An examination of the few rooms remaining on this short turn of the passage did not disclose the youth they sought. All of the doors were locked.
“He may be hiding in one of them,” suggested Dunk.
“If he is all we’ll have to do will be to wait down at the other end, if we don’t find him in the store room,” spoke Andy. “He’ll have to come out some time, and it’s too high up for him to jump.”
“It’s queer we didn’t hear him run past our room,” remarked Dunk.
“He had on rubber shoes—that’s why,” explained Frank. “He went out of my room like a shadow. At first I didn’t realize what it was, but when I found my stuff had vanished I woke up.”
“Rubber shoes, eh?” said Andy. “He’s an up-to-date burglar all right.”
“Well, let’s try the storeroom,” suggested Dunk, as they neared it. They were rather nervous, in spite of the fact that their forces outnumbered the enemy three to one. With shovel, tongs and poker held in readiness, they advanced. The door of the big closet was closed, and, just as Andy was about to put his hand on the knob, the portal swung open, and out stepped—Mortimer Gaffington.
“Why—er—why—you—you——!” stammered Andy.
“Did you—have you——?” This was what Dunk tried to say.
“Is he in there?” Frank wanted to know.