<h2 id='chap08' class='c011'>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
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<div>A PACKAGE CHANGES HANDS</div>
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<p class='c014'>“Must handle this with great care,” Sandy said a little
later as the boys let themselves into the Holt apartment.
He deposited Mom’s jewel box on a table and patted it
gently. “Valuable antique—very valuable. Worth almost
a dime a dozen. Unless, of course,” he added,
cocking his head on one side and studying the box intently,
“it is instead an ingenious copy of a valuable
antique, made by some nefarious criminal.”</p>
<p>“Go right ahead. Enjoy yourself,” Ken told him,
slumping into a chair without bothering to remove his
overcoat.</p>
<p>Sandy swung around to grin at him. “You can’t
blame me, can you? When a mastermind like yourself
gets really tangled up in his own theories—when he is
knocked out by the weight of his own genius—Now
where are you going?” he demanded as Ken got up
and started toward the boys’ bedroom in the rear of the
apartment. Sandy followed him.</p>
<p>“It doesn’t concern you,” Ken told him. “And it’s got
nothing to do with the box.” He began to change into
a pair of tweed slacks and a flannel shirt. “I was obviously
way off the beam about that. You were probably
mistaken about the weight of it the first time, and
if we accept that, then there’s no reason to think there’s
anything fishy about the box at all.”</p>
<p>“You haven’t answered my question.” Sandy, entirely
serious now, sat down on the edge of the bed. “What’s
the idea of changing your clothes? Where are you going?”</p>
<p>For a moment Ken didn’t answer. And then he said
reluctantly, “Well, this will give you another laugh.
But I’m going down to that building where we left
Barrack this morning. I’m still curious about him.”</p>
<p>“I see,” Sandy said.</p>
<p>“Do you?” Ken smiled briefly. “Well, that’s more
than I do. But somehow I—” He broke off and pulled a
heavy sweater on over his shirt.</p>
<p>Sandy took off the jacket of his suit and began to
unbutton his shirt.</p>
<p>It was Ken’s turn to ask a question. “What’re you
changing your clothes for?”</p>
<p>Sandy looked surprised. “For the same reason you are.
So we’ll look a little different from the way we did this
morning—just to be on the safe side.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be a dope,” Ken told him. “You don’t have to
come along. This is my hunch. And it’s my—” He
stopped.</p>
<p>“‘And it’s my father.’ That’s what you were going to
say. Weren’t you?” Sandy demanded. “You don’t like
the idea of Barrack knowing his address, and I don’t
either. Especially after that mysterious open door here
the other night. I agree with you. It’s probably got
nothing to do with the box. But don’t tell me it’s got
nothing to do with <i>me</i>—if there’s any chance that
somebody’s interested in making trouble for Richard
Holt.”</p>
<p>For a moment neither of them spoke. Sandy busied
himself getting dressed. But Ken knew that Sandy too
was remembering the occasion when Richard Holt’s
nose for news had brought him into serious danger,
when he had learned more than was safe for him to
know about certain criminal activities. Ken had no
real reason to suspect that Barrack was a criminal, or
that Barrack’s knowledge of his father’s address was
actually incriminating evidence. But Ken also knew
that he himself wouldn’t be satisfied until he learned a
little more about the affable Mr. Barrack.</p>
<p>And Sandy’s reaction didn’t surprise him. Once Ken
had let Sandy see that he was really worried, his red-headed
friend would naturally insist upon standing by.</p>
<p>Ken made one more effort to keep Sandy out of
what he believed to be his own problem.</p>
<p>“You’re going to give me a guilt complex,” he said.
“If you get frostbite, standing—”</p>
<p>“Frostbite?” Sandy sounded amazed. “In these shoes?”
He looked down at the heavy brogues he was putting
on. “What are you trying to do? Give me a guilt complex?
I agreed when we left that place this morning
that I’d go back with you this noon, didn’t I? Do you
want me to go skulking around in corners for the rest
of my life because I broke a promise?” He stood up.
“Are you ready?”</p>
<p>For a moment their eyes met and they both grinned.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Ken said then. “I’m ready.”</p>
<p>The boys reached the building on Ninth Avenue a
few minutes before twelve o’clock, just as the first
trickle of workers began to emerge on their way to
lunch. From a lobby across the street they watched the
trickle swell to a steady stream.</p>
<p>Sandy leaned comfortably against a radiator. “Why
didn’t we find this spot this morning?” he asked. “This
is my idea of comfortable sleuthing. When—” He came
swiftly erect. “There he is! Let’s go.”</p>
<p>Barrack was just coming through the doorway, carrying
half a dozen small cartons. He paused at a large
mailbox designed for packages, standing against the
building wall, and began to drop the cartons in, one
after the other. The largest proved too big for the opening,
and Barrack propped it on top of the mailbox instead.
Then, with one package still tucked securely
under his arm, he walked the few steps to the corner,
and waited for a light. He apparently intended to walk
eastward on Thirty-second Street.</p>
<p>“You take him,” Ken said. “I’ll be along in a minute.”</p>
<p>He dashed across the street, between rumbling trucks,
and took a swift look at the package Barrack had left
outside the box. Then he turned and crossed Ninth
Avenue again, in plenty of time to fall in a few steps
behind Sandy. Barrack was walking swiftly eastward.
Ken whistled a few bars of “Yankee Doodle,” quietly, to
let Sandy know he had caught up. Sandy replied with
an answering whistle.</p>
<p>Barrack was following the same route he had taken
that morning, in reverse. As he neared the cafeteria
where he had stopped for breakfast, Ken gave a start.</p>
<p>Up ahead, apparently waiting for someone at the
cafeteria entrance, stood the man whose broken watch
crystal Sam Morris had repaired on Christmas Eve.</p>
<p>In almost that same instant Ken saw Sandy sidestep
into a shop doorway. He waited there until Ken came
up.</p>
<p>Ken stopped and pretended to stare through the glass
at a display of hardware and tools, while he continued
to watch Barrack.</p>
<p>“You see what I see?” Sandy said.</p>
<p>Ken nodded.</p>
<p>“It sure is a small world,” Sandy muttered. “And
brother, when you get a hunch, it is a hunch!”</p>
<p>“I certainly didn’t expect this,” Ken assured him.</p>
<p>Barrack had reached the cafeteria doorway. He entered
briskly through the revolving door.</p>
<p>“Funnier and funnier,” Sandy muttered. “Did you
see that? Barrack walked right past him!”</p>
<p>Ken nodded. Barrack had certainly seen the man. He
had actually brushed against him as he entered. But
neither had given any sign of recognition.</p>
<p>“And don’t tell me,” Sandy said, “that they couldn’t
recognize each other—not after they drove together for
a couple of hundred miles.”</p>
<p>“Look,” Ken said. “Now Mr. Watch Crystal is going
inside too.”</p>
<p>“Come on,” Sandy said.</p>
<p>They began to move toward the cafeteria.</p>
<p>A hasty glance through the wide plate-glass front of
the big self-service restaurant assured them that it was
very crowded.</p>
<p>“I think it’s safe to go in,” Ken muttered, “as long as
we’re careful to keep out of their way.”</p>
<p>“This is the first time I ever went into a restaurant
with my mind on something besides food,” Sandy said.
“Go ahead. I’ll follow you in a minute. We’ll be less
conspicuous that way. Meet you at the tray counter if
the coast is clear.”</p>
<p>Inside the great brightly lighted room, rimmed with
service counters, hundreds of men and women were
milling around, intent on collecting a trayful of food or,
if already laden with trays, on finding a vacant table
where they could eat.</p>
<p>Ken stalled around at the tray counter, collecting an
unnecessary amount of knives, forks, and spoons, until
he caught Sandy’s eye on him. Then he moved on to
the water fountain. Sandy shortly joined him there with
his own tray and an assortment of cutlery.</p>
<p>“Barrack’s at the sandwich counter. Watch Crystal is
standing in line in front of the hot table,” Ken murmured.</p>
<p>They prolonged the task of filling their water glasses
until Barrack, with an almost empty tray, made his way
through the room to a table for six in a far corner. Two
chairs at the table had been tipped forward, to mark
the places as reserved. Barrack set his tray down in
front of one of them, righted the chair, and sat down.
He put the package he was carrying—it was about the
size of a small suit box—on the floor near his feet. Then
he began to eat his single sandwich, washing down the
mouthfuls with swallows of coffee.</p>
<p>An irritated voice snarled at Ken’s elbow. “That’s the
sixth time you’ve rinsed out that water glass. You going
to stay here all day?”</p>
<p>Ken looked around into a pair of eyes as irritated
as the voice. “Sorry,” he muttered, and moved away.</p>
<p>“We’d better get a sandwich ourselves,” Sandy suggested.
“We’ll be less noticeable doing that than hanging
around here.”</p>
<p>They made sure that neither Barrack nor the second
man looked their way as they hastily collected a pair of
corned beef sandwiches and two glasses of milk. Then
they sought out a table from which they could continue
their observations.</p>
<p>They had just managed to find a satisfactory place
when Sam Morris’s former customer moved away from
the food counters. His tray was crowded. It was easy to
see why he had taken so long to collect his lunch.</p>
<p>He made his way straight between the crowded tables
to the one where Barrack sat, lowered his tray to
the space in front of the second tipped-up chair, and
then sat down there. He didn’t look at Barrack as he
began to eat.</p>
<p>Barrack was almost finished by that time. He took
the last bite of his sandwich, swallowed the last of his
coffee, and stood up. Without looking back over his
shoulder he headed for the door.</p>
<p>Sandy moved halfway out of his chair. “Should we
follow him? Or—” He glanced back at the table where
the second man was still eating. “Hey—look! Barrack
forgot his package.”</p>
<p>“I know.” Ken’s voice was tense. “Watch.”</p>
<p>Just as Ken spoke, the man at the table dropped his
napkin on the floor. Instead of reaching for a fresh one
from the dispenser in the middle of the table, he bent
down to pick it up. If the boys hadn’t been watching
him intently they would have missed what he did then.
As he picked up the napkin he also picked up the flat
package Barrack had left on the floor, put it on his
knees under his recovered napkin, and then went on
eating. But now he seemed suddenly in a hurry, gulping
his food in large mouthfuls.</p>
<p>“Never mind Barrack,” Ken said. “Let’s see where he
goes.” He picked up the second half of his sandwich.
“I’ll finish this outside. You stay here until he leaves.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Sandy agreed. He still had the surprised
expression he had worn ever since the man first appeared
at the cafeteria entrance.</p>
<p>Ken waited in the doorway adjoining the cafeteria
until, a few minutes later, the man came out and moved
purposefully toward the corner. Sandy was close behind
him.</p>
<p>Their quarry descended into the subway station at
the corner, and the boys followed. He boarded an uptown
train and they got into the next car, standing
where they could see him through the glass-topped
door between.</p>
<p>When the train pulled into the Times Square station
the man got off and headed for the street. But before
he passed through the exit turnstile he suddenly reversed
his direction, walking straight back toward
them. Sandy froze where he was and, finding himself
before a chewing-gum slot machine, tried to look as if
he had been busy inserting pennies into it for some
time. Ken, who had been slightly farther behind, had
time to step behind a protective pillar.</p>
<p>But the station was fairly well occupied. They didn’t
dare let the man get too far away before they followed
him. Sandy took up the chase.</p>
<p>Ken intercepted him as he came past. “Let me take
the lead. He may have seen you. Drop behind.”</p>
<p>In their new order, with Ken dogging the man’s footsteps
as closely as he thought was safe, they went
through the maze of corridors and passageways that
brought them to the crosstown shuttle-train terminal.
They boarded a train already waiting on the nearest
track and were whisked across Manhattan to the east
side. There the man made his way down a flight of
stairs to the station platform of a downtown subway.</p>
<p>From where they stood, at the head of the stairs, the
boys could see him.</p>
<p>“You’d better stay up here,” Ken said. “I’ll go down
on the platform. But try to get down in time to get on
the train he takes.”</p>
<p>A local train came into the station shortly after Ken
descended the stairs. His quarry ignored it, pacing up
and down with the package held tightly beneath his
arm. Suddenly the man made for the stairs he had just
come down.</p>
<p>Ken bounded after him, glad that Sandy was on
guard on the upper level. He saw the redhead first
when he reached the top and then, just beyond him, the
man they were both following.</p>
<p>Sandy rounded a corner only a few yards behind the
men. Ken trailed him. But as he rounded the corner
himself he saw Sandy standing still, turning his head
frantically from side to side. The man was nowhere in
sight.</p>
<p>“Where’d he go?” Ken asked quickly, coming up beside
Sandy.</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” Sandy spoke between clenched teeth.
“When I came around the corner—right behind him—he
was already gone. He could be anywhere.” His gesture
took in an exit to the street level, and three stairways
leading down to various train platforms.</p>
<p>Ken thought quickly. If the man had disappeared
that fast, he must have gone down the nearest stairway.</p>
<p>“Let’s try this,” he said, and dove for a flight of steps
that led to another section of the downtown subway
platform they had just left.</p>
<p>There was an express train waiting in the station
when they reached the bottom of the stairs, but its
doors were already beginning to slide shut. A familiar
shape caught Ken’s eye. The man who had broken his
watch crystal—the man who had picked up Barrack’s
package—was squeezing himself through one rapidly
narrowing entrance.</p>
<p>The boys dashed for another door in the same car.
Ken’s fingers grabbed for the rubber edge of the panel
in an effort to prevent it from closing. But he was too
late. It slid shut with a small final thud. The train
lurched into motion.</p>
<p>One by one the cars went past, at a swiftly increasing
speed. And then the train disappeared entirely, except
for the winking red light on the last car, growing
smaller and smaller in the dark tunnel of the subway.</p>
<p>Ken let himself sag wearily against a pillar. “We
could start a school,” he said. “The Allen-Holt School
of How Not to Shadow a Suspect.”</p>
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