“So they are, sir—­so they are.”

“I’d like to see these wonders!”

Just then two men in uniform standing apart from the rest, advanced.

They wore the costume of boarding officers, the dark-blue uniforms being garnished with brass buttons and on their heads were caps with bands across the front bearing the word in gilt letters, “Inspector.”

One of these men was tall and muscular, with a bushy black beard, deep gray eyes and a heavy mass of dark-brown hair.

His companion looked like a mere boy, with a handsome face, a pair of keen eyes and a dashing, aggressive air that showed he was of a bold, intrepid character.  He walked right up to the inspector.

“So you want to see the Bradys, do you?” he asked Gibson, quietly.

“Yes, I would,” asserted the inspector, glaring at him in surprise.

“Then look, for we are the Bradys!” exclaimed the boy.

He took off his cap and his companion stripped off a wig and false beard.

Every one in the room glanced at them in amazement.

No one suspected their identity before.

Old King Brady was now seen to have white hair and a clean-shaven face, in which a daring, determined character was shown.

Even the Collector was astonished.

When he recovered his composure, a smile crossed his face, and he rose and warmly shook hands with the pair, saying: 

“Well, this is an agreeable surprise.”

Old King Brady smiled, took a chew of tobacco and replied: 

“You got our chief to assign us on this case and requested us to be here at two o’clock, and here we are.”

“Ready for work?”

“Yes, sir.  Instruct us.”

“Well, all I can tell you is that this country is being flooded with precious stones upon which no duty is being paid, and I want you to find the party who is doing the crooked work.”

“Have you any clews upon which we can work?”

“None, whatever.  You’ll have to get them yourselves from the importers in John street, Broadway and Maiden Lane.  They may give you some points.”

“We shall follow your suggestion.”

The two detectives started for the door, then paused.

Harry Brady, the boy, then said: 

“Mr. Gibson has some doubts about our ability to work for the Custom House.  Since he has flung defiance at us, we’ll accept his challenge.”

“How? growled the inspector, in ugly tones.

“Well, we’ll meet you officers and the Collector on board the steamer Campania, of the Cunard line, in one hour, when she reaches her pier from Quarantine.  If we don’t show up more smugglers than you do, we’ll give up this assignment.”

“I’ll go you!” eagerly exclaimed the jealous inspector.

“And I’ll be there to see that you get fair play,” grimly said the Collector.

The Bradys silently bowed and withdrew.