The lanky man reflected.
"There's three or four ways of getting there," he stated. "You can go up the pike and turn at Harbison's store; or you can turn down the lane along there a piece and go along until you come to—"
"Which is the nearest?"
"I ain't never passed no judgment on that; but I think the clay road down toward Plattville would get you there the quickest—if you didn't get stuck in the ruts."
"I think we'd better stick to the pike," suggested Pendleton.
"The pike's the best road," said the lanky man. "All the people from Mercer's place use it when they drive here to the station."
Once more the big French car, now with its lamps lighted, sped along the road; about a mile further on they came to the store referred to by the man as Harbison's. Here they received instructions as to how to proceed, by the store-keeper; and after running about four miles along an indifferent wagon road, they caught the twinkle of many lights off in the middle of a wide clearing.
"That must be it," said the investigator. "We'll leave the car here; to flash up to the door in the quiet of the evening would attract more attention than would be good for us, perhaps."
It was now quite dark, but they found a gate a trifle farther on which opened readily; and so they proceeded along a walk toward a building which lay blinking at them with its yellow eyes. A deep-throated dog scented them from off in the distance and gave tongue. As they drew near to the institution they heard a man calling to the brute to be still. A little further on the man himself suddenly appeared from around the corner of a building with a lantern; he flashed this in their faces as he said:
"Well, sirs, this is against the rules. We have no visitors except on Saturdays; and then only within reasonable hours."