"I've some private property in here to look after and I'll see to it at once."
A smile flitted over the face of the detective. He thought a chance was about to present itself for him to get away.
A moment he lay quiet, and then emerged from his hiding-place.
The warehouse was artificially illuminated by a few swinging lamps, and only one was lighted at the time.
The detective cautiously glanced around. He had prepared himself for the work he had in hand. He saw a light in a distant corner and he cautiously stole toward the light, and came upon a man sorting over the contents of a sailor's ship-sack.
It was a critical moment; life depended upon success, death would follow, sure death, the failure of his plan.
Like a cat creeping toward an unsuspecting bird on a twig, the detective crept toward the smuggler, knowing that when he sprung upon his prey there must be no mistake.
The critical moment was reached, the officer made his leap forward, and seized his man, seized him by the throat, and when once Vance got his grip on a man's throat silence followed; no man was ever known to make an outcry with those powerful fingers grasped around his neck.
The man was, not a very powerful fellow, fortunately, and the detective easily bore him to the ground. Having secured the man, the detective said:
"I am going to lighten my grip on your throat. I wish to ask you a few questions, answer me promptly and truthfully, and you will save your life; but seek to make an outcry, and you are a dead man. Now wink if you mean to keep quiet and save your life?"