"I have not the keys," said old Conrad Schmick sourly. "This door has not been opened in my time. It is no use."
"It is no use," repeated his grizzly sons, leaning against the mouldy walls with weary tolerance.
"Then how did the woman and her dog get into that part of the castle?" I demanded. "Tell me that!"
They shook their heads, almost compassionately, as much as to say, "It is always best to humour a mad man."
"And the baby," added Poopendyke, turning up his coat collar to protect his thin neck from the draft that smote us from the halls.
"Smash those padlocks, Max," I commanded resolutely.
Max looked stupidly at his father and the old man looked at his wife, and then all four of them looked at me, almost imploringly.
"Why destroy a perfectly good padlock, mein herr?" began Max, twirling the sledge in his hand as if it were a bamboo cane.
"Hi! Look out there!" gasped Britton, in some alarm. "Don't let that thing slip!"
"Doesn't this castle belong to me?" I demanded, considerably impressed by the ease with which he swung the sledge. A very dangerous person, I began to perceive.