“Madam,” replied Harry, politely, “you put them there yourself.  As a lady don’t wear such things and you’ve been traveling alone, it’s clear you were trying to smuggle those things.  Seize them, Gibson, and they’ll be appraised in the Custom House.  If the lady then wishes to pay the full duty charged on them she can get back her ornaments.”

The Collector burst out laughing.

“Any more?” he asked Old King Brady.

“Yes.  See that short fat man?  He is Mr. Jacobs, a stock broker.  I guess we’ll have to pull off the gentleman’s left boot.  Hey, Mr. Jacobs!”

“Vell?” growled the fat broker, glancing at the detective in some surprise.

“Sit down on your trunk, please,” said Old King Brady.

“Vot for?”

“I’ll show you in a moment.”

The broker sat down and Harry seized him and held him there.

At the same moment Old King Brady grabbed him by the left foot, gave it a tug and the struggling man gave a yell, and demanded, excitedly, as the boot slipped off and remained in the detective’s hand: 

“Py shiminey, vot yer mean py dot outrages alretty?”

“We think you are cheating the government,” replied Old King Brady.

“Vot?  Me?  You vas grazy!”

“Am I?” blandly asked Old King Brady.

“Sure you are!  Vot mein boot vas got mit it ter do?”

“I’ll show you, my innocent friend,” grimly replied the old detective, as he drew out his pocket knife.

With the large blade he removed the first layer of leather from the heel and showed that the heel was hollow.

Lying within this neat little opening was a small paper package which the detective drew out.  Opening the paper he showed its contents.

It consisted of five magnificent diamonds.

The broker gave a gasp of horror and Old King Brady said to him sweetly: 

“You forgot to put these on the manifest, Mr. Jacobs, didn’t you?”

“Och, Gott!” groaned the unlucky broker, in deep anguish of spirit, “I vas ruint vunct.  Vot vill I do?  Vot vill I do?”

“Pay the duty and redeem them from the Custom House,” replied the detective, and the gems were seized on the spot.

All the inspectors looked envious of the two detectives.

The Collector regarded them with a cold glance and finally asked: 

“Why didn’t you find these things?”

“Didn’t know they had ’em,” sheepishly replied Gibson.

“We ain’t half through yet,” said Harry at this juncture.

“What else have you discovered?” demanded the Collector, curiously.

“Several hundred yards of fine point lace.”

“Where is it?”

“In a false bottom under Miss Daisy Linden’s trunk.  See—­there she stands—­that handsome big actress there.  Do you think she’s as fat as she looks?  Well, just notice how big around her body is, and how thin her arms and neck are.  If you’ll get one of the lady inspectors to examine her privately, you’ll find she’s got several valuable oil paintings wrapped around her body, under her clothes.”