THE ASYLUM PRISONER.
Isaac, the keeper, became quite voluble after a few drinks of whisky.
He talked freely and the detectives used every effort to pump him.
They learned that there was a strange female patient in the asylum.
That she had been brought there by the four crooks.
That all the gang were in the asylum and that Dr. Scraggs was a close
ally.
All this Isaac, of course, did not tell them in as many words.
But from his conversation these facts were easily gathered.
Altogether the Bradys were well satisfied with the progress of affairs.
They had all their birds located and but for the embargo of the storm
they might easily have summoned officers and completed the arrest of
their birds.
Napoleon Blood was safely hidden in the asylum.
Under ordinary circumstances there would have been scant chance of his
being found.
But the Bradys were in luck.
Their foes, from dogging their footsteps with murderous intent, were now
in the position of being dogged themselves.
The race for life which they had intended giving the detectives had been
arrested by circumstances.
Altogether the odds were just now decidedly in the detectives’ favor.
But the Bradys were not disposed to spend their whole evening in the
kitchen of the asylum.
There was other work for them to do.
Somewhere within the walls of the place the four conspirators were
holding a meeting.
What that meeting was to decide the detectives could only guess.
But it was exceedingly important that they should know. This was their
purpose.
So they did not waste much further time in the kitchen with the keeper.
Harry began to yawn.
“By gum, I’m awful sleepy,” he averred. “I reckon I’d like tew turn in.
Ain’t it about time, mister?”
“So ye want to go to bed, do ye?” said Isaac, with a leer.
“Yas.”
“All right!”
The fellow trimmed the wick of an oil lamp and said:
“Follow me!”
The detectives shuffled along after the keeper up several flights of
stairs and finally they passed through a narrow corridor with
iron-barred doors on either side.
A distant wailing cry gave the detectives a chilly feeling along the
spine. There is no more dreadful sound than the cry of a maniac.
“Here ye are,” said the keeper, throwing open one of the iron doors.
“Ye’ll be good an’ quiet here, fer Old Hickory, the only madman on this
floor, is asleep. Thar’s a good bed fer ye!”
The detectives passed into the little chamber.
As they looked about the place they suddenly heard a little click and a
chuckle behind them.
Turning suddenly they were aghast at the sight which rewarded them.
The barred door was between them and the grinning keeper.
He had shut it and barred it.
They were prisoners.
Harry was the first to recover.
“Oh, I say, b’gosh! I don’t like thet kind of foolin’,” he said,
angrily. “Open thet door, mister!”
“Will I?” leered the keeper. “Jest hold yer hat on till I do!”
“Are ye foolin’?”
“Does it look like it?”
“Gosh hang ye, let us out!”
“What for?”
“Come, we don’t like it!”
“Don’t ye? Wall, I’m sorry, but it’s orders, ye know!”
For a moment a horrible fear struck the Bradys.
Was it true?
Had they walked unwittingly into a trap?
Were the Tough Trio after all to be able to carry out their fearful
threat of vengeance?
For a moment the thought made both detectives shiver.
They exchanged glances. Then Harry placed his hands on the iron bars of
the door.
“Gol durn it, friend, this ain’t no joke!” he said, entreatingly. “Let
us out an’ we’ll say no more!”
Isaac laughed demoniacally.
“Let ye out? Wall, what fer? When we git two as good patients as you we
allus holds ’em. You’ll be worth something to your friends, likely.”
“Oh, ye think ye’ll get a ransom fer us, do ye?” asked Harry.
“Well, we oughter.”
“You won’t!”
“We’ll see!”
“I tell ye we’ve got no money nor friends. Let us out!”
“Ye live in Concord?”
“Yas.”
“What do ye do?”
“Work out fer a livin’.”
“I believe ye’re durned liars. This is the safest place fer ye to-night.
To-morrow the boss kin decide what to do with ye. I hope as how ye’ll
have pleasant dreams!”
And with this the fellow was gone. The detectives were aghast.
They saw it was no joke.
It was a clever game to keep them close prisoners for the night. But for
what purpose?
Did the crooks suspect them?
Old King Brady was loth to believe this. He reckoned that it was only
intended to keep them from wandering about the asylum, as curious
countrymen might be tempted to do.
But even at this the situation was extremely unsatisfactory to the
detectives.
Above all things they wanted their freedom.
Harry inspected the iron bars of the door closely.
Suddenly with a thrill he discovered that one of them was loose.
He believed that it could be sprung from its socket.
He whispered this fact to Old King Brady and said:
“Never mind. We will get out all right, yet.”
“Do you think so?”
“I do!”
“We had better not try it yet.”
“Oh, certainly not.”
The detectives listened long and intently. They heard a door creak at
intervals at the far end of the corridor.
It was possible that the wily keeper was on watch there to see what move
to escape the two men might make.
But the detectives made loud conversation.
“I don’t keer a durn!” Harry finally yawned. “I’m goin’ to have some
sleep, anyway.”
“Same hyar! I’m fagged.”
They cast themselves heavily upon the iron cot beds. Then in a few
moments both were snoring.
But they were not sleeping.
Each, through half-shut eyes, watched the cell door.
Just what they expected occurred.
Suddenly at the iron bars there appeared a leering face.
It was the keeper Isaac.
He crouched there a moment and then glided away.
A distant door creaked and then all was silence.
Old King Brady sat up on the edge of his bunk.
“It’s all right, Harry?” he said. “The coast is clear.”
“We are safe?”
“Yes.”
“The fellow was easy to fool. He is off his guard now.”
“Sure!”
Harry now tried the iron bar.
It was an easy matter to spring it from the socket. The aperture thus
made was small.
But Harry squeezed far enough through it to reach the bar and lift it.
The door swung back.
Freedom was theirs.
But there was lively work before them. They glided away down the dark
corridor.
Noiselessly they passed from one corridor to another, past the doors of
cells where madmen prattled, until suddenly Old King Brady gave a gasp.
A light shone through the grated door of one cell.
It was more cheerfully furnished than the others. But the single
occupant enchained the detectives.
A young girl, beautiful, though pale as marble.
Her face was clear and sweet. Her manner mild and gentle. Surely she was
no maniac.
The Bradys paused and gazed upon the fair occupant of this cell as if
spellbound.
She did not at the moment observe them.
When she did, finally, she gave a great start and half arose. A
frightened light was in her eyes.
“I pray you be not alarmed, young lady,” said Old King Brady, in an
undertone. “We are friends!”
“Who—who are you?” she asked. “Have you come to take me away?”
“Perhaps so,” said Old King Brady, closely searching for any possible
evidence of insanity.
But there was none.
He was satisfied of this.
No doubt she was confined here against her will. Perhaps she was the
victim of some cowardly plot.
“Oh, I am thankful!” she said, joyfully. “For my prayer is answered. I
shall die if I remain longer in this awful place!”
Old King Brady drew close to the bars of the cell door.
“Come a little nearer, young lady,” he said. “We are in danger of being
overheard.”
She drew nearer.
Her large eyes were fixed upon the detectives questioningly. But it was
plain that her confidence was wan.
“Oh, I am sure you are friends,” she said, earnestly, “and you will take
me from this dreadful place.”
“Tell me your story,” said Old King Brady. “Who brought you here? Why
are you here?”
“Oh, I do not know,” she said with a shudder. “They tell me that I am
insane like the others in this place. But I am not. Truly I am not!”
“Where did you come from?”
“My home is in Westchester near New York City.”
Old King Brady gave a start.
His eyes flashed.
“Will you tell me your name?”
“Certainly!” replied the fair prisoner. “My name is Evelyn Grimm!”