He found himself in a small office containing two huge Herring safes, guarded with burglar alarm cabinets. A long table covered with blue cloth served as a counter. Near the front windows was a bookkeeper working at his desk. At the rear a small compartment was partitioned off to serve as a private office. A fat little Frenchman was behind the counter, but Harry did not see any signs of Clara La Croix. A feeling of disappointment overcame him. The salesman bowed, looked at him inquiringly, and asked politely: "Well, sir, what can I do for you to-day?" "Is Mr. Cliquot in?" asked Harry, in low tones. The salesman smiled and shook his head. "No," he replied. "He is dead." "Dead? But the name on your sign--" "Is only kept as a firm name. His partner is in." "Are you the gentleman?" "No. His name is Decker. But he is engaged at present." "I wish to see him personally." "Won't you sit down?" "Thank you. I am in a great hurry." "In that case, perhaps I can arrange an interview." "I won't detain him a minute." The clerk passed into the little private office, and Harry heard the low hum of voices. Then the proprietor said: "Send him in." The salesman reappeared, nodded, smiled and said: "Go right in, sir, through that door in the partition." Harry pushed the door open. It was a small room containing a desk at which sat a bald-headed, little, old man with a mass of diamonds spread before him on the desk. He had a magnifying glass in his eye, a pair of tweezers in his hand, and a small delicate scale in front of him. Evidently he had been weighing and sizing up the stones. In a chair beside him sat Clara La Croix! As Harry stepped forward with a smile on his face, their glances met. She half started from her chair, uttering a smothered cry of intense dismay, and her face turned as pale as death. "Young King Brady!" she gasped, faintly. "Clara, I've run you down at last!" She fairly groaned. Her defeat was hard to bear. "This is terrible!" she muttered. Harry pointed at the diamonds in front of the astonished dealer. "Ain't those the smuggled diamonds?" he asked. Before she could reply, Mr. Decker sprang to his feet, crying in alarm: "Good heavens! Are these smuggled diamonds?" "Yes," replied Harry, with a nod. "No wonder she wanted to sell them so cheap!" "Mr. Decker, I am a Custom House officer." "Ah!" "This girl is a smuggler." "I see!" "We've been on her trail since she brought those gems from Holland to Canada, and thence over the border without paying duty on them." "The little wretch!" "Are you a party to this deal?" "No, indeed!" emphatically replied the dealer. "I'm a victim. She came in a while ago and said her father died, leaving a stock of diamonds to her as he had been an importer. As she offered to sell them very cheap, I was selecting a lot to buy, when you came in." "I believe you, sir." "I am a respectable business man."