He made his way carefully to the head of a flight of stairs.
Down these he crept to a floor below.
Still further below he now heard the murmur of voices. The light in the corridor was dim.
But far below he saw a bright gleam which seemed to come from the reception room of the asylum.
The place was unusually quiet.
Some of the boisterous patients had been drugged to keep them quiet. It was a villainous practice, but yet of common occurrence.
Old King Brady had half expected to run across Isaac or some one of the other keepers in the corridors.
But good fortune favored him.
He did not come across any of them. Down the stairs he glided.
The door of the reception room was half open.