Ken lunged for the intruder’s feet and hung on. “It’s all right, Pop!” he called. “We got him!” Out of the corner of his eye he could see Pop Allen tearing down the stairs, with Richard Holt right behind him.
“You’ve got me all right.” The muffled voice spoke from somewhere beneath Sandy’s considerable weight. “But why?” it grunted. “Just tell me why?”
Ken’s hands jerked away from the feet he was holding as if they had burned him. In the same instant Sandy rolled aside, freeing his victim.
And then both boys scrambled hastily out of the way as a furious red-faced Bert, pushing aside pots and pans, got slowly to his feet.
“Gosh!” Ken said. “Gee, Bert—we thought you were upstairs asleep!”
“Sure,” Sandy echoed. “We thought—”
Then Sandy looked at Ken and Ken looked at him. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say.
CHAPTER V
THE MISSING OUNCES