A suspicious silence ensued down on the parlor floor.

“Do you suppose they’ve skipped?” asked Harry.

“I’m going to venture down and see,” replied his partner.

They dashed down the stairs, holding their pistols in readiness for use, and ran into the parlor.

It was empty.

Passing back into Clara’s room, they found it vacant.

“Gone!” exclaimed Harry.

“Not by the front,” replied his partner.  “The door and windows are locked.”

“Let’s try the basement.”

Down they ran, nervous over the disappearance of the smugglers and in the dining-room found the mulatto girl Hattie.

She sat in terror, with her face buried in her hands, and when she saw them rush in with drawn pistols, she shrieked: 

“Oh, don’t kill me!  Don’t kill me!”

“Where did that Savoy girl and the four men go?” sternly asked Old King Brady, glancing around the room.

“Out the back door.”

“Into the yard?”

“Yes, sir.”

The police began pounding on the front doors just as the Bradys rushed out into the rear yard.

Just as they emerged.  Harry saw the figure of Jean disappearing over the back fence and pointing at it, he cried excitedly: 

“There they go!”

“After them!” roared Old King Brady.

They rushed across the yard.

Over the fence they climbed like a couple of cats, and leaping into the yard of an adjoining tenement, they ran for the hall.

Blood spots on the flags left a plain trail.

The wounded men had dropped it in their flight, and the detectives easily traced the stains through the hall into the street.

Hearing wild yells, they saw a baker’s wagon dashing along at a furious gallop, and saw Clara and her friends in it.

The owner of the wagon was racing out of his store.

A small boy had told him that a gang had stolen his horse and wagon and it was his yells the detectives heard.

He was a fat German and he paused in the middle of the street, wildly waving his arms and crying in despairing tones: 

“Ach Gott! I vos robbed!  Dey shtole mein horse und vagon!”

The Bradys started off on a run after the vehicle.

Block after block was covered until the wagon, far in advance of the detectives, swung around the corner into West Broadway.

Here, panting and foam-covered, the horse was reined in.

The fugitives alighted.

“We are going to lose them now,” groaned Old King Brady.

“I don’t see why,” returned Harry, breathlessly.

“Don’t you see they’re going for the elevated?”

“Oh, gee, so they are!”

The five rushed up the stairs on the downtown side, just as a train pulled into the station.

After them ran the Bradys, hoping fervently that they would miss the train. 
But they were doomed to disappointment.