Did the crooks suspect them? Old King Brady was loth to believe this. He reckoned that it was only intended to keep them from wandering about the asylum, as curious countrymen might be tempted to do. But even at this the situation was extremely unsatisfactory to the detectives. Above all things they wanted their freedom. Harry inspected the iron bars of the door closely. Suddenly with a thrill he discovered that one of them was loose. He believed that it could be sprung from its socket. He whispered this fact to Old King Brady and said: “Never mind. We will get out all right, yet.” “Do you think so?” “I do!” “We had better not try it yet.” “Oh, certainly not.” The detectives listened long and intently. They heard a door creak at intervals at the far end of the corridor. It was possible that the wily keeper was on watch there to see what move to escape the two men might make. But the detectives made loud conversation. “I don’t keer a durn!” Harry finally yawned. “I’m goin’ to have some sleep, anyway.” “Same hyar! I’m fagged.” They cast themselves heavily upon the iron cot beds. Then in a few moments both were snoring. But they were not sleeping. Each, through half-shut eyes, watched the cell door. Just what they expected occurred. Suddenly at the iron bars there appeared a leering face. It was the keeper Isaac. He crouched there a moment and then glided away. A distant door creaked and then all was silence. Old King Brady sat up on the edge of his bunk. “It’s all right, Harry?” he said. “The coast is clear.” “We are safe?” “Yes.” “The fellow was easy to fool. He is off his guard now.” “Sure!” Harry now tried the iron bar. It was an easy matter to spring it from the socket. The aperture thus made was small. But Harry squeezed far enough through it to reach the bar and lift it. The door swung back. Freedom was theirs. But there was lively work before them. They glided away down the dark corridor. Noiselessly they passed from one corridor to another, past the doors of cells where madmen prattled, until suddenly Old King Brady gave a gasp. A light shone through the grated door of one cell. It was more cheerfully furnished than the others. But the single occupant enchained the detectives. A young girl, beautiful, though pale as marble. Her face was clear and sweet. Her manner mild and gentle. Surely she was no maniac. The Bradys paused and gazed upon the fair occupant of this cell as if spellbound. She did not at the moment observe them. When she did, finally, she gave a great start and half arose. A frightened light was in her eyes. “I pray you be not alarmed, young lady,” said Old King Brady, in an undertone. “We are friends!” “Who—who are you?” she asked. “Have you come to take me away?” “Perhaps so,” said Old King Brady, closely searching for any possible evidence of insanity. But there was none. He was satisfied of this.