"Don't touch 'em!" Latty warned. "Some are loaded. I keep 'em hidden for
safety, but sometimes my nephew Fred here and I have target practice."

Just then Tom's keen eyes spotted a slip of paper tucked among the guns.
He pulled it out. His heart gave a leap of excitement as he saw two
words written on the paper--_Samson Narko!_

Hiding his amazement, Tom read the name aloud and added casually,
"What's this? The make of one of the guns?"

"Uh, yeah--that's right," the man replied.

Without comment, Tom climbed out of the subcellar. As he bent down to
drop the trap door, Tom flashed the officer a signal. Instantly the
trooper grabbed Latty.

"Hey! Why the rough stuff?" the prisoner exclaimed. Then, as he realized
the officer was about to handcuff him, the man's face turned pasty
white. He pulled free from the trooper's grasp and bolted toward the
stairway. His nephew stood as if paralyzed at the sudden turn of events.

[Illustration (Tom finds Latty's store of weapons)]

Latty's attempt at flight was hopeless. Tom quickly brought him down
with a flying tackle.

Later, after Latty had been manacled, Tom helped him up. "In case you
don't know it," the young inventory said coldly, "your friend Narko is
in jail, so you may as well talk. What's the pitch?"