Fenton Hardy. "The first one that tries to escape gets a bullet through him."
The three were surrounded by the smugglers. The light shone on their evil, bearded faces and glittered on the drawn revolvers. Fenton Hardy's useless weapon had been snatched from him.
"Downstairs!" snapped Snackley. "Get downstairs with you."
He prodded Frank with the barrel of his revolver as he spoke. The Hardy boys moved toward the stairs, their father in the rear. One of the smugglers went ahead in case the prisoners should by chance make some desperate break for freedom.
When they reached the lower room they paused while the man ahead lit a match. The electric light had been broken. Hardly had the match flared than there came the sound of thudding feet through the kitchen and the back door banged noisily.
Some one rushed into the room, gasping for breath. The light revealed him to be another of the smugglers.
"Police!" he exclaimed, in terror. "They're coming down the lane!"
A babel of voices followed. The smugglers came tumbling down the stairs in their haste. With one bound Snackley leaped forward and seized the man by the collar.
