions about the prices of the
rings in that tray, but she was a stranger to me. I never saw her
before. I merely spoke to her because she spoke to me. Your store will
pay for this insult! I’ll bring suit against Martin Brothers.”
“Now, now, Madam. Not so fast. If you have been unjustly accused we
will do all in our power to make reparation. I have sent for one of our
woman detectives. You will have to submit to being searched.”
“Let her search me then,” defied the prisoner. “I am not afraid. The
idea of taking a boy’s word against a customer’s! Oh, you’ll regret
this.”
“You may go, Harding.” Mr. Prescott’s face was an angry red as he
issued the stern command. The woman’s censure had flicked him on the
raw. Remembering Harry’s clever work in the case of Farley, he had
taken the boy’s word and made the arrest. Now he wondered if he had
made a fool of himself.