"Yis, ha! ha! bad 'cess to the loikes av yez, whoever ye may be!" the Irishman cried, fiercely, gazing in vain around the apartment, in search of the author of the laugh. "Ho! ho! itchy, dirdty Irish!" Fritz caused a different voice to say, in a still opposite part of the room. "No, I'm divil a wan av the likes!" the son of Erin cried, getting angry. "Bad luck to yez! ef I gits me hands on yez, it's a divil's own trouncin' you'll get, ontirely. I'll have yez know my name is Patrick Grogan, an' it's the dacent, gintlemonly son av a duke and a duchess I am, bedad." "A son off a gun, more likely. Look out, you bloody Irish, or I vil spit on you!" Fritz caused the suspended head to say, in a hoarse, gurgling voice. "Aha! it's spittin' on me yez'll be, eh?" the Hibernian cried, leaping from his seat, his walking-stick in hand--a formidable piece of real thorn. "Oh! you black-livered omadhaun, if I catch yez, _won't_ I tache yez to be dacent and civil to a gintlemon!" Then, chancing to glance upward, he saw for the first the swinging head, and in utter horror dropped upon his knees and raised his hands upward in supplication. "Oh, holy Virgin Mary, protect me!" he howled, his terrified gaze glued upon the unsightly object. "Oh, murdtherin Maria! och, bad luck! fot have I done, Mr. Divil? shure it's nary a thing wrong I've did, nor sthalin' I've never been guilty of!" "You vas von son-off-a-sea-cook!" came from the head. "Yis--och, sure I'se anything yez wants, Mr. Divil! only don't be afther hurtin' the loikes av me!" "Then arise, dirdty Irish, and climb into the attic, before the spirits come to wrap their icy clutches around you!" "Sure, I'll be afther goin'," Pat cried, and he did go--not up the rope, but out of the room, as fast as he could go. Nor did he pause until outside of the house, as Fritz could tell by the sound of his rapidly retreating footsteps. "Vel, dot vas purdy goot fun," Fritz muttered with a grin. "I dink I vil vait dil some vone else comes." He had not long to wait before footsteps sounded once more, coming up the stairs, just as the storm broke loose outside, and torrents of rain poured down upon the roof, while the thunder rumbled ominously. Presently two men entered, one carrying a lantern, for it was now quite dark. Both were roughly dressed and brutal-looking fellows, wearing heavy black beards. "Humph!" was Fritz's mental comment, as he beheld them. "I'll bet a half-dollar I smells von mice. Uff I haff not made a big mistake, I dinks I haff stumbled right inder the smugglers' den vot I am looking for." It was only a sudden suspicion, to be sure; nevertheless it struck him very forcibly. One of the men set the lantern upon the table, and then perched himself beside it, while the other sat down upon a chair and gazed speculatively at the ghastly object which hung suspended from the ceiling. "I wonder how long afore the rest o' ther boys will be here," he growled.