The Bradys and the Girl Smuggler; Or, Working for the Custom HouseDoughty, Francis Worcester
General
The Bradys and the Girl Smuggler; Or, Working for the Custom House
Doughty, Francis Worcester
American fiction; Dime novels; Mystery and detective stories
Young King Brady, of course, knew nothing about the dialogue which passed
between his partner and the girl. But he felt pretty confident that Old
King Brady did not know who the girl was.
Without the slightest hesitation Harry made his way unseen to the rear car,
and boarded the train just as it pulled out of the station.
The boy wore a bicycle suit and a false beard.
He felt pretty sure he would not be known in this outfit, and passing
inside the car, he took a seat.
The distance between Toronto and Montreal was about 350 miles along the
Lake Ontario and the St. Lawrence river.
"I don't believe La Croix or his wife are in Toronto," the boy muttered,
"for we've gone over the city with a fine-toothed comb, and failed to find
the slightest sign of them. They must be either in Montreal or Quebec, for
the girl is going to the former place. Miss Clara made a quick trip. She
could not have been here long from Holland. And I presume she is laden with
those diamonds she went after. La Croix is now doubtless scheming to
smuggle them over the border into the United States. We've got to watch
these people closely now. That Frenchman is a desperate man. We have seen
that he would not stop at murder to attain his purposes. When I reach
Montreal, I must telegraph Old King Brady to come on and meet me. He will
be wondering what has become of me now."
When the conductor came through, Harry paid his fare in cash.
A short time afterward one of the girl's male companions made a trip from
one end of the train to the other.
He sharply eyed every passenger on the cars and favored Harry with a
particularly keen and searching stare.
It made the boy imagine for an instant that his identity was known, but he
never flinched.
The man passed on, however, without making any remark.
It took fifteen hours to make the run, and it was three o'clock on the
following afternoon before the train pulled into Montreal.
Shadowing the girl smuggler and her companions, Harry saw them go to a
hotel, where the men left her.
While they went down to the Dominion Line dock, the girl passed into the
hotel and Harry saw her go upstairs.
The hotel clerk, a dudish young fellow, was staring after her when Harry
approached him and said:
"Deuced pretty girl that."
"Very," assented the clerk. "A widow, too!"
"Rather young to be a widow, don't you think?"
"Yes, indeed."
"What's her name?"
"Mrs. Marie P. Savoy."
"Been here long?"
"A week."
"Alone?"
"She came in on the steamer Dominion from Havre alone, but her mother and
father soon joined her here. She went down to Toronto a few days ago
leaving the old folks here. She's just returned."
"I see. I'd like to get acquainted with her."
"You may if you stop here."
"That's what I'm going to do. Give me a good room."
"Very well, sir. Got any baggage?"
"None, whatever. I came from Niagara in a hurry."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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