The detectives looked disgusted.

“Shall we resist?” muttered Harry, desperately.

“No.  It would be folly to attempt it,” his partner replied.

Old King Brady was not so fiery and impetuous as the boy; he was more slow, deliberate and cool in the face of danger.

He saw that the smugglers had concluded to throw off the mask and make no further pretenses.

That meant bitter warfare.

He had no plan to suggest, and the girl exclaimed: 

“Come in and bind them, Jean.”

One of the men entered.

He was the man who had done the smuggling.

Walking over to the detectives, he said to them in low tones: 

“If you resist, my friends will fire.”

“We don’t intend to,” replied Old King Brady.

“Then I’ll relieve you of your own handcuffs to secure you.”

He felt in the old detective’s pocket, brought out the steel bracelets and snapped them on the detective.

Young King Brady was very restless.

To submit without a fight was more than he could bear.

His obstinacy suddenly got the best of his good judgment, and he made up his mind to give them a tussle.

Leaping beside the girl he seized her, swung her around between himself and the other men and cried: 

“If you fire, you’ll hit this girl!”

Clara gave a shriek.

“Harry!” roared Old King Brady in some dismay.

The men in the doorway dared not fire.

Jean, fearing an attack, plunged across the room in tending to get out of danger in the hall.

“Let me go!” gasped the girl.

“Give up my advantage?  Never!” panted the boy, a reckless, daring light gleaming in his eyes.

He was close to the open window.

At a glance he saw a way to escape.

Unaided, he could not expect to arrest these men and the girl, for Old King
Brady was rendered powerless.

The yard was only eight feet below.

“Can you jump out the window?” he asked his partner.

“They’ll fire if I budge.”

This remark was certainly true.

While Harry had the advantage of using the girl as a shield, the four
Canadians held the old detective at their mercy.

Harry drew his pistol.

The girl began to struggle to get free.

“Keep still!” said the boy in threatening tones.  “If any harm befalls my partner, I’ll put a bullet in you, young woman!”

The terrible earnestness of his voice alarmed her.

“You wouldn’t injure a lady, would you?” she asked, appealing to his manhood.  “No gentleman would do that.”

“You are only a criminal,” he replied coldly, “and as it’s a case of our lives or yours, I wouldn’t hesitate to shoot you to save ourselves.”

Detectives are not sentimental.

On the contrary, their work makes them harsh.