or floor.

The detective rushed up the stairs.

On the top landing Old King Brady panted:

"Unlock these handcuffs!"

Harry obeyed in an instant.

Just then the gang came rushing from the parlor, and were about to ascend
the stairs when Harry opened fire on them.

Bang! Bang! Bang! went three shots.

He was a dead shot and could have killed those desperadoes had he been
inclined to. But he merely shot to wound them.

The yells of pain that followed showed how true his aim was.

Two of the Canadians were hit.

A stampede among them ensued.

Back to the parlor they rushed, swearing and groaning, and the detectives
laughed at them, for the tables were now turned.

The Bradys had the advantage.

At the head of those stairs they could have held an army at bay.

Old King Brady got his handcuffs from his wrists, put them in his pocket
and withdrew his own revolver.

"By thunder!" he muttered. "I'm glad you made that dash, Harry."

"We would now be helpless prisoners if I hadn't."

Just then several lodgers stuck their heads out of the doors of their
rooms, alarmed at the shots and yells.

Seeing the two armed detectives, they shouted with alarm, withdrew into the
rooms, banged their doors shut and some rushed to the windows, flung them
open and screamed:

"Murder! Murder! Help! Police!"

The cries startled the neighborhood.

For a moment everyone was in an uproar. A big crowd gathered before the
house and several policemen came running to the scene from different
directions, looking for trouble.

A suspicious silence ensued down on the parlor floor.

"Do you suppose they've skipped?" asked Harry.

"I'm going to venture down and see," replied his partner.

They dashed down the stairs, holding their pistols in readiness for use,
and ran into the parlor.

It was empty.

Passing back into Clara's room, they found it vacant.

"Gone!" exclaimed Harry.

"Not by the front," replied his partner. "The door and windows are locked."

"Let's try the basement."

Down they ran, nervous over the disappearance of the smugglers and in the
dining-room found the mulatto girl Hattie.

She sat in terror, with her face buried in her hands, and when she saw them
rush in with drawn pistols, she shrieked:

"Oh, don't kill me! Don't kill me!"

"Where did that Savoy girl and the four men go?" sternly asked Old King
Brady, glancing around the room.

"Out the back door."

"Into the yard?"

"Yes, sir."

Th