Tom beckoned his partner over and showed his discovery. "Where does this lead to?" the trooper asked, turning back to Latty.
"Just a little storage place," the owner replied with a shrug. "I didn't think it was worth mentioning. You'd better not go down there," he added hastily. "The steps ain't safe."
"Just the same, we'll take a look," the trooper said.
"Then do it at your own risk!" Latty snapped.
The officer pulled up the trap door and Tom shone a light down. The shallow dirt-walled room below was about six feet square. On the floor, at the foot of a short rickety ladder, lay a large bundle wrapped in a tarpaulin.
Tom descended the ladder cautiously and opened the tarpaulin to see what was inside. The contents made him gasp—a large, well-oiled collection of rifles and pistols!
Looking up, Tom saw both the state trooper and Latty peering down at him—the trooper openmouthed with surprise, Latty scowling nervously.
"Don't touch 'em!" Latty warned. "Some are loaded. I keep 'em hidden for safety, but sometimes my nephew Fred here and I have target practice."
Just then Tom's keen eyes spotted a slip of paper tucked among the guns. He pulled it out. His heart gave a leap of excitement as he saw two words written on the paper—Samson Narko!
Hiding his amazement, Tom read the name aloud and added casually, "What's this? The make of one of the guns?"