“Good-night, sir.”

He tipped his hat and strode away to the Walker House, where he was staying.

She stood watching him until he was several blocks distant and then gave vent to a low, peculiar whistle.

Instantly four men came gliding from the shadows, and grouped around her, as she started to walk away.

She was heading for the railroad depot.

When she was gone, Harry Brady slid down from the dense foliage of a nearby tree where he had been a hidden watcher.

The boy had seen the woman and her body-guard, and knew that his partner wanted him to shadow her from that point.

Accordingly he glided along after them.

Dodging from tree to tree, slinking along in the densest shadows and never exposing himself for an instant in a ray of light which would betray him, Harry dogged them to the railroad station.

He saw them purchase tickets and board a train.

Gliding over to the ticket office he asked the agent: 

“Where did those five people buy tickets for?”

“Montreal,” replied the man, “on the Grand Trunk road.”

“Thank you,” said Harry, politely.

And the boy ran behind a freight car to shelter him from the gaze of the passengers in the waiting train.

Finding an opening between two of the cars he peered through.

Directly opposite him sat the woman in black, with two of her male companions in the seat ahead and two behind her.

She was close to the window.

Just then she drew her veil aside and Harry saw her face.

A startled cry escaped the boy.

“By jove!” he gasped.  “She’s Clara La Croix, the girl smuggler!”

And so she was!

CHAPTER VIII.

Gaining A few points.

Young King Brady, of course, knew nothing about the dialogue which passed between his partner and the girl.  But he felt pretty confident that Old King Brady did not know who the girl was.

Without the slightest hesitation Harry made his way unseen to the rear car, and boarded the train just as it pulled out of the station.

The boy wore a bicycle suit and a false beard.

He felt pretty sure he would not be known in this outfit, and passing inside the car, he took a seat.

The distance between Toronto and Montreal was about 350 miles along the Lake Ontario and the St. Lawrence river.

“I don’t believe La Croix or his wife are in Toronto,” the boy muttered, “for we’ve gone over the city with a fine-toothed comb, and failed to find the slightest sign of them.  They must be either in Montreal or Quebec, for the girl is going to the former place.  Miss Clara made a quick trip.  She could not have been here long from Holland.  And I presume she is laden with those diamonds she went after.  La Croix is now doubtless scheming to smuggle them over the border into the United States.  We’ve got to watch these people closely now.  That Frenchman is a desperate man.  We have seen that he would not stop at murder to attain his purposes.  When I reach Montreal, I must telegraph Old King Brady to come on and meet me.  He will be wondering what has become of me now.”