Thus the man exclaimed as he saw Tom coming toward him out of the little room. But Tom gave the fellow no chance to do anything, had such been his intention.
Brushing up against the suspect, as though to pass him in the narrow corridor, Tom raised his hand and brushed the big mop of black hair on Barsky’s head.
A moment later the wig of hair came off and with it the bushy black beard that all but hid the fellow’s face.
“Ah, I thought so!” cried Tom, as he saw closely-cropped red hair, heretofore hidden by the wig. “You’re a prison bird all right, Barsky—or whatever your name is. I’ve found you out!”
For a moment the man was so taken by surprise that he could only stand with open mouth, gasping.
Then, suddenly, rage seemed to take possession of the red-haired rascal—the same sort of rage that must have actuated him in his attack on Mr. Swift, Eradicate and Mrs. Baggert. Before he could speak, however, Tom cried:
“You’re through here, you dirty scoundrel! Get your time and clear out! And don’t think you’re going to have it end there. I’m going to have you arrested!”
“Oh, you are, eh?” sneered the man, and, realizing that his disguise had been effectually penetrated, all trace of his pretended Russian accent disappeared. He spoke ordinary English. “So you think you’ve found me out, do you? Well, you’ve got another guess coming, Tom Swift! I’m not half through with you!”
“You mean I’m not through with you!” replied Tom. “You’re an imposter! I have been suspecting you for some time, and my father has from the first. Now we’ll have a settlement!”
“But first I’ll settle with you!” cried the fellow, whose rage was on the increase. His lips closed tightly and he clenched his hands. These should have been warning signs to Tom, but they were not.