Somebody has said that when a man is going to the bad he finds everything greased for the occasion; that is, he finds it easy enough to go down hill; but almost impossible for him to get back. I am not well enough posted in literature to know who it was that said it, but perhaps some of you boys who are fresh from your books may be able to name the person. Henderson found it so, and it all dated from the moment he signed that paper. He was afraid to back out now, and so he must go on. He walked by his brother’s house once or twice, and then went back to his hotel. He didn’t eat any supper, and he didn’t want any; but when it came near time for him to meet Scanlan he stepped into a store and bought a heavy oak stick, which he thought would be strong enough to floor the tutor or anybody else that took a hand in rescuing the boy, and pronounced himself ready for the business. There were still three hours for them to pass in some way, for Scanlan did not think it safe to make a move before one o’clock, and the time seemed to slip away before they knew it. They found the carriage right where Scanlan said they would, and in a few minutes were set down within a few doors of Mr. Davenport’s house. When they got out the hack-driver thought it time to speak about his money.
“Look here!” said he; “which one of you gentlemen is a-going to pay me a hundred dollars for this trip? Kidnapping a sane person and taking him off to a lunatic asylum——”
“My dear sir, kidnapping is something we don’t have any hand in at all,” said Scanlan. “We are going to take this fellow out of the house with the full consent of his father, but we don’t want his aunts to know anything about it. The hundred dollars are all right. This man is a detective, and will pay you when we get the passenger to the asylum. Are you satisfied?”
The hack-driver had nothing further to say. All he wanted to know was who would give him his money when the trip was over. He mounted to his box, being instructed to keep himself within hailing distance, and the two kept on toward Mr. Davenport’s residence. All was dark and silent within, except the light that was kept burning in the tutor’s room.
“We have got to keep out of that,” said Henderson, pointing toward the window. “If we allow ourselves to come within reach of it I shall be recognized; then good-by to me.”
“Well, we must look out for that,” said Scanlan, who did not feel any more fear than if he was sitting down to his supper. “Keep close beside me, and be ready to knock the tutor down if he takes a hand in the rumpus. That’s all you have to do.”
In a few minutes they reached the basement door, where they were free from interruption, and Scanlan, producing his extension bit, went to work in earnest. He first cut out a circular opening in the door above the bolt, then thrust his hand in and cautiously removed the fastenings, and the door swung open. They entered and Scanlan closed the door behind him.
“I think you had better leave it open,” said Henderson, who trembled as if he was seized with a sudden attack of the ague. “We might be discovered.”
“In that case we’ll have something to light us out,” said Scanlan. “But be sure you kick over the blaze before you go out.”
With the words Scanlan took from his pocket a small piece of candle, which he lighted and stood upon the table, embedded in some of its own grease. Then he stopped and looked around him. The house was silent as if it had been deserted, and having satisfied himself on this point, Scanlan motioned for Henderson to lead the way up the stairs. The steps were carpeted, and moreover, being shod with rubbers, the men gave out no sound as they ascended to the first floor, the leader easily finding and opening all doors that barred his progress. That one lock passed at the basement door had opened the way for them.