He turned to the file room, with a dozen or more files in his hands,
and accidentally dropped part of them on the floor. As he stooped to
pick them up he swiftly thrust Bexar Scrip No. 2692 in the inside breast
pocket of his coat.
This happened at just half-past four o'clock, and when the file clerk
took the files he threw them in a pile in his room, came out and locked
the door.
The clerks were moving out of the doors in long, straggling lines.
It was closing time.
Sharp did not desire to take the file from the Land Office.
The boy might have seen him place the file in his pocket, and the
penalty of the law for such an act was very severe.
Some distance back from the file room was the draftsman's room now
entirely vacated by its occupants.
Sharp dropped behind the outgoing stream of men, and slipped slyly into
this room.
The clerks trooped noisily down the iron stairway, singing, whistling,
and talking.
Below, the night watchman awaited their exit, ready to close and bar the
two great doors to the south and cast.
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