“Help!” exclaimed Tom. “Come here at once. There’s a burglar in the cellar. Come quick, and help me secure him.”
Half a dozen men hurried on their clothes, seized arms and hurried down into the street.
Meanwhile the noise of the revolver had been heard by the trapped burglar also.
“Confusion!” he exclaimed, with an oath, “the boy is calling assistance. He must be afraid I will get out. There must be a door somewhere. I must find it at once, or all is over with me.”
He had been turning his attention to the wrong side of the cellar, and this delayed him a little. But finally, with a cry of triumph, he espied the door. He saw also that it was bolted inside, and inferred that there would be no difficulty in opening it. But for some reason it stuck, and this occasioned further delay. Otherwise he might have got out in time to attack Tom before the arrival of help. But the little delay was in our hero’s favor. When the burglar got out he heard voices of men speaking with his young enemy.
“Where’s the burglar?” asked Archibald Campbell, a gigantic Scot, who was the next-door neighbor.
“In the cellar,” said Tom in a low voice.
“Yes,” said Tom in a whisper, so as to afford no information in case the discovery had not yet been made. “There’s a side door, and if he’s found it he’s free now perhaps.”
“Come, then,” said the brave Scot, “we’ll nab him. What weapons has he got?”
“We must have him if it’s a possible thing,” said Campbell. “That sort of vermin are best shut up where they can’t get into mischief.”
The burglar, now outside, heard these last words. He realized that Tom was too strong now to attack, and that his only safety lay in flight. If he could get away, there would be a chance for retaliation later. He could not escape into the street. That was barred by his pursuers. In the rear there was a fence to be surmounted. That was the only way of escape.
He was mounting the fence when his enemies came round the corner of the house and espied him.
Archibald Campbell raised his revolver and covered the ruffian.
“Halt, man!” he cried. “Do you surrender?”
“No, hang you!” answered the burglar, and he, also, was about to draw a corresponding weapon, when the Scotchman, feeling that their lives were in peril, and there was no time for parley, fired, striking the man in the wrist. The weapon fell to the ground, and he uttered an exclamation of pain. Before he could recover the weapon they had rushed upon him.