“Why, certainly, Mr. Carter,” he readily consented, after Chick had concluded. “Go as far as you like. I wouldn’t bank much myself, as a matter of fact, on Rudolph Meyers’ integrity. I know he used to run a pawnshop in one of the lower precincts of the city. He opened this store about eight months ago.” “Soon after the New York robberies began,” Chick nodded. “I see the point. I have often wondered why he could sell goods cheaper than his competitors. I inferred that his rent might be lower, and he keeps only one clerk, a man named Finley.” “Many of his goods cost him less--at present,” Chick said significantly. “I judge so, now,” smiled the other. “They unpack most of them in the area back of the store. A big case came in there this morning by express. It now is out there. I suppose they will open it, now that Finley has showed up. Yes, by Jove, they’re just coming out of the rear door.” Chick directed the manager to remain in his office, and he then stole to a point from which he could easily see and hear the two men without being detected. They had emerged from a back door of the store, and had opened another leading down a flight of stone steps to the basement. Barton Bailey already was working upon a large packing case, while Rudolph Meyers, a short, swarthy man of about fifty, stood looking on with a sinister grin. “Another vindfall, eh?” he remarked, after a moment. “Another vindfall. If it proves to be as good as the last----” “Much better, Meyers, and then some,” Bart Bailey interrupted, turning from his work. “I happen to know just what is in this one. I was with Murdock when the goods were packed.” “You left him all right, eh?” “As right as a trivet, Rudolph.” “Not one is yet wise, eh?” “Not yet, old man, nor likely to be,” declared Bart confidently. “The headquarters dicks have been bounced and others are to be tried. You know whom I mean. They’re the worst ever, too, but I reckon they’ll find this nut too hard a one for their ugly jaws. If they----” “Wait!” cut in Meyers sharply. “Here vas a poy with a message. Vait von minute.” Chick pricked up his ears and crept nearer the window. Through the open back door of the store he could see a telegraph messenger entering from Broad Street. He saw Meyers hurry in to meet him, saw him glance at the address on the yellow envelope, and then turn and beckon to Bailey, who dropped his tools and hurried into the store. “By Jove, I wonder what that signifies,” thought Chick, with instinctive misgivings. “A wire to Bailey, eh? Can any one have got wise to my doings?” Bart Bailey, to whom the telegram evidently was addressed, hastened to sign for it, and then broke the seal. He read the message, and then both men hurried into the rear office. Chick then could see them through one of the office windows, which had been opened to admit the morning air.