"Py shimminy, dot vas a hard storm," he soliloquized. "Der ocean grunts as uff she vas got der dispeppersy. Now der next t'ing ish somedings else. Der roof vas slippery ash von soap ladle, und first I know der vil pe a dead Dutchmon spilled someveres over t'e ground." That portion of the main roof of the building was quite steep, and the eaves were at least twenty-five feet from the ground. Not fancying the idea of a drop of that distance, the young detective crawled to the ridge, to reconnoiter. On the other side of the ridge, the roof sloped down to meet a gable, from where the gable's roof took another descent, so as to bring the eaves about seven feet nearer to the ground. Aside from this there was no possible way of reaching _terra firma_. "Eighteen feet! I don'd know vedda I can stand dot or no. I must try it, however, or Hal Hartly vas a dead codfish sure." Using extreme caution, he slid from one ridge to the other, and then from that to the eaves, from where he was to drop. "Vel, here's der blace vere I don'd vas so much tickled. But pizness vas pizness, und a veller don'd vas can rise in der vorld vidout dropping sometimes; so here goes!" he muttered. And clinging to the eaves for a second, he let himself drop. Down--down he went, with great velocity, and finally struck upon something softer than mother earth, from which he tumbled end over end to the ground. The following instant a wild, unearthly howl rent the night. "Och! murther--murther!" shrieked a man's voice; "I'm kilt! I'm kilt! Och! Holy Vargin Mary save me!" It was the Irishman's voice. It was upon him that Fritz had first alighted, and he was probably badly jarred up, for he continued to hop around and yell at the top of his voice. To make matters worse, the door of the house opened, and Gregg and his followers came pouring out. CHAPTER VI. ON THE SCENT. Fritz had been stunned a little, even after tumbling off from the yelping Irishman; still, he had sense enough to struggle to his feet on seeing the smugglers rush from the building. "Shut oop!" he cried, addressing Grogan. "The smugglers are upon us! Draw your wippons, if you have any, and fire!" "Dom tha wippons!" Grogan howled, refusing to hear to reason. "Och! holy Vargin! it's kilt sure I am ontirely!" "Helloo! what the devil is the matter here?" the captain shouted, waving his lantern on high. "Who is it that's making all this noise?" "Spies--detectives!" suggested one of his companions. "Shoot 'em down!" "Hurrah! Death to the spy!" cried a third, and then they made a rush forward and seized upon Pat, despite his lively use of his "bit o' buckthorn" on the defensive. Perceiving that he was not seen, Fritz crawled softly away to a safe distance, and then paused to gaze back. The yelling had ceased in the vicinity of the house, and the lantern light had disappeared from view, leaving naught but blank darkness and the pouring rain, which came down monotonously but heavily.