CONCLUSION.

After Andrew Gibson rushed from the room in the Astor House, Old King Brady walked over to Paul La Croix and asked him: 

“Were you going to sell him your diamonds?”

“Yes, sair,” admitted the terrified prisoner, “but, by gar, I deed not know zat he was wong Custom House inspectair.”

“Well, that’s exactly what he was.”

“Hark!  What eez zat?”

“Gibson in the hall, yelling bloody murder.”

“Ze man ees crazy!”

Old King Brady was puzzled by the defeated inspector’s actions.  But he soon was destined to learn what the man meant by it.

His yells brought up a policeman at the head of a crowd.

“What’s the fuss about?” demanded the patrolman.

“See this badge?” demanded Gibson.

“Yes.  You’re a Custom House officer.”

“That’s what I am.  I’m after a smuggler.”

“Well, what of it?”

“He’s in that room.  Just as I was going to arrest him a friend of his rushed in, armed with a gun and gave me a punch in the eye.”

“I see he did.”

“Well, I want you to arrest that fellow, so I can take in the smuggler.”

“Very well.  Come and point him out to me.”

Gibson rushed to the door and flung it open.

Striking a dramatic attitude and pointing at Old King Brady, he shouted in ferocious tones: 

“There stands the man.  Arrest him!”

Old King Brady was astonished to hear this, and bristling up with just indignation, he demanded: 

“Of what does this man accuse me?”

“Interfering with an officer in the discharge of his duty.”

Instantly comprehending Gibson’s game, the old detective burst out laughing, and finally asked: 

“How did I interfere with him?”

“He was arresting yonder man, he says.”

“Lock him up, officer!” shouted the inspector.  “Lock him up!”

The policeman took a firmer grip on his club and made a rush at Old King Brady, whom he grasped by the collar.

“You’re my prisoner!” he exclaimed.  “If you resist, I’ll club you!”

While this was going on, Gibson grabbed La Croix and dragged him over to the door, exclaiming: 

“You come with me!”

He designed to arrest the man and get the credit for it, while Old King Brady was fighting with the policeman.

But his plot was doomed to dismal failure.

Old King Brady flung back the lapel of his vest, and exclaimed: 

“Do you know I’m Old King Brady, the Secret Service detective?”

“What!” gasped the policeman, glaring at his badge.

“If you don’t believe it, you can come to the station when I pull in my prisoner.  That fellow is a Custom House inspector all right, but he’s sailing under false colors.  We were both after the same man, as I am working for the Custom House.  I caught the man, and now he wants to take the glory of the capture.  See through his game?”