At this moment footsteps crunched on the gravel of the drive.
The gray-bearded man recovered himself. "They're coming," he hissed in a tense whisper. "Don't let on you know me. Moise put me here. Tell Carey."
It was all he had time to say before a wandering man burst upon them.
"What's up here?" he cried gruffly. Then, catching sight of Clifford, "And what are you doing here?"
"Dropped in a balloon," retorted Clifford sharply. The man's tone was most offensive. "This brute"—pointing to the insensible man—"tried to kill me. He must be mad."
The warder burst into a hoarse guffaw. "Mad—of course he's mad. They're all mad here."
Then like a thunder clap the truth burst on Clifford. His scoundrelly partner had immured his father in this horrible place. The boy blazed with fury. It was all he could do to keep down the rage which consumed him.
But he did it. He turned to the warder. "The sooner I'm clear of the place, the better I shall be pleased," he said. "Perhaps you'll kindly show me the way out."
"The sooner you're out the better, my lad," returned the man with an ugly grin. He led the way to a tall iron-spiked gate, unlocked it, and, with a sigh of intense relief, Clifford found himself on the highroad.
That the first passer-by told him he was eighteen miles from home, every step of which he would have to tramp, hardly made the slightest impression on the eager excitement with which Clifford looked forward to the release of his father.