A hand appeared through the trapdoor, holding a revolver, and then the head and shoulders of one of the smugglers followed. He peered into the darkness, holding the weapon in readiness. Some one had switched on a light in the hall so that the man’s figure could be clearly seen. “Come out of it!” he snapped, pointing the revolver directly at the dim figure of Frank. “Come out of it, or I’ll shoot!” Further resistance was useless. With sinking heart Frank advanced toward the edge of the opening in the floor, while Joe and Fenton Hardy followed, with arms upraised. The smuggler backed his way down the steps, still keeping them covered, until he reached the bottom of the stairs. The Hardys descended, conscious of an array of leveled revolvers that covered every movement. They saw Snackley standing in the forefront of the crowd. They were captured again. CHAPTER XXIII RESCUE Snackley stepped forward. “So!” he sneered. “You pretty nearly got away with it, didn’t you?” The captives did not answer. They were sick with disappointment. Just when escape had been within their grasp the smugglers had outwitted them. “You bit off a little more than you could chew when you stacked up against me,” bragged Snackley. “What’ll we do with ’em, chief?” asked one of the man. “Take them back to the cave. We’ll get them out to Li Chang right away. If they get away again there’ll be trouble for you. Keep an eye on them.” “Shouldn’t we tie them up?” “There’s no rope. It doesn’t matter. Put a bullet through the first one that makes a false move. You hear that?” he said, turning to Fenton Hardy. “The first one that tries to escape gets a bullet through him.” The three were surrounded by the smugglers. The light shone on their evil, bearded faces and glittered on the drawn revolvers. Fenton Hardy’s useless weapon had been snatched from him. “Downstairs!” snapped Snackley. “Get downstairs with you.” He prodded Frank with the barrel of his revolver as he spoke. The Hardy boys moved toward the stairs, their father in the rear. One of the smugglers went ahead in case the prisoners should by chance make some desperate break for freedom. When they reached the lower room they paused while the man ahead lit a match. The electric light had been broken. Hardly had the match flared than there came the sound of thudding feet through the kitchen and the back door banged noisily. Some one rushed into the room, gasping for breath. The light revealed him to be another of the smugglers. “Police!” he exclaimed, in terror. “They’re coming down the lane!” A babel of voices followed. The smugglers came tumbling down the stairs in their haste. With one bound Snackley leaped forward and seized the man by the collar. “What!” he exclaimed. “What’s that you say? Police?” “Down the lane!” gasped the man. “They came down the road in a car and they’re closing in on the house. I saw them.”