Hawkins opened the door very gently.
Inside, the room was dark—not pitch dark, but that semi-gloom of a city room whose only light comes from an arc lamp half a block away.
The air was heavy and sickening with the fumes of chloroform. They fairly sent my head a-reeling, but their effect upon the burglar seemed to have been nil.
Over by the window a huge form was hurling itself to and fro, from wall to wall and back again, in the frantic endeavor to gain freedom. The bag enveloped his head and shoulders, but a mighty pair of arms within the bag were straining and tearing at the fabric, and a couple of long, muscular legs kicked madly at everything within reach.
Every few seconds, too, a puffed oath added spice to the excitement, as the captive wrenched and strained.
On the whole, the scene was a bit too gruesome to be humorous. As a rule I can see the funny side of Hawkins' doings; but the fun departed from this particular mess at the thought of what would happen when the colossus finally emerged from the bag and commenced operations upon Hawkins and myself—neither of us athletes.
“He's caught, isn't he, Griggs?” stuttered Hawkins, clutching my arm.
“For the moment,” I replied. “But come—let's get an officer. If that canvas gives——”
“Gives!” sneered the inventor. “Why that canvas——”
“Gawd! If I gets yer!” screamed the man in the bag.