“Hurry up, men! They’re getting into the attic.”
A rush of thudding footsteps followed as the smugglers raced up the steps. Joe scrambled through the opening and Frank followed. Fenton Hardy was only half way up the steps, however, when the first smugglers reached the hallway. The detective fired directly at them.
The smugglers who were in the lead fell back in a desperate attempt to reach cover, and in so doing they collided with those behind. For a few moments confusion prevailed, and Fenton Hardy took advantage of it to spring up the few remaining steps, scramble through the opening and fling the trapdoor back into place.
The Hardys found themselves in the inky darkness of the attic. Frank switched on the flashlight, and in its glare they saw that they were in a dusty chamber immediately below the roof. Old boxes and rubbish lay about.
“Where did they go?” they heard one of the smugglers ask.
“Into the attic,” replied another. “Now we’ve got them where we want them.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“They can’t get out of there. We’ve got them cornered.”
Snackley’s voice broke in.
“Hardy!” he shouted.