floor, there was a streak of crimson, and a revolver shot roared out. Mr. Hardy and the Secret Service men had their weapons ready and they replied with a fusillade of shots.
The light in the room at the head of the landing had gone out. With a bound, Mr. Hardy reached the stairs, then raced up the steps. When he reached the landing, however, he found that it was deserted. Markel had escaped the bullets and had crawled back into the room, for the door was closed.
Fenton Hardy launched himself against the door of the workroom, but it did not budge. He could hear sounds of voices, a noise of banging and of running about in the room beyond.
The Secret Service men and the two boys reached the landing.
"Break in the door!" snapped Mr. Hardy.
Together they launched themselves against the door, and there was a splintering sound, but still the barrier held.
"Again!"
With a concerted rush they plunged forward once more. The door fell in with a crash.
Fenton Hardy switched on his flashlight, for the room was in darkness.
There was the printing press, there was the table with the packages of counterfeit money—but the counterfeiters were gone. The win-
