The Bradys got a good look at him before he turned his back to them and Harry clutched his companion's arm and whispered: "By jove, that's Andrew Gibson, the Custom House inspector, in disguise." "Yes," assented Old King Brady, nodding, "I recognized him. He knew us, too, I could tell at a glance. That man hates us. I wonder what he is doing here. Can he be after La Croix, too?" Harry was startled at the very suggestion. "He knows La Croix is a professional smuggler," he remarked, "and I wouldn't be surprised if he got on to the man living here. He may be trying to nab him as we are doing." "He won't cheat us out of our prey this way, Harry." Just then they heard the inspector say to the clerk: "Send up my card to Mr. Savoy. He expects me. I was to meet him at twelve o'clock on some business, but was detained." The Bradys darted startled glances at each other. Gibson's remark exposed his hand. He was the supposed jeweler with whom La Croix had been negotiating to sell the contraband diamonds. The Bradys had arrived just in time to prevent this man from cheating them out of their legitimate prey. Had they been delayed a few minutes longer Gibson would have had La Croix under arrest and the smuggled diamonds in his possession. After all their arduous work, he would have stepped in at the last moment and gained the credit for the arrest. It made the Bradys shiver to think of it. Harry said to the hall-boy: "Go ahead, as fast as you can!" They hastened upstairs while the hotel clerk was writing Gibson's name on a card, and the boy knocked at the door of No. 76. "Who ees zat?" demanded La Croix's voice from within. "Boy, sir." "Ah! An' vat you vant?" "Gentlemen to see you, sir." "Yes. I expect him. Wait, I open ze door." "Go!" whispered Harry to the boy. The little fellow ran downstairs. La Croix unlocked the door and stuck out his head. "Come in, Meestair Geebson--" he began. And the Bradys interrupted him by rushing against the door; it hit La Croix on the shoulder, sending him reeling back into the room, and he gave a yell as the detectives dashed in. "_Par Dieu!_ Ze detectives!" he screamed. Then he began to yell, swear, and rave in French, as he scrambled to his feet, and the officers made a rush for him. "Ze Bradys! Ze Bradys!" he shrieked. At first they imagined these cries were due to his excitement. But when he backed up against a door opening into an adjoining room with his arms stretched out, they saw through his purpose. "Harry!" "Well?" "He's warning some one in the next room." "I'll see!" The boy dashed out into the hall. Old King Brady had his pistol in his hand. Taking aim at the man's head, he roared in stern tones: "Drop on your knees!" "Oh, don't fiair!" yelled La Croix, obeying. "Raise your hands!" "Sairtainly, Monsieur." "Now don't budge, or--" He made a threatening gesture with the pistol at the wild-eyed Frenchman, from whose face all vestige of color had fled.