Bart Bailey took a small leather book from his pocket and sat down at a desk, spreading the telegram on it and seizing a large pad of blank paper and a pencil. He then began to refer to various pages in the book, pausing to write briefly at intervals on the pad. “A code message,” thought Chick, intently watching the couple. “He has the key to it in that book, and is making a transcription on the pad. By Jove, this looks like something doing.” Chick’s suspicions were almost immediately confirmed. Both men appeared much disturbed. Leaving Barton still at work at the desk, Meyers hurried to the front part of the store, where, through some lace draperies that were displayed in one of the windows, he began to peer cautiously into Broad Street, evidently searching the wide thoroughfare in each direction. “By gracious, I must be right,” Chick muttered. “Bart Bailey has been tipped by some one, as sure as death and taxes. The other rat is looking to see whether the store is being watched. You’re looking in the wrong direction, old man. By Jove, I would give a trifle for a copy of that transcription.” Bart Bailey evidently completed it a few moments later. He sprang up in some excitement, tore the written sheet from the pad, then hurried out to the front of the store to read it to his companion. Both remained there, earnestly discussing it and gazing cautiously toward the street. “Here’s my chance, by Jove, if I ever had one,” thought Chick, after watching them for a moment. “I’ll take it, too, let come what may.” Stepping quickly to one of the other windows, Chick quietly raised it, then sprang out noiselessly and crossed the area between the two buildings. The desk in the rear office was within reach through the open window. Chick leaned over the sill and listened for a moment. He could hear the subdued voices of the two men in the front of the store, but could not distinguish what they were saying. Taking the pad from the desk, Chick drew back and tore off the upper blank sheet and slipped it into his pocket. He then replaced the pad and returned it to its former position, quietly closing the window. The two men in the front of the store still were cautiously watching the street. “Neither of them heard me,” thought Chick, with some satisfaction. “Nor will a single blank sheet be missed from that pad. I’ll wager I can learn something from it.” One might wonder how he could accomplish it, but Chick Carter was wise to all the tricks of his profession. He thanked the manager of the agency for the accommodations afforded him, cautioned him to say nothing in regard to his visit, and he then learned the location of the nearest drug store. Hastening to it, Chick bought from a clerk some fine black powder adapted to his purpose. He then requested the privilege of using the prescription room for a few moments, stating with what object, and the favor was readily granted.