"Wait and see. Smarter men than you have lost all their money on the horses." Frank and Joe had heard enough and had seen enough to know that there was no further doubt as to the nature of the activities of the three men of the mill. They had seen the counterfeiting plant in operation and from the conversation of the three men there was no doubt but that this was the plant that had been responsible for flooding the East with spurious bills in the past few weeks. The counterfeiters were evidently running off a last shipment of bills before closing up the plant and moving away. It behooved the Hardy boys to act quickly. "Where will we go when we clear out?" they heard Markel say. "We'll separate," answered Uncle Dock. "We'll meet in New York." "Where?" "We'll meet Burgess at his apartment. You remember the address don't you?" Uncle Dock gave an address in the Forties, and Frank instantly registered it in his memory. It might come in useful in case the counterfeiters slipped through their hands. He got up slowly from his cramped position, and Joe followed his example. Frank led the way toward the door that opened on the landing. "We'd better get out of here," he whispered. "What will we do?" "We'll go to Bayport for help. We can't tackle these fellows alone." "How will we get out? There's no use trying to get out by the roof. We might break our necks trying to reach that tree again." "We can go down the stairs," said Frank quietly. "And out the front door?" "It's probably only bolted on the inside. If we can get past the door of that workroom we should be all right." "Come on, then." Frank led the way. He stepped out on the landing. Both boys were wearing light "sneakers" that made little noise. Step by step, they descended the stairs. Step by step, they drew closer to the landing that led to the counterfeiters' room. They could hear the muffled sound of the printing press and the vague voices of the three men. They reached the landing at last. A streak of yellow light shone from beneath the door of the workroom. The stairs led on toward the bottom of the mill. Each lad held his breath as he traversed the dangerous distance to the next flight of stairs. Here, if anywhere, they were in danger of being heard. But the low voices within the room continued; the steady rumble of the press went on without interruption. Frank gained the top of the steps. Joe followed. They went slowly down the stairs. Frank could see the dim outlines of the mill machinery in the large room below, with the dark shape of the door in the distance. Once they gained the door they would be comparatively safe. The thought had hardly crossed his mind when his foot struck suddenly against some solid object. There was a slight noise, the object moved, then it went clattering down the stairs with an uproar that seemed to awaken the echoes from one end of the mill to the other. He had kicked over a pail that had been left lying on the steps!