Mr. Hardy did not answer.
“Listen, Hardy!” went on Snackley. “We’ll give you one minute to come down out of there.”
Still no answer.
“The floors are thin, Hardy! We can fire right through ’em. You can’t get out. We have you cornered. Better come down.”
Frank flashed the light from side to side. It was evident that the smuggler spoke the truth. They were indeed cornered.
An interval of silence followed. Then came:
“Your last chance, Hardy!”
Frank flashed the light upon his father. Mr. Hardy was inspecting the chamber of the revolver. He held out the weapon with a gesture of despair. There were no more shells.
A shot sounded from below and a bullet ripped its way savagely through the flooring but a foot or so away from where the three sat. Another bullet tore through the wood of the trapdoor.
The Hardys sprang back and, making as little noise as possible, pressed themselves against the sloping walls of the attic, keeping as far away from the trapdoor as they could.