This was the would-be thief's chance. With a dexterity worthy of a
better cause the urchin transferred the slip, money and letters to his
own pocket. It was done in less than three seconds, and then he darted
back into the crowd upon the street.
Of course Richard found no bug, and he was considerably perplexed by
the urchin's actions, never dreaming of what had really occurred.
"I suppose that boy was fooling me," he thought. "Maybe it's one of
those silly jokes that become all the rage every now and then."
Richard walked to the corner of Ann Street. St. Paul's clock now pointed
to ten minutes to two, and he had no time to waste.
"Watch protectors, gents, only ten cents each! May some day save you
the loss of a valuable timepiece! Step right up now; only a dime!
Regular price fifty cents!"
It was a street vender who made this announcement. He stood upon the
curbstone, a small tray of his wares suspended from his shoulders.
"Here's just what you want, sir," he said, addressing Richard.
"Thank you; but I don't carry a watch," was the boy's polite reply.
"You will one of these days. Better have one."
"If I need one I'll call around," replied Richard briefly.
The idea of a safeguard caused him to feel in his pockets to see that
his belongings were still in his possession, first in
one--another--every one.
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