“Yes, Nolan, but only for the day,” Bart Bailey replied. “Is Murdock around?” “He’s in the basement.” “Good enough! I hoped I would find him here. Shake hands with Mr. Donovan. He’s looking for a job, and I have an idea that Mr. Murdock can use him.” “I reckon that we can use him, all right,” Nolan vouchsafed, with covert significance. “We want to get the right kind of a man.” “I think I can fill the bill,” said Chick, while he shook the other’s tendered hand. “Wait here, Donovan,” put in Bailey. “I’ll find out what Murdock thinks about it.” “Go ahead, sir,” Chick nodded. Bart turned to the rear of the store and vanished down a narrow stairway. “What kind of work is to be required of me?” Chick inquired, turning again to Nolan. “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. It led to a basement room of moderate size, with a cement floor and lighted with several incandescent lamps. In none of the four foundation walls that met Chick’s gaze was there any sign of a window. In one corner, however, a stairway led up to another part of the building. Near one of the walls stood a long, wooden bench, covered with tools and partly finished articles such as Chick had seen in the store. Aside from this bench, two common wooden chairs and a bare table, the room contained no furnishings worthy of mention. A workman with his sleeves rolled up, a muscular chap in the twenties, was leaning on the bench with a mallet in his hand. Bart Bailey was seated on a corner of the table. Near by, occupying one of the chairs, was a bearded, round-shouldered man in gray--the man whom Patsy Garvan had followed from the department store only a short time before. Nolan stepped aside to let Chick pass, and the latter quickly noticed that he did not return to the store. It was too significant a fact to be ignored, and Chick was never more alert than at that moment. “This way, Donovan,” Bailey said, a bit curtly. “Here is Mr. Murdock. I have told him about you. He wants to ask you a few questions.” “All right, sir,” said Chick. “Glad to know you, sir.”