The Bradys and the Girl Smuggler; Or, Working for the Custom House

The Collector of the Port of New York sat in his office in the Custom House with a look of annoyance upon his face.

Several of his chief inspectors were standing about the room with the most uneasy expressions, for they were being censured unmercifully.

"I tell you, gentlemen," the Collector was saying, angrily, "I am very much disgusted with the poor service your department is giving. I am determined to stop this wholesale smuggling. If none of you are capable of doing the work for which you are liberally paid, I'll have to get somebody to do the work for you. Do you understand?"

"But, sir," began one of the inspectors, humbly, "we've done our best-"

"And accomplished nothing!" snapped the Collector.

"How could we, sir? The smuggler you want us to catch does not resort to the usual tricks such people adopt to avoid paying duty on the diamonds and other precious stones, which you say are smuggled into this country. It's because he's such a sly and clever rogue, that we can't locate him. We've resorted to every known method to discover the villain, but can't make any headway."

"Then you admit you are beaten?"

"Yes," was the hesitating reply.

"Hum!" grunted the Collector, in tones of contempt. "A nice lot of government detectives you fellows are to admit such a defeat. However, I've taken the matter into my own hands now."

"Yours?"

"Yes! I've engaged two of the most skillful men in the Secret Service to run down this smuggler. I refer to Old and Young King Brady."

"Indeed!" sneered the inspector, whose pride was wounded. "I'm sure if we can't find that smuggler, they can't."

"They can't, eh?" grimly demanded the Collector. "Well, you'll find out whether they can or not, Andrew Gibson, for they'll be here presently to take your work right out of your hands. Do you hear me?"

With glum looks the inspectors glanced at each other.

It was a bitter pill for them to swallow, to have an outsider come in to do the work they found themselves unable to cope with.

Finally Gibson affected a mocking laugh, and said, derisively:

"What can a Secret Service man do in a Custom House case, if we men, educated for it, can't finish a job we find too hard for us?"

"They'll find the smuggler I'm after," replied the Collector, banging his fist on the desk to emphasize his remark. "I've got every faith in that remarkable man and boy. They are the most skillful detectives in the profession. There's nothing they can't do in their own line, and you'll find it out soon."

"On police and criminal cases-"

"On any work!" roared the Collector, excitedly.

"They must be marvels, indeed!" sneered Gibson.

"So they are, sir-so they are."

"I'd like to see these wonders!"

Just then two men in uniform standing apart from the rest, advanced.

They wore the costume of boarding officers, the dark-blue uniforms being garnished with brass buttons and on their heads were caps with bands across the front bearing the word in gilt letters, "Inspector."

One of these men was tall and muscular, with a bushy black beard, deep gray eyes and a heavy mass of dark-brown hair.

His companion looked like a mere boy, with a handsome face, a pair of keen eyes and a dashing, aggressive air that showed he was of a bold, intrepid character. He walked right up to the inspector.

"So you want to see the Bradys, do you?" he asked Gibson, quietly.

"Yes, I would," asserted the inspector, glaring at him in surprise.

"Then look, for we are the Bradys!" exclaimed the boy.

He took off his cap and his companion stripped off a wig and false beard.

Every one in the room glanced at them in amazement.

No one suspected their identity before.

Old King Brady was now seen to have white hair and a clean-shaven face, in which a daring, determined character was shown.

Even the Collector was astonished.

When he recovered his composure, a smile crossed his face, and he rose and warmly shook hands with the pair, saying:

"Well, this is an agreeable surprise."

Old King Brady smiled, took a chew of tobacco and replied:

"You got our chief to assign us on this case and requested us to be here at two o'clock, and here we are."

"Ready for work?"

"Yes, sir. Instruct us."

"Well, all I can tell you is that this country is being flooded with precious stones upon which no duty is being paid, and I want you to find the party who is doing the crooked work."

"Have you any clews upon which we can work?"

"None, whatever. You'll have to get them yourselves from the importers in John street, Broadway and Maiden Lane. They may give you some points."

"We shall follow your suggestion."

The two detectives started for the door, then paused.

Harry Brady, the boy, then said:

"Mr. Gibson has some doubts about our ability to work for the Custom House. Since he has flung defiance at us, we'll accept his challenge."

"How? growled the inspector, in ugly tones.

"Well, we'll meet you officers and the Collector on board the steamer Campania, of the Cunard line, in one hour, when she reaches her pier from Quarantine. If we don't show up more smugglers than you do, we'll give up this assignment."

"I'll go you!" eagerly exclaimed the jealous inspector.

"And I'll be there to see that you get fair play," grimly said the Collector.

The Bradys silently bowed and withdrew.

When they reached the street, Old King Brady laughed and said:

"They're all jealous of us. But we'll show them a trick or two, Harry."

"They'll be a surprised lot," laughed the boy. "We have them beaten already."

They headed for the jewelry district and called upon several of the most prominent importers and lapidaries, from whom they gained some very valuable information. The last importer they spoke to said:

"Paul La Croix, a French-Canadian, was just in here with his daughter, trying to sell us some smuggled diamonds. See-there he goes now."

He pointed out the window at a tall, thin, stylishly-clad man of forty in light trousers, a black frock coat and high hat.

The detectives observed that he now did not have his daughter with him.

From where they were, they could see that La Croix had a thin, sallow face, a long, sharp nose and a closely-trimmed dark moustache.

He turned into Broadway and disappeared in the crowd.

"Who is he?" asked Old King Brady, of the dealer in precious stones.

"A mystery. No one knows. He makes many trips between New York and Havre to smuggle diamonds which he sells here. Every jeweler in the Lane knows him. Some deal with him."

"Where does he live?"

"At the Fifth Avenue Hotel."

"Thank you."

And a moment later the detectives were gone.

Reaching Broadway they hurried ahead intending to find La Croix and arrest him with contraband diamonds in his possession.

But the man disappeared and they found no trace of him.

The Bradys gave up the hunt, temporarily, for they were determined to find the man again.

They crossed the city, going to the west side.

People who saw the pair paid no heed to them now, for they had made some changes in their apparel, in a sheltering doorway, and by turning their coats inside out, pocketing their uniform hats and putting on soft felt hats, they transformed their appearance.

They now looked like ordinary citizens.

Each one adjusted a false moustache and a wig to hide his identity.

They had their clothing so made that they could change to several characters with but little trouble.

This fact was well known to most of the crooks at large, and they feared the Bradys more than any other detectives on the force.

Although they bore the same name, there was no relationship between them, for Harry was merely an apt pupil the old detective had chanced to meet, and was educating in his profession.

As a team, they made themselves famous.

When they drew near the Cunard steamship dock, Old King Brady carried his handkerchief in his hand as a signal.

A man was on the lookout and ran up to him.

Handing the detective a letter he exclaimed:

"I followed your order, Mr. Brady and went down to Quarantine to-day with the port doctor. He took me aboard the Campania, and I found out a great deal. It's all written in that letter. I wrote it coming up on the Custom House tug."

"Has the steamer reached her dock yet?"

"She's swinging in now. I beat her up on the tug."

"Very well. You may go."

The spotter hastened away and the detectives eagerly read his letter.

It was full of valuable information for which they sent the man and having read the letter they hastened to the pier.

The big trans-Atlantic steamer was just tying up to her dock and the detectives saw the Collector and his inspectors standing on the pier waiting for the passengers to land.

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