“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.