He believed in the golden principle of keeping his business to himself until it became absolutely necessary to disclose it.

Two days later Harry joined him at their joint lodgings.

Young King Brady told how he had tracked Mrs. La Croix and her daughter to swell apartments in the luxurious Waldorf.

Here the pair had taken up their abode under the fictitious name of Mrs.
Marie P. Savoy and daughter.

The Bradys conjectured that it would not take them long to let La Croix know of their whereabouts.

They therefore carefully shadowed the big hotel.

Nearly a week passed by and one rainy night while Harry was on watch, under an umbrella, across the street from the hotel, he saw a hansom cab dash up to the door, and a man looking like La Croix alighted and hastily made his way into the building on the Thirty-fourth street side.

“La Croix, as sure as fate!” the boy muttered, hastily crossing the street.

He was heading for the glass portico, when he happened to glance into the spacious dining-room and saw the girl smuggler at supper.

Young King Brady paused and watched her.

Presently a waiter approached her with a card on a salver.

She glanced at it, said something to the man, and while he hastened away, she resumed her supper in a leisurely manner.

There were many fashionable guests in the room.

In a few moments Harry saw her father approach her smilingly, and sit down at the same table with her.

“Now is my time to nab him!” muttered Harry.

He ran into the hotel without ceremony, and making his way to the door of the dining-room, he paid no heed to the servants who offered to take his hat, mackintosh and umbrella.

In he dashed, his queer actions causing the guests to look up at him in astonishment, and he headed for La Croix.

The Frenchman had a big carving knife in his hand with which he was going to cut a steak instead of allowing the waiter to do it.

Harry’s hand fell upon his shoulder.

“La Croix, you are my prisoner!” he exclaimed.

A hoarse cry escaped the smuggler and he became excited as he noticed that most every one in the room overheard the remark.

Clara gave a suppressed shriek and sprang to her feet.

Quick to recover his composure the Frenchman put on his eyeglasses, stared at Harry coolly from head to foot, and exclaimed: 

“Young man, haf you not mek a meestake?”

“No, indeed!” replied the boy, resolutely.  “You are my man all right.”

“Why, sair, I don’t know you.  I nevair saw you before een my life.”

“Come—­come.  You can’t cheek it out that way, La Croix.”

“Monsieur, please let go my arm or I have ze vatairs throw you out of here!”

Harry’s patience became exhausted.

He did not intend to mince matters, so he said: