small room adjoining the one occupied by La Croix and his wife.

He heard the Frenchman utter a startled cry.

Like a tiger he sprang into the room and saw the detective.

"_Parbleu!_" he hissed, a look of rage and hate upon his dark face. "Ze
secret police. Watching me, eh? I show you, Monsieur."

He seized an iron bar standing in the corner and as the old detective was
upon the point of scrambling to his feet, he dealt the officer a fearful
blow that knocked him senseless.

He just had time to bang the door shut to prevent the person who was coming
from upstairs from seeing what was going on.

Just then his wife rushed in.

"What is the matter, Paul?" she demanded.

"Old King Brady!" he replied, pointing at the old detective excitedly.

"Ah;" was her cool reply. "He has found our refuge, eh?"

"Yes. An' probable he has been listen to our talk."

"That is very dangerous for us, Paul."

"Not since I 'ave him at my mercy. _Sacriste!_ When I geet through wiz heem
now, he not weel trouble us again een wong hurry."