The Bradys and the Girl Smuggler | Page 9

eet ees wong success, we make so much dollaires zat we can retiaire an' leeve ze life of ease for ze rest of our days, by gar!"
He laughed and the woman replied, resignedly:
"Well, I hope your dream will come true, Paul."
"Take zees seat an' 'ave your suppair, my dear. You need ze rest, for to-night we leave New York by rail for Canada, for I have sold all ze stones I had, an' mail my draft to Paris."
Old King Brady smiled and muttered:
"I'm glad you've told me your business, old fellow."
The shadows of twilight had fallen by this time and the hall was getting dark.
Hearing some one coming downstairs from an upper floor, the old detective retreated along the hall and crouched back in a doorway.
He pressed himself back flat against the door hoping the person who was coming would pass him in the gloom without observing his presence.
Unfortunately the door behind him was not shut tight.
As he pressed his back against it, it flew inward all of a sudden and pitching over backward, the detective fell sprawling upon the floor of a small room adjoining the one occupied by La Croix and his wife.
He heard the Frenchman utter a startled cry.
Like a tiger he sprang into the room and saw the detective.
"_Parbleu!_" he hissed, a look of rage and hate upon his dark face. "Ze secret police. Watching me, eh? I show you, Monsieur."
He seized an iron bar standing in the corner and as the old detective was upon the point of scrambling to his feet, he dealt the officer a fearful blow that knocked him senseless.
He just had time to bang the door shut to prevent the person who was coming from upstairs from seeing what was going on.
Just then his wife rushed in.
"What is the matter, Paul?" she demanded.
"Old King Brady!" he replied, pointing at the old detective excitedly.
"Ah;" was her cool reply. "He has found our refuge, eh?"
"Yes. An' probable he has been listen to our talk."
"That is very dangerous for us, Paul."
"Not since I 'ave him at my mercy. _Sacriste!_ When I geet through wiz heem now, he not weel trouble us again een wong hurry."
Fearing the detective might recover he got a piece of rope and bound and gagged Old King Brady.
When this was done an idea suddenly flashed across his mind, and he bounded to his feet and exclaimed, hoarsely:
"Where ees ze othair?"
"I don't understand you," his wife replied.
"Young King Brady."
"Do they always travel together?"
"Sairtainly."
"Then the boy must be lurking near here."
"Wait. I find heem eef I can."
He hastened from the room and made a search of the hall. Then he quietly passed downstairs and there caught view of the young detective keeping guard outside the street door.
The Frenchman was greatly excited.
He retreated into the hall and went upstairs again, muttering:
"I must geet zat boy een my powair just as queek as possible. So long as ze Bradys ees on my track, I may go to ze preeson at any moment. It makes me nairvous, by gar!"
He took up a position at the head of the stairs, wondering how he could get the best of the detectives.
Convinced that they knew all about his smuggling business and would arrest him at the first opportunity, it made him so desperate that he would not have hesitated to kill both of them.
He had not been standing at the head of the stairs long before he saw Harry glide into the hall as quietly as a shadow.
The boy was becoming impatient over his partner's long absence and made up his mind to find him.
Searching the lower hall, he failed to see anything of Old King Brady and then cautiously made his way upstairs.
The Frenchman saw him coming.
He slipped into the room where the old detective lay.
Raising his finger to his wife, he hissed:
"Hush! He coming up ze stair! Put out ze light--hurry!"
Keeping the door open on a crack when darkness fell upon the room, he peered out and listened intently.
It was too dark to see anything.
But he heard the young detective's soft footfalls passing the door and he stepped out into the hall behind Harry.
Slight as the noise was which he made, the boy heard him and turned around, striving to pierce the gloom with his sight.
La Croix had the boy located.
He suddenly sprang forward with both hands extended, struck against the boy, clutched him by the throat and knocked him over backward.
A stifled cry escaped Harry.
He was knocked down and struck the floor with a crash.
As his head went back, with the Frenchman's grip on his windpipe, his skull banged against the door-casing.
He was stunned.
"Lena! Lena!" roared La Croix.
"What is it, Paul?" asked the woman, appearing in the doorway.
"Breeng a light--queek!" he panted.
She struck a match and he saw that Harry was senseless.
With a look of