“Where is he?” demanded Sam, catching the volante driver by the arm.
“Him up de stairs, señor. Better air up dare.”
“I should hope so,” muttered Darry and bounded up the stone steps two at a time. Sam came on his heels, but the Cuban remained below.
There was something of a hallway, dirty and covered with dead leaves which past storms had blown into the barred slits of windows. Then came a room with an iron door which stood half open.
Just then a moan reached their ears and it appeared to come from the room. Thinking Hockley must be within they rushed past the iron door.
“Jake, are you here?” called out Sam.
There was another moan, but where it came from puzzled both of the lads.
“Jake, where are you?” exclaimed Darry. “We are here to help you, Sam and I.”
Both moved forward, peering eagerly to the right and the left. There were only two windows, each heavily barred, and they were far from large.
Suddenly the boys heard the iron door shut and an instant later a heavy bolt was slipped into place. Sam leaped back and shook the barrier, to find it fast.