“Come along sharp now. It’s mighty cold.” The detectives climbed over the fence and came along on their snowshoes. It required nerve to do this. For aught they knew this might be only a subterfuge on the part of the villains to get them within range. They could be easily shot dead. Indeed, their nerves were sorely tried. But it was all honest enough on the villains’ part. The detectives came suddenly to a high wicket gate in an iron fence. Three huge mastiffs were held in leash by a bull-faced keeper. In the gateway stood three men. Two of these the detectives recognized at once as Burke and Collins of the trio. This was a revelation. It proved that Dr. Scraggs’ asylum was really a rendezvous for the thugs. The third man was tall and lean with rounded shoulders and a hatchet face. He was the asylum proprietor. No other than Doctor Scraggs himself. The three miscreants and the rascally gatekeeper keenly scrutinized the two detectives. It was a critical moment. Collins held the lantern close up to their faces and studied them hard. Then he grinned. “It’s all right,” he said. “They’re a couple of Rubes all right. Come in an’ we’ll keep ye till morning.” “Isaac,” said Scraggs to the gatekeeper, “put the dogs back in the kennel. Show these two men to a room in the south wing. Give ’em a swig of whiskey.” “Much obleeged to yu, mister,” said Harry, profusely. “I kin see yu are a gentleman. An’ yu kin bet Jim Simpson won’t fergit to make it up with yu.” “That’s all right,” growled the asylum keeper. “Maybe you won’t like your room when you find out it’s next to a madman’s cell.” “I kin stand it if yu can,” replied Harry. “What’s that?” “I say that anything is a durned sight better than freezing to death out in this tarnal snow.” “Oh, I see! Well, come on, gentlemen, there’s business for us to do. Look here, you jays, you’re not lying to me about those two detec—I mean men in the sleigh? They really went back to Lexington?” “Dead sure, boss! They couldn’t git through.” “Thet is about right,” said Yan’s voice from an open door in the building. “I know I had the start an’ a half hour afterwards I couldn’t have got through myself.” This ended the confab. Isaac, the bull-faced keeper, led the detectives across the snow-covered yard to a wing of the asylum which was dark and looked cheerless and grim enough with its iron-barred windows. In a few moments, however, the Bradys were in the kitchen of the asylum and the keeper had prepared some hot whisky for them. The detectives never made a practice of drinking, but the exposure and the chill made the potation welcome. Then they fell into easy conversation with Isaac. The fellow had the appearance of a sharp, ferret-like rascal, but in the hands of the wily detectives he was like wax. In a few moments they had wormed some interesting facts out of him.