a gigantic lantern and Max a sledge. We traversed extensive corridors,
mounted tortuous stairs and came at length to the sturdy oak door that
separated the east wing from the west: a huge, formidable thing
strengthened by many cross-pieces and studded with rusty bolt-heads.
Padlocks as large as horse-shoes, corroded by rust and rendered
absolutely impracticable by age, confronted us.

"I have not the keys," said old Conrad Schmick sourly. "This door has
not been opened in my time. It is no use."

"It is no use," repeated his grizzly sons, leaning against the mouldy
walls with weary tolerance.

"Then how did the woman and her dog get into that part of the castle?"
I demanded. "Tell me that!"

They shook their heads, almost compassionately, as much as to say, "It
is always best to humour a mad man."

"And the baby," added Poopendyke, turning up his coat collar to protect
his thin neck from the draft that smote us from the halls.

"Smash those padlocks, Max," I commanded resolutely.

Max looked stupidly at his father and the old man looked at his wife,
and then all four of them looked at me, almost imploringly.

"Why destroy a perfectly good padlock, mein herr?" began Max, twirling
the sledge in his hand as if it were a bamboo cane.