pered the remainder of the sentence into the ear of the balloonist.
"You don't mean it!" exclaimed Mr. Sharp, in a tense whisper. Tom nodded vigorously.
"But how can you enter the building?" asked the other. "You can't drop over the edge."
"Down the scuttle," answered Tom. "There must be one on the roof, for they have to come up here at times. We can force the lock, if necessary. I want to enter the building and see where Morse had his office."
"All right. Go ahead. I'll engage Mr. Damon here so he won't follow you. It will be great news for him. Go ahead."
Under pretense of wanting the help of the eccentric man in completing the repairs he had started, Mr. Sharp took Mr. Damon back into the cabin. Tom, getting a big screw driver from an outside tool-box, approached the scuttle on the roof. He could see it looming up in the semi-darkness, a sort of box, covering a stairway that led down into the building. The door was locked, but Tom forced it, and felt justified. A few minutes later, cautiously flashing his light, almost like a burglar he thought, he was prowling around the corridors of the office structure.
Was it deserted? That was what he wanted to know. He knew the office Morse had formerly
