There was other work for them to do. Somewhere within the walls of the place the four conspirators were holding a meeting. What that meeting was to decide the detectives could only guess. But it was exceedingly important that they should know. This was their purpose. So they did not waste much further time in the kitchen with the keeper. Harry began to yawn. “By gum, I’m awful sleepy,” he averred. “I reckon I’d like tew turn in. Ain’t it about time, mister?” “So ye want to go to bed, do ye?” said Isaac, with a leer. “Yas.” “All right!” The fellow trimmed the wick of an oil lamp and said: “Follow me!” The detectives shuffled along after the keeper up several flights of stairs and finally they passed through a narrow corridor with iron-barred doors on either side. A distant wailing cry gave the detectives a chilly feeling along the spine. There is no more dreadful sound than the cry of a maniac. “Here ye are,” said the keeper, throwing open one of the iron doors. “Ye’ll be good an’ quiet here, fer Old Hickory, the only madman on this floor, is asleep. Thar’s a good bed fer ye!” The detectives passed into the little chamber. As they looked about the place they suddenly heard a little click and a chuckle behind them. Turning suddenly they were aghast at the sight which rewarded them. The barred door was between them and the grinning keeper. He had shut it and barred it. They were prisoners. Harry was the first to recover. “Oh, I say, b’gosh! I don’t like thet kind of foolin’,” he said, angrily. “Open thet door, mister!” “Will I?” leered the keeper. “Jest hold yer hat on till I do!” “Are ye foolin’?” “Does it look like it?” “Gosh hang ye, let us out!” “What for?” “Come, we don’t like it!” “Don’t ye? Wall, I’m sorry, but it’s orders, ye know!” For a moment a horrible fear struck the Bradys. Was it true? Had they walked unwittingly into a trap? Were the Tough Trio after all to be able to carry out their fearful threat of vengeance? For a moment the thought made both detectives shiver. They exchanged glances. Then Harry placed his hands on the iron bars of the door. “Gol durn it, friend, this ain’t no joke!” he said, entreatingly. “Let us out an’ we’ll say no more!” Isaac laughed demoniacally. “Let ye out? Wall, what fer? When we git two as good patients as you we allus holds ’em. You’ll be worth something to your friends, likely.” “Oh, ye think ye’ll get a ransom fer us, do ye?” asked Harry. “Well, we oughter.” “You won’t!” “We’ll see!” “I tell ye we’ve got no money nor friends. Let us out!” “Ye live in Concord?” “Yas.” “What do ye do?” “Work out fer a livin’.” “I believe ye’re durned liars. This is the safest place fer ye to-night. To-morrow the boss kin decide what to do with ye. I hope as how ye’ll have pleasant dreams!” And with this the fellow was gone. The detectives were aghast. They saw it was no joke. It was a clever game to keep them close prisoners for the night. But for what purpose?