“I think I'd like some of that canned lobster, with French dressing on,” spoke the eccentric man.
“That's away in the back end of the room,” said Tom, in a loud voice. “It's under a lot of boxes.”
“Then I'll help you get it out! Bless my frying pan! but I am very fond of lobster!” exclaimed Mr. Damon, in as natural tones as was possible under the circumstances.
He and Tom moved cautiously back among the boxes and barrels. They were glancing about with eager eyes. Tom switched on an electric light, and, the instant he did so, he was aware of a movement in a little space formed by one box which was placed on top, of two others. The lad saw a dark figure moving, as if to get farther out of sight.
“I've got him!” cried Tom, making a dive for the shadow.
A moment later the young inventor was bowled over, as a dark figure leaped over his head.
“Catch him, Mr. Damon!” he cried.
“Bless my hatband! I—I—” Mr. Damon's voice ended in a grunt. He, too, had been knocked down by the fleeing man.
“Look out, Mr. Jenks!” cried Tom, to warn those on guard at the door of the storeroom.
There was the report of a gun, some excited shouts, and when Tom could scramble to his feet, and rush out, he beheld Mr. Parker calmly sitting on a struggling man, while Mr. Jenks held a gun, that was still smoking.