They began a hasty search of the rear of the shop, Andy joining in. But though they looked in several closets where tools or supplies were kept, and peered into all sorts of odd nooks and corners, there was no sign of the watchman.
“I’m afraid he has gone off,” began Jerry, but, the next moment, he and the others were startled by hearing a groan.
“What’s that?” cried Bob.
“Somebody’s killed!” gasped Andy, his face turning pale.
“Nonsense!” cried Jerry.
“It sounded from under the cot,” observed Ned.
His words were a signal for all to rush to the little bed. Jerry lifted up the clothes that draped over the front edge, concealing a view underneath. As the lad raised the coverlets, there was disclosed a pitiful sight.
Old Sud Snuffles, tied with numerous ropes, his head enveloped in a bag, lay under the cot. He was as helpless as a baby, and, as the boys looked at him in wonder and alarm, a stifled groan came from the bag. At the same time Jerry sniffed the air suspiciously.
“Boys!” he cried, “Sud has been drugged—chloroformed! We must bring him to consciousness, and then, maybe, he can tell us about the theft of our airship. There’s been some queer goings-on here!”