"Glad you've posted me," he muttered. "I won't lose sight of you two charming creatures. It wasn't good policy to pull you in without the diamonds if you only knew it, and that's the only reason you are at liberty now. We'll play with you as a cat plays with a mouse." And he walked away from the door feeling well satisfied with the shape the case was taking. CHAPTER XI. SUBDUING A TARTAR. Old King Brady had gone ahead in an effort to find out what had become of Paul La Croix. Reaching the street he accosted a man at the door with the question: "Did you see a thin man with a black moustache, a high hat, and frock coat come out of here in a hurry a few moments ago?" "Yes, sir. He got in a cab and rode away." "Did you notice the sort of cab it was?" "I did. Do you know Pork Chops, the negro hackman?" "Oh, yes." "Well, it was his rig." "Which way did they go?" "In the direction of the railroad depot." Thanking his informant, the old detective hastened away convinced that the fugitive was going out of Niagara by rail. When he reached the depot he described La Croix and asked where he had gone. "That's none of your business," growled the surly ticket agent. "Oh, isn't it?" queried the detective, blandly. "No!" shouted the man, "and I'll not tell you." "It wouldn't hurt you to be polite and accommodating, would it?" "I ain't here to keep inquisitive people posted about our passengers." "That's a fact," assented Old King Brady, "but I have an urgent reason for wishing to know where that man went." "I don't care anything about your private reasons. If you don't want to buy a ticket, get away from that window and don't annoy me." "Very well," meekly answered the detective. He thereupon stepped through the door into the agent's office, and the man scowled, and glared at him and roared: "What in thunder do you want in here, anyway?" "I've come in to arrest you," quietly answered the old detective, as he showed his badge. "I'm a detective, as you can plainly see, and the man I inquired about is a fugitive smuggler. As you are aiding him to escape, by withholding the information I want, you must be an accessory of his. As such, you'll have to go to jail!" The man wilted. All his lordly, overbearing manners vanished. Turning as pale as death and trembling like an aspen, he gasped tremulously: "For pity's sake don't lock me up. I didn't know the circumstances." "You're an unmannerly dog." "I know it, sir. I'm sorry if I offended you." "Promise me to act more civilly in future." "Yes. Yes. Certainly I shall." "Then I'll let you go. Let this be a lesson to you. Now, where did he go?" "He bought a ticket to New York." "Why didn't you save all this bother by saying so in the first place?" "I--I--I don't know," stammered the fellow in subdued tones. Giving him a look of contempt, Old King Brady purchased a ticket for New York, and said in angry tones: