Cautiously he tapped on the portal. There was no answer. He waited, and knocked again. Then, through the keyhole, a cautious voice asked:
"Who is there?"
"It is the boy who spoke to you in the summer house," was Frank's reply. "Let me in."
The door was slowly opened and Frank entered the dark apartment. It was not without a little feeling of apprehension that he went in. He was alone in the room with a lunatic; a patient who became violent at times, the attendant had said. Suppose one of those fits should come on when Frank was with him? The boy did not like to think of this.
"What do you want?" the man in room twenty-eight asked, before he closed the door.
"I want to help you to escape."
"Hush! Don't let any of them hear you!" And the man, putting his hand over Frank's mouth, pulled him further inside and closed the door. Then they talked in whispers.
It was an hour later when Frank came out. There was a look of hope on his face as the gleam from an incandescent lamp, far down the corridor, illuminated his countenance.
"I'm sure I can manage it," he whispered to the man. "I'll have you out of here inside of a week, and then we can go away together."
"You may need help," the sanitarium patient said. "This place is closely guarded."