Denman and a part of his crew passed from the warehouse while
one of the men remarked:
"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.
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