They walked on toward the big structure, and, as they approached from the side, they were both startled to see a dark shadow—at least so it seemed to the youths—dart away from one of the windows.
"Look!" gasped Ned.
"Hello, there!" cried Tom sharply. "Who's that? Who are you?"
There was no answer, and then the fleeing shadow was merged in the other blackness of the night.
"Maybe it was the watchman making his rounds," suggested Ned.
"No," answered Tom, as he broke into a run. "If it was, he'd have answered. There's something wrong here!"
But he could find nothing when he reached the window from which he and Ned had seen the shadow dart. An examination by means of a pocket electric light betrayed nothing wrong with the sash, and if there were footprints beneath the casement they indicated nothing, for that side of the factory was one frequently used by the workmen.
Tom went into the building, and, for a time, could not find the watchman. When he did come upon the man, he found him rubbing his eyes sleepily, and acting as though he had just awakened from a nap.
"This isn't any way to be on duty!" said Tom sharply. "You're not paid for sleeping!"
"I know it, Mr. Swift," was the apologetic answer. "I don't know what's come over me to-night. I never felt so sleepy in all my life. I had my usual sleep this afternoon, too, and I've drunk strong coffee to keep awake."