open that the asthmatic keeper of the establishment might be supplied
with breath--he heard a stertorous snore. On the other side matters were
not so silent. There were groans, and yells, and gabble from the reeking
and sleepless patients, who had been penned up for the long and terrible
night. Concluding that every thing was as safe for his operations as it
would become at any time, he slowly felt his way to the door of the ward
which held Paul Benedict, and found it fastened on the outside, as he
had anticipated. Lifting the bar from the iron arms that held it, and
pushing back the bolt, he silently opened the door. Whether the darkness
within was greater than that without, or whether the preternaturally
quickened ears of the patients detected the manipulations of the
fastenings, he did not know, but he was conscious at once that the
tumult within was hushed. It was apparent that they had been visited in
the night before, and that the accustomed intruder had come on no gentle
errand.. There was not a sound as Jim felt his way along from stall to
stall, sickened almost to retching by the insufferable stench that
reached his nostrils and poisoned every inspiration.

On the morning of his previous visit he had taken all the bearings with
reference to an expedition in the darkness, and so, feeling his way
along the hall, he had little difficulty in finding the cell in which he
had left his old friend.

Jim tried the door, but found it locked. His great fear was that the
lock would be changed, but it had not been meddled with, and had either
been furnished with a new key, or had been locked with a skeleton. He
slipped the stolen key in, and the bolt slid back. Opening the outer
door, he tried the inner, but the key did not fit the lock. Here was a
difficulty not entirely unexpected, but seeming to be insurmountable. He
quietly went back to the door of entrance, and as quietly closed it,