Most of the neighbors had their heads out their windows to see what caused the pistol shot, and the policeman came up panting.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, recognizing the detectives. "It's the Bradys."
"Yes. We had a fuss with the driver of an undertaker's wagon," the old detective explained. "Harry got shot, but it's only a flesh wound."
"I see. How are you feeling now, Young King Brady?"
"A little sore, but otherwise all right," replied the boy, pluckily suppressing a faint feeling, and getting upon his feet. "Where are they?"
"I saw that wagon swing into Broadway and dash downtown," said the policeman.
"Are you able to pursue it, Harry?" asked Old King Brady, in restless tones.
"I think so," the boy replied. "Ride, if you can. It's a suspicious case, Old King Brady. They wouldn't attempt murder to prevent us from prying into this affair, unless they had a powerful reason for it. The policeman had better search that house while we are gone."
"Come on then, my boy. I've got evidence that a dark crime was just committed in that empty house. We'd better verify my suspicions."
And they hastened over to Broadway, boarded a car and were rapidly carried to Fourteenth street, where they alighted to make inquiries.