His arms were now free, so he braced himself against the sides of the bed and struggled to release his feet. They had not been bound so securely, being simply tied down under one strand of rope about the cot, and after silently struggling for a few minutes he was able to work his way free. The detective’s next move was to take off his boots, which he did swiftly and quietly, placing them noiselessly on the bed. Then he crept out onto the floor and began to steal over toward the guard. Malloy was half asleep, but the detective had not gone more than two yards before a slight sound, a slight creaking of the floor, warned the guard that something was amiss. He turned, blinking. A look of intense amazement crossed Malloy’s face and he opened his mouth to yell for help, but Fenton Hardy leaped across the intervening space and hurled himself upon the smuggler before the guard had time to utter more than a muffled gasp. He clapped one hand over Malloy’s mouth and bore the guard to the floor, where they rolled over and over in a desperate and silent struggle. Although Fenton Hardy was weakened by his imprisonment and privation and although the smuggler was strong and wiry, the detective had the advantage of a surprise attack, and Malloy had no time to collect his faculties. Joe and Frank watched the battle in an agony of suspense. It was, they knew, their last hope. Fenton Hardy still kept his hand over the other man’s mouth, although Malloy was gasping and gurgling and making frantic efforts to call out for help. The detective dug his knee into Malloy’s stomach and when the smuggler tried to wriggle out of the way he snatched for the revolver. Their hands closed about the butt of the weapon at the same instant. The struggle was short and bitter. Malloy tugged at the revolver, trying to draw it from his pocket. Fenton Hardy dug his knee sharply against the man and Malloy loosened his grasp, with a groan of pain. The detective snatched the revolver free and then flung himself back, leveling the weapon at Malloy. “Not a word out of you!” he whispered. Malloy’s hands rose in the air. He did not utter a sound. He was sitting helplessly on the floor, his mouth opening and closing as he painfully drew breath. He was beaten. The detective spied a knife in a leather sheath at the smuggler’s belt so he reached forward and seized the weapon. Then, still keeping Malloy covered with the revolver, he walked slowly backward until he reached Joe’s side. Without removing his eyes from the smuggler, Fenton Hardy bent down and sliced at the ropes that bound his son. The knife was sharp and the ropes soon fell apart. Joe leaped from the chair, casting aside the rope ends, and took the proffered knife. Then, while his father still covered Malloy, he went over to Frank and set him free.