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
"Oh, there can't be any doubt of that. This girl is developing into one of
the most expert crooks in the country. For her own good it's a blessing
that I've caught her before she gets any worse."
"That's a fact."
"Kindly gather up those gems in a package for me."
"Certainly. I'm glad you arrived in time to save me from buying goods of
this kind. I have no desire to do any crooked business."
He made a package of the diamonds.
Harry then turned his attention to Clara who was weeping bitterly and said
to her in low tones:
"There's no use playing the baby act. We've got your father, mother and the
four spies. You and the diamonds are the last of the bunch."
"But I don't want to go to prison," she sobbed.
"I can't help that. You've broken the law and now you have got to take the
consequence of your evildoing."
"Can't you let me go?"
"No."
"I'll give you all those diamonds if you do."
"My dear girl, I'm going to take them anyway."
"But I mean for keeps. They're worth $250,000."
"I wouldn't let you go for ten times that amount."
"Very well," she replied, despairingly, "take me."
"If you'll go along peacefully I won't handcuff you and I'll take you in a
cab so people won't be staring."
"You are very kind. I'll do anything you ask."
Harry took the diamonds from Mr. Decker and ranging himself alongside of
the girl he led her down to the street.
A cab was procured and they drove away.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CONCLUSION.
After Andrew Gibson rushed from the room in the Astor House, Old King Brady
walked over to Paul La Croix and asked him:
"Were you going to sell him your diamonds?"
"Yes, sair," admitted the terrified prisoner, "but, by gar, I deed not know
zat he was wong Custom House inspectair."
"Well, that's exactly what he was."
"Hark! What eez zat?"
"Gibson in the hall, yelling bloody murder."
"Ze man ees crazy!"
Old King Brady was puzzled by the defeated inspector's actions. But he soon
was destined to learn what the man meant by it.
His yells brought up a policeman at the head of a crowd.
"What's the fuss about?" demanded the patrolman.
"See this badge?" demanded Gibson.
"Yes. You're a Custom House officer."
"That's what I am. I'm after a smuggler."
"Well, what of it?"
"He's in that room. Just as I was going to arrest him a friend of his
rushed in, armed with a gun and gave me a punch in the eye."
"I see he did."
"Well, I want you to arrest that fellow, so I can take in the smuggler."
"Very well. Come and point him out to me."
Gibson rushed to the door and flung it open.
Striking a dramatic attitude and pointing at Old King Brady, he shouted in
ferocious tones:
"There stands the man. Arrest him!"
Old King Brady was astonished to hear this, and bristling up with just
indignation, he demanded:
"Of what does this man accuse me?"
"Interfering with an officer in the discharge of his duty."
Instantly comprehending Gibson's game, the old detective burst out
laughing, and finally asked:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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