"Yes, that is so," admitted Tom, and, later, he learned that such had been the case. The foreign spies, for such they were, had managed to corrupt one of Tom's trusted employees, who had looked the other way when La Foy and his fellow-conspirators sneaked into the airship shed and secreted themselves.
"Well, discussing how they got on board isn't going to do us any good now," Tom remarked ruefully. "The question is—what are we going to do?"
"Bless my fountain pen!" cried Mr. Damon. "There's only one thing to do!"
"What is that?" asked Ned.
"Why, get out of here, call a policeman, and have these scoundrels arrested. I'll prosecute them! I'll have my lawyer on hand to see that they get the longest terms the statutes call for! Bless my pocketbook, but I will!" and Mr. Damon waxed quite indignant.
"That's easier said than done," observed Tom Swift, quietly. "In the first place, it isn't going to be an easy matter to get out of here."
He looked around the storeroom, which was then their prison. It was illuminated by a single electric light, which showed some boxes and barrels piled in the rear.
"Nothing in them to help us get out," Tom went on, for he knew what the contents were.
"Oh, we'll get out," declared Ned confidently, "but I don't believe we'll find a policeman ready to take our complaint. The upper air isn't very well patrolled as yet."
"That's so," agreed Mr. Damon. "I forgot that we were in an airship. But what is to be done, Tom? We really are captives aboard our own craft."