amp.

He unbuttoned the old blue frock-coat he wore, disclosing a standing
collar and stock, drew out his watch and fob, and added:

"It's just eight o'clock."

"Shall we go over and investigate those cries?" asked Harry Brady, the
youth.

"No, not yet. Get in this area. I see the house door opening."

They glided swiftly into the area of a flat house, and keenly watched
proceedings.

Old and Young King Brady, as the pair were called, were the two most
celebrated detectives in the Secret Service. They were not related.

On the contrary, they came of different families. But, since the time
James Brady took an interest in Harry, and taught him his profession,
they had been partners, and made themselves dreaded by all evil doers.

Both were shrewd, brave and daring to a fault, and Harry's ambition
made him strive to excel his tutor in every way.

The boy was first to catch view of a man in the open doorway opposite,
and he dimly observed that he was tall, thin, dressed in black, wore a
high hat, and had a mustache and a pair of bushy side-whiskers.

"Looks like an undertaker," Young King Brady commented in a whisper.

"He's carrying something," added the old detective. "Ah--it's a coffin,
ain't it?"

"A wooden box shaped like one. There's another man on the other end of
it," said Harry, whose interest was aroused. "They're coming out."

The second man was a short, roughly-clad negro.

As they staggered under the weight of the box, the detectives inferred
that it was heavy. The Bradys could now see a rope tied around it.

The two men carried it down to the wagon, the back doors of which stood
open.

Just as they shoved the box into the vehicle, Old King Brady darted
across the street, and tapped the tall, thin man on the arm.

He gave a start, a cry of alarm, and wheeled around, glaring at the
officer.

"What have you got in that box?" demanded the detective, abruptly.

"My dear sir, really, that is none of your business," replied the
other.

"You are mistaken," said Old King Brady, exhibiting his badge. "I am an
officer. We heard cries of murder emanate from that building, and this
is a singular hour for an undertaker to be removing a corpse."

The tall, thin man nodded, and smiled blandly.

Taking something from his pocket, he handed it to the officer.

"My card, sir," he said, politely. "Name of Solomon Gloom. This is a
case of smallpox. House has been quarantined. Here's my Health Board
perm