With the quickness of thought--in fact, even as the words had passed his lips, a short, thick-set fellow, from the shelter of the doorway connecting the passage with the room from which the men had emerged, had drawn a revolver of the smallest caliber and discharged it at the detective's head. It made no more noise than an ordinary popgun, but, notwithstanding, accomplished its fatal work. A low cry escaped the lips of Caleb Hook. The revolver dropped from his nerveless hand. With one arm outstretched he clutched at the banisters, missed them, clutched again, and pitched headlong to the foot of the stairs. "Three cheers and a tiger for the man who fired that shot!" whispered Callister, as all hands crowded about the inanimate form of the fallen man. "Sam Cutts, old man, there's some life left in you yet. Now, what's to be done with the carcass before the whole neighborhood comes piling in?" "Into the room with him--quick!" exclaimed Billy Cutts. "We are safe there for a while, at all events. We do not even know that he is dead, meddling fool that he is." His instructions were instantly obeyed. The body of the unfortunate detective was unceremoniously dragged into the room adjoining, the door of which was immediately bolted from within. "Is he dead?" asked Billy Cutts, hoarsely. "By thunder, father, I suppose you had to do it, but his death will kick up a Satan's own row upon the force. The chief of police will never rest night or day until he has run us down." "Do it! Why, of course I had to do it!" replied the elder Cutts--a grizzled reproduction of his hopeful son in appearance. "It's my belief, gents, that that there iron lifter dropped down upon us by mistake. He knew it, and was off to give us and the whole business away to the captain of the nearest station before we had time to escape." "Sam's about right," growled Reuben Tisdale. "I tell you, boys, this is a serious snap. We've doctored this spy with a leaden pill, but who can tell how many more of the same kind of cattle there is in hiding in that room overhead? Who lives up there, anyway? Does any one know? Why were we not told of that stovepipe hole?" "Blest if I know," said Callister. "Cutts, you ought to be able to tell--these are your rooms." "Tell! I don't know no more about them what lives in the house than the dead. I reckon it would pay to have some on us slip up and see." "No, no!" whispered Callister, breathlessly. "What's done is done, and can't be helped. It is my opinion the whole scheme has been overheard through that confounded hole in the floor." "Hold on, you fellows," put in Billy Cutts. "I'll go up-stairs and reconnoiter. I'm a detective, don't you know, and if I catch on to anything in the shape of the police I'll knock with my heel once hard upon the floor. If you hear the signal light out, every mother's son of you. Of course they won't think anything strange at seeing me come snooping round."