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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78778 ***
+
+
+
+
+                           THE FIFTEEN CELLS
+
+                           BY STUART MARTIN
+
+                    HARPER & BROTHERS _Publishers_
+                         New York _and_ London
+                                 1928
+
+                        PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.
+                                  E-C
+
+
+
+
+                               CONTENTS
+
+
+                              THE VISITOR
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FIRST CELL
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE SECOND CELL
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE THIRD CELL
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FOURTH CELL
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FIFTH CELL
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE SIXTH CELL
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE SEVENTH CELL
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE EIGHTH CELL
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE NINTH CELL
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE TENTH CELL
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE ELEVENTH CELL
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE TWELFTH CELL
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE THIRTEENTH CELL
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FOURTEENTH CELL
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FIFTEENTH CELL
+
+
+
+
+                           THE FIFTEEN CELLS
+
+
+
+
+                              THE VISITOR
+
+
+It was all a matter of routine.
+
+Precisely at nine o'clock in the morning the Governor entered the
+prison, just as he had entered for years.
+
+The warder who met him at the gates saluted smartly and said, "All
+correct, sir," just as he had said it for years.
+
+Every warder who was stationed between the gates and the Governor's
+office saluted and said, "All correct, sir," just as they had said it
+for years.
+
+The Deputy-Governor rose from his chair as the Governor entered the
+office, and said, "All correct, sir. Good morning, sir."
+
+The correspondence was looked over. The Governor dictated a few replies
+to his clerk; routine replies. The stewards received their portion of
+the mail dealing with the accounts and the cookhouse, laundry, etc.
+The chief warder reported that the adjudication room was ready. The
+Governor and the Deputy-Governor went in to adjudicate.
+
+The newcomers to the prison were attended to first. They had been
+brought in the previous day, had been bathed, medically examined, and
+given prison clothes. There were fourteen arrivals. Next came those
+who were due to return to the world shortly. Their papers were put in
+order.
+
+The Governor went to his lunch.
+
+In the afternoon he attended to his less important correspondence.
+He adjudicated on the applications for petitions, wherein prisoners
+desired to tell the Home Secretary that their sentences were too long
+or complained of other matters. Every prisoner has a right to petition.
+Very few have their petitions granted.
+
+The Governor went to tea.
+
+His work was not ended. He returned to his office and signed a request
+to the local coroner to be good enough to hold an inquest the following
+day on the body of a man who was at that moment perfectly healthy; but
+he was in the condemned cell.
+
+The Governor then took a walk round the grounds. It was a dull, heavy
+evening. Fog had been coming up all day. In a corner of the prison
+precincts two warders had almost finished digging a grave. The Governor
+wondered how the condemned man would face his execution; and came to
+the conclusion that he would probably do as practically all condemned
+men did--take his ounce or so of brandy, toss it off, and wipe his lips
+with his cuff. The executioner would be at the door and would enter
+the cell, while the chaplain, the assistants, the officials, would
+look on. The executioner would pretend to be cheerful. Most of them
+affect this frightful cordiality. He would say persuasively: "Hullo,
+old man. Put your hands behind your back, if you don't mind. That's
+the idea." By the time the executioner ceased to speak the condemned
+man would be pinioned. The chaplain would lead the procession, reading
+aloud the Burial Service (a kindness granted to ordinary people when
+they can no longer hear it). The shed, ten yards off, would be reached.
+A belt would be strapped round the prisoner's ankles, the executioner
+would put a white cap over the man's head and adjust the noose; then,
+stepping back quickly from the platform, he would pull the lever. The
+trap-door would open, its sides thudding against the sides of the
+pit with a crash that would be heard throughout the prison. The law
+would be satisfied; at any rate, it would be fulfilled. Everything was
+routine.
+
+The Governor had still one call to make. He had to go to the condemned
+cell.
+
+He passed into the prison, walked along the corridors, which were
+steam-heated and scrupulously clean. He stopped before the condemned
+cell at the door of which a warder was on guard.
+
+"All correct, sir," said the warder, saluting.
+
+The Governor looked into the cell through the trap in the door. The
+prisoner was enjoying a smoke. The Governor closed the trap.
+
+"Gives you no trouble?" he asked in a low tone.
+
+"None at all, sir."
+
+"Chaplain been here?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"There is a visitor coming to see him to-night. Report him to my
+deputy. Don't bother me."
+
+The warder saluted. The Governor went back to his room. His rounds
+were finished. He would not be disturbed. The friends of condemned men
+always wanted to see the Governor just before the executions--as if he
+could do anything! The Governor drew a chair close to the fire, lit a
+cigar, and picked up a newspaper.
+
+His room was a large apartment. There were no curtains on the
+windows, but the glass was of the frosted, corrugated kind so that
+nobody could see inside, even if the position of the room had made it
+possible otherwise; which it did not. The Governor had attended many
+executions in his prison and had seen men die on the scaffold. These
+ceremonies did not affect him, never made him turn a hair. Like many
+other Governors he had been an Army officer before he became a prison
+official. He had no interest in the present case. The crime had been
+cold-blooded. The Governor had asked his deputy to represent him at the
+final scene. Everything was in readiness to launch the criminal out of
+this world.
+
+The Governor went to dinner.
+
+The clock on the mantel-piece of his private room was just striking
+eight when he returned. He was going to write some private letters,
+and he had just lit another cigar when a knock sounded on the door. A
+warder appeared.
+
+"That visitor is here, sir."
+
+"Has he been to the condemned cell?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Has he seen my deputy?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Then why trouble me? I left instructions----"
+
+"Yes, sir. But he insists on seeing you."
+
+"Very well. Bring him up and then leave us. Do not trouble me again. I
+will show him out."
+
+The warder departed, but was back in less than a minute. At his heels
+was the visitor who had come to see the condemned man. The warder
+closed the door on them and clumped along the corridor for good. The
+Governor raised his eyes from his desk where he had pretended to be
+busy.
+
+"You wish to see me?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"I can't give you much time. The prison is already officially closed
+for the night----"
+
+"That doesn't matter."
+
+"You have already interviewed my deputy?"
+
+"It's you I want to speak to."
+
+"What can I do for you?"
+
+Up to this point the routine had been strictly followed. At this point
+routine suddenly received a jolt that destroyed it and blew it to
+smithereens.
+
+"You can just sit where you are, Governor. And don't attempt to move."
+
+The Governor obeyed--he who was in the habit of being obeyed. He was
+facing the barrel of a small revolver which the visitor had thrust
+forward and was holding in his gloved hand. For a moment neither of
+the two men spoke. Neither of them was afraid. It was a meeting of two
+persons well drilled in the art of controlling emotions. The Governor
+examined his visitor. The visitor examined the Governor.
+
+The Governor saw a man of medium height, dressed shabbily, but with a
+certain air of superiority. His face was furrowed, two lines running
+down, one on either side of his cheeks, from the nose past the corners
+of the mouth, to the chin. It was a prominent chin, and hiding under it
+was a duplicate one. The man's brow was broad and wide, his eyebrows
+shaggy and heavy. At the corners of his eyes were wrinkles telling of
+concentration and meditation. The eyes themselves were small, piercing,
+alert, with no trace of nervousness about them. They were a trifle too
+close together, however, and this gave them a touch of cunning. The
+general impression was that the face might have belonged to a student,
+a professor. On the other hand, it might have belonged to a criminal.
+Prison often moulds such faces. It was a face at once interesting
+and common; pleasing and yet unattractive; arresting and still
+unremarkable. But the Governor knew that only an uncommon personality
+would have come into his room with a revolver levelled at him.
+
+The stranger, on his part, studied the Governor minutely. He saw a tall
+man, nearly six feet high, head going bald on the top, military face,
+lean flanks, broad shoulders. In contrast to the intruder's face the
+Governor's had no superfluous flesh. His eyelids were heavy, especially
+at the corners where they almost over-lapped the eyes. The hands,
+which were spread out on the edge of the desk, were well shaped. They
+were hands that could hit hard. The wrists, which appeared under the
+cuffs, were well developed and strong. The fact that the Governor had
+gripped the desk as he swung round, and still gripped it when he saw
+the revolver, proved that he had disciplined himself to crises. A less
+disciplined man would have leaped to his feet; and would have been dead
+next moment. The visitor's revolver was equipped with a silencer.
+
+"You can take your hands off the desk now, Governor," said the visitor.
+"Swing round so that you can sit at your ease. I don't want to kill
+you--yet."
+
+The Governor swung round as directed, but out of the corner of his eye
+he saw the visitor step backwards to the door and turn the key in the
+lock. He put the key into his pocket and advanced until he was on the
+opposite side of the desk. He laid the revolver down.
+
+Why did the Governor not leap up and over-power this visitor who
+menaced him? Because the Governor knew men. He knew from the way this
+individual handled his weapon that he was a master and that before he
+could raise his arm to sweep it from the desk the bullet would be
+fired. The Governor could read men. It was his business to read them.
+He was aware that he faced a man capable of extraordinary things,
+and of ordinary things too; but for the moment the extraordinary
+predominated.
+
+The Governor took up the cigar he had laid on the ash-tray beside his
+chair and lit it leisurely.
+
+"Will you kindly come to business?" he asked. "What is it that you
+want?"
+
+"You have a man in the condemned cell?"
+
+"I have."
+
+"He is due to be hanged to-morrow morning?"
+
+"At eight o'clock exactly."
+
+"He must not be hanged."
+
+"It is the law, and I am afraid that he will be."
+
+"If he is hanged you will die quickly."
+
+"I don't see how I can prevent it."
+
+"You can sign this paper."
+
+The stranger pulled a blue sheet of foolscap from his pocket and tossed
+it across the desk. The Governor glanced at it.
+
+"You have procured this at the Home Office."
+
+"I brought it from the Home Office specially for you."
+
+"That means you stole it. Burglary of State documents."
+
+"What does it matter? I mean you to sign it. It will constitute the
+completion of an official reprieve. You will notice that the Home
+Secretary's signature is there."
+
+"Forgery."
+
+"You may put it that way. I obtained his signature and traced it by
+using a piece of carbon paper. Over that tracing I used ink. You will
+be able to plead that the document has all the signs of genuineness."
+
+"You mean that I have to act on this as an official reprieve?"
+
+"That is what I am about to compel you to do."
+
+The Governor stared at his visitor. The whole thing was preposterous;
+but it was possible. One point was obscure and presented a difficulty.
+
+"Supposing the condemned man is freed on this paper, there are
+formalities to be gone through. The trick would be found out in the
+morning----"
+
+"By that time he would be safe."
+
+"I don't quite follow."
+
+"It is simplicity itself. I suggest that you, in your official
+capacity, send for the prisoner to be brought to this room. Your
+warders would bring him."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"This would be quite in the usual course of procedure. When he arrives
+you would acquaint your officers with the arrival of the official
+reprieve. I should be here. It would not be untrue to say that I have
+come direct from the Home Office with it."
+
+"And if I refused to do this?"
+
+"Well, sir, you would die. I shoot straight. Do you care to see proof
+of my shooting?"
+
+"It would be interesting to have such proof, but----"
+
+"Please hold your cigar up above your head."
+
+The Governor did so. The visitor raised his revolver with the swiftness
+of a flash of light, a sharp "ping" sounded, followed by a second
+similar sound. The ash of the cigar fell in a cloud on the Governor's
+knees.
+
+"You see?" said the visitor quietly.
+
+"Where did the bullet go?"
+
+"Ah, you expected to hear the crash of it against the furniture, a
+sound that might have brought one of your warders--is it not so? If you
+will note the angle at which I fired you will see that the bullet went
+through the bottom right-hand corner of the window about six inches
+from the sash."
+
+The Governor turned his head and saw that such was the case. A small,
+perfectly drilled hole had been cut in the glass.
+
+"It was well gauged," said the Governor. "You can shoot. But still I
+insist that the shooting of myself would not help you personally, nor
+your friend the prisoner. My warders would fall on you. Ultimately you
+would be hanged."
+
+"You are wrong. You would send two warders only for the prisoner. That
+is the usual number. There are still five rounds in this gun."
+
+"It is usual for a Governor to acquaint a prisoner with his reprieve in
+the cell."
+
+"We must depart from routine on this occasion."
+
+The Governor considered while he gazed at the carpet. Presently he
+lifted his head.
+
+"And if I accepted this as a genuine, official document?"
+
+"The rest would be easy. The warders would be dismissed while you
+acquainted the prisoner with the lifting of the death sentence. I would
+do the few necessary acts that are required for the plan I have formed.
+The prisoner would be dressed in another suit of clothes----"
+
+"Where would he get them?"
+
+"I am wearing two suits now. He could have one. He and I are the same
+height."
+
+"Oh, I see."
+
+"We would go out by your window, after switching off the light. I have
+a length of stout cord around my waist. We would not be seen."
+
+The visitor walked over to the window and pointed towards the glass.
+
+"A heavy fog is coming up. It is fairly thick now. The weather prophets
+state in the evening papers that it is likely to last for some time.
+You, of course, would have to be considered. I assure you there would
+be no damage to your reputation."
+
+"How so?"
+
+"I have in my pocket a small phial of dope. A few drops in a glass of
+water, or in a whisky and soda, would put you to sleep for many hours.
+If you objected to that there is another way."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"We could bind you to your chair and gag you. In either case you would
+be found helpless."
+
+"That would be awkward."
+
+"It would be better than being dead."
+
+The Governor threw the stub of his cigar into the fire and pondered the
+situation for a little while.
+
+"There is one point which you have overlooked," he said quietly,
+"though I hardly dare hope that it will appeal to you."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"It is a simple one also. The prisoner who is to be executed to-morrow
+morning----"
+
+"You mean who is sentenced to be executed to-morrow morning."
+
+"If you put it that way you can do so. My point is that he does not
+deserve a reprieve. Do you understand the nature of his crime? It was a
+most repulsive one----"
+
+"You mean that therefore you, as Governor of this prison, would
+naturally suspect that a reprieve would never be granted, and so would
+take all precautions, such as calling up the Home Secretary on the
+telephone?"
+
+"Well, you must give me credit for taking measures to make sure----"
+
+"I see. Then there is still another way out whereby you could not be
+accused of laxity."
+
+"I shall be interested to hear it."
+
+"It is this. You could send for him as I suggest, for the purpose
+of having a last talk with him. He has never repented of his act,
+according to the newspapers. Would not a Governor be acting within
+his province in giving a prisoner a chance of a final opportunity of
+repentance?"
+
+"The chaplain has charge of prisoners' consciences."
+
+"I was merely offering an alternative suggestion to save your
+reputation."
+
+While this conversation had been taking place the Governor had been
+busy looking for an opening to defeat the plan of his visitor. He had
+not been discussing the most unusual situation merely to pass the time.
+He recognised that the man in front of him was no ordinary person, and
+that he was one who was determined as well as daring. All the time
+they had been speaking, the eyes of the visitor had been fixed on the
+Governor with the intentness of a cat watching a mouse. One false move,
+one attempt to reach the bell-push on the wall, and the revolver would
+have spoken. The Governor did not want to die. But he knew he would die
+if he met the proposal of his visitor with a blank refusal. Besides,
+it was not a Governor's place, nor his duty, to die. It was his duty
+to hold a criminal once he had him. He recognised in his visitor a man
+who ought to be inside the prison. Already this man had committed acts
+sufficient to give him a long sentence.
+
+There was no doubt that, up to a point, the visitor held the winning
+cards. His scheme had been planned with a thoroughness that defied
+criticism. But how was it that a visiting permit had been obtained
+by him, and how was it that he had dared the cast-iron rules of the
+gaol and had walked through them? These things puzzled the Governor.
+Discipline was part of the Governor's nature. His whole life had been
+lived under discipline, his entire nature was bound up in it. He also
+held strong views in regard to crime and criminals, views which were
+well known to his superiors and to the Commissioners. Yet he realised
+that this was a case which discipline and routine failed to handle.
+Something else had to be brought into play.
+
+"Supposing," he said, as he crossed his legs and put his clasped hands
+behind his head, "that we take a little time to discuss this matter? I
+give you my word that I shall make no attempt to test the accuracy of
+your shooting abilities. I have observed that you know how to handle a
+gun. But the situation is unusual and is worth analysis. We have plenty
+of time to spare."
+
+The visitor glanced at the clock on the mantel-piece.
+
+"It is now 9:45," he said with a nod. "We have ten and a quarter hours."
+
+"Have you a watch?" asked the Governor.
+
+"No. But you have a clock."
+
+The Governor smiled.
+
+"That is so; and I was just about to wind it up for the night when you
+entered. Permit me to do so now."
+
+The visitor did not object, and the Governor rose and wound up the
+clock, explaining as he did so that he wound it every night. They were
+beginning to understand each other. Each knew that he could trust the
+other's word.
+
+The Governor sat down again in his chair, and the visitor took the
+chair on the opposite side of the desk. He placed his revolver within
+easy reach of his hand, then unbuttoned his overcoat.
+
+"Would you care for a cigar, or a cigarette?" asked the Governor
+amiably. "And perhaps a whisky and soda?"
+
+"A cigarette will do. I never touch spirits."
+
+"Ah, then perhaps a plain soda?"
+
+"Thank you."
+
+The Governor opened a cupboard and provided a box of choice cigarettes
+and a siphon. These he placed on the desk, while the visitor's hand
+closed over his weapon. But there was no need for the movement. The
+Governor smiled. They resumed their former positions.
+
+"The man who is in the condemned cell at this moment," began the
+Governor, "was caught after he had committed a callous crime of murder,
+the object of which was burglary. I need not go into details, since
+you doubtless know them. The newspapers were full of the case, which
+was tried at the Old Bailey before a wise judge and an intelligent
+jury. There was practically no defence. The prisoner, whose name is
+Floxton, was proved to be the culprit. He had been a music-hall artist
+before he became a criminal. He and another man, named Steve Jenkins,
+toured the halls as knock-about comedians. Jenkins always took the part
+of the gentleman in their turns. It is believed that the murderer was
+the less intelligent of the two and that his actions have for some time
+been dominated by Jenkins, a cleverer criminal, and an intellectual.
+The two took to fraud when they fell on bad times. They went to Chicago
+and became gunmen. Floxton had served more than one sentence. Jenkins
+was too clever to be caught. I would be glad to think that he was in
+prison with his companion. I have said he was an intellectual----"
+
+"You see him before you," interrupted the visitor. "I appreciate your
+testimonial."
+
+"Ah, as I suspected. The two suits of clothes you mentioned gave me the
+clue. Of course, these heavy eyebrows are not your own?"
+
+"They are not."
+
+"The make-up is clever. The permit to visit the prisoner--how did you
+obtain it?"
+
+"It was made out on the application of a third party. That is all you
+need know."
+
+"Impersonation? Really, my friend, you have broken the law in a great
+number of ways to carry out your scheme. I admit its bravery. But I see
+also another side to it. What will it profit you or your companion even
+if you save him from the gallows? You know I have firm theories on the
+question of crime. You would be hunted, every avenue of escape would
+be closed to you. This island would be merely a large prison. England
+would be your gaol."
+
+"It would be big enough."
+
+"But in the end it would be too small. You would make a mistake one day
+and your liberty, perhaps your life, would be forfeit."
+
+"You think that a mistake is inevitable?"
+
+"Decidedly so."
+
+"I do not agree with you."
+
+"I never expected that you would. But the fact remains. Every man
+in prison to-day is there because he made a mistake in tactics, in
+judgment, in action. Consider what you criminals are up against! To
+escape the law you must never make a mistake! Is that humanly possible?"
+
+"I do not claim infallibility. Since every man in every walk of life
+must make mistakes, we may do so. But it is possible to recover. You
+have proof that I can defy your rules and regulations. I am here."
+
+"It is true you are here. But is that any guarantee that you will not
+make a mistake?"
+
+"I have made none so far. You are my prisoner."
+
+"That is also true; and yet I am Governor of a prison full of men who
+have made mistakes. Indeed, so sure am I that all criminals must make
+a mistake somewhere, somehow, some time--the fatal mistake that places
+them in the cells--that I have arranged the floors of this prison in a
+sort of series of degrees. In the main block I have placed those whose
+mistakes are the mistakes of ignorant, brutal men. They are by far the
+great majority of criminals. Their mistakes are blunt, coarse ones; I
+call them the Errors of the Illiterate. The ordinary police have run
+these men to earth."
+
+"I have heard of your theories," said the visitor grimly. "You are a
+crank."
+
+"In the right wing," went on the Governor, "are the men who have
+a higher intelligence. They are the blackmailers, the cruder kind
+of forgers, the confidence men. I call their tactical mistakes the
+Errors of the Intelligent. They were arrested by the detectives of the
+Criminal Investigation Department."
+
+"I remember reading your evidence before a Select Committee," smiled
+the visitor. "You rather let yourself go on your theories. If I mistake
+not, your idea was that by keeping your prisoners in grades they kept
+to their own lines of crime?"
+
+"Exactly, that was my theory. I have special accommodation for each
+grade. My third and highest in the scale are housed in the left
+wing. They are all men of highly developed mentality. But they
+all made their mistakes when they became criminals, and they were
+all caught. I call them the Intellectuals. The condemned cells are
+placed in a separate portion of the building, apart from these graded
+prisoners, because into the condemned cells go men of all these
+grades--illiterate, intelligent, intellectual. Murder, you see, is
+mostly an impulse. Spasmodic acts are not controlled by intelligence or
+intellect."
+
+"That is your theory, but there are exceptions. What about premeditated
+murder--such as I contemplate if you refuse to do as I say?"
+
+"You have entered the region of pathology now," replied the Governor.
+"Murder is degeneracy, and men who commit murder are always
+degenerates. For the moment they revert to the primitive. That
+reversion may be the result of a deliberate plan or the work of a
+moment."
+
+"It does not matter much, does it?"
+
+"In a way it does not--to the victim. But in a way it does--to the
+students of crime. If we can grade law-breakers we can see the
+operations of their minds, and so classify them. We can almost
+anticipate their acts. For these reasons I never allow my illiterate
+prisoners to mix with my intelligent ones, nor my intelligent ones to
+mix with my intellectual ones. At least I contrive to separate them as
+much as possible. A prison, you must be aware, has three functions to
+perform."
+
+"What are they?"
+
+"The first is punitive. The criminal must be chastised."
+
+"And the second?"
+
+"The second is deterrent. The punishment must be a warning to others,
+as well as to the criminal himself."
+
+"And the third?"
+
+"The third is educational. We strive to cure evil propensities."
+
+"How do these functions apply to hanging?"
+
+"The first function automatically wipes out the second and the third
+so far as the defaulter is concerned; but it is held the others still
+operate with potential defaulters."
+
+The visitor shrugged his shoulders, and a grim smile played round his
+lips.
+
+"My presence here proves that you are wrong," he said. "If I wished to
+kill a man I would kill him. The satisfaction of having done so would
+out-weigh all other considerations. It is up to you. Have you decided
+whether you will hand over your prisoner--or die?"
+
+"You mistake my meaning," said the Governor. "You may be the exception
+that proves the rule. Or you may not. I am not talking in the hope
+of help arriving. We shall not be disturbed. I dismissed the officer
+who brought you here, and the night staff are now in charge. They
+do not know you are with me. I often sleep on that settee in the
+corner.... Allow me to elaborate my meaning on the question of the
+miscalculations of criminals. I maintain that they all, ultimately,
+make a fatal error; and that error brings them to the cells. Some get
+short sentences, some get long ones, some walk to the scaffold. Did you
+notice, as you came along to this room, that you passed, in the middle
+block, a corridor which is barred off from the remainder of the prison?"
+
+"I noticed it."
+
+"There are fifteen cells in that corridor. Into these fifteen cells
+go fifteen of the new prisoners when they are admitted here. They are
+the men whose cases interest me most. I study them before classifying
+them into the three grades. This morning I had only fourteen prisoners
+to put in that corridor. It would be a great favour to me if you would
+consent to hear why these fourteen men came to be in my charge."
+
+"You imagine it would influence me? You are surely a crank."
+
+"I love to test my theories. You know, of course, that the Central
+Criminal Court is in session. The fourteen prisoners who joined my
+company this morning received their sentences there. I am convinced
+that you will be interested to hear how these fourteen men made their
+mistakes, and came to the cells they now occupy. Their stories are
+intensely fascinating, I assure you. Will you not allow me to give
+you the benefit of their errors? If I bore you, then you may tell me
+to stop, but we have still plenty of time at our disposal, and your
+friend in the condemned cell can be brought out at very short notice."
+
+"You are a curious person to be a Governor," said the visitor with a
+smile, "but then you are a crank. Why should I not humour you? But
+first let me make absolutely sure that we will not be interrupted."
+
+He took a small pair of pliers from his pocket and snipped the
+telephone cord. Then he walked over to the bell-push in the wall,
+unscrewed the wooden top, and pulled out the small piece of metal that
+acted as a contact. He put the wooden top on again. His revolver had
+been in his right hand all the time and his eye had flirted constantly
+towards the Governor. The latter had not moved in the slightest. He was
+well aware that he was in considerable danger.
+
+The visitor returned to his chair and laid the small piece of metal
+from the bell on the desk.
+
+"When you ring for your warders," he said, "this may still be used.
+I see by the clock that we have now precisely ten hours before the
+proposed execution time. Allow half an hour for getting my friend out
+of the cell. That gives you nine and a half hours to live if you go the
+full length; provided, of course, I don't tire of your recital before
+then."
+
+"Thank you," said the Governor. "The reason I am anxious that you hear
+the stories of these fourteen newcomers to my prison is that I desire,
+even if it is the last thing I do in life, to demonstrate the accuracy
+of my theory that all criminals make one fatal error some time. You
+have called me a crank. I am conscious that others have thought so,
+even if they have not been frank enough to say it. It is a crank's
+weakness to be whimsical even at the risk of his existence. So, if you
+will please make yourself comfortable, I shall do my best to play the
+part of the amiable Scheherazade, while you assume the attitude of the
+excellent Sultan Schahriah, holding the gift of Life and the sentence
+of Death in your hands."
+
+
+
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FIRST CELL
+
+
+There is at least one disadvantage under which I labour (said the
+Governor) in taking upon myself the mantle of the wise and delightful
+Sultana Scheherazade. While she knew that she would be allowed to live
+so long as she amused and engaged the attention of the Sultan of the
+Indies, I am restricted to barely ten hours; and though I believe that
+I also could entertain you for one thousand and one nights, I will
+do my best, in the single unit at my disposal, to prove to you the
+theories I hold so strongly. Without, therefore, entering into any of
+the side issues which would otherwise give rise to much profitable
+speculation, permit me to relate to you the story of the occupant of
+the first of the fourteen cells to which I have directed your attention.
+
+David Fleming and his wife lived in a little cottage about twenty miles
+from London. They never went up to town except occasionally, and then
+only on business, and their business was not lawful. In the intervals
+between their "jobs" they posed as respectable citizens.
+
+On the night of which I speak they were in the sitting-room of their
+small house, which was situated several miles from the nearest village.
+They had a visitor, a dealer in precious stones, who had come down in
+haste from London to treat with them for some jewels which he had heard
+were for sale. The jewels were part of a tiara which David Fleming's
+wife had risked much to obtain--her liberty and her reputation as a
+thief. Having no honour, in the matter of honesty she did not count
+honour. She, like her husband, was a social bandit.
+
+She stood in the shadow of the badly lit room while her husband sat
+at the table with the prospective buyer of the stones. The tiara had
+been melted down, and the gold had been disposed of elsewhere. Only the
+gems remained. Loose gems can always be sold at any of the subterranean
+markets in London, but these were better than the average thus disposed
+of, and to get a purchaser who could pay the extra price had been
+somewhat difficult. But the visitor they wanted had come at last, one
+who was in a position to bargain.
+
+"You want one thousand pounds for these?" asked the dealer, shrugging
+his shoulders. "I will give you eight hundred, their utmost value. Say
+the word and it is a deal."
+
+Fleming raised his huge head and looked towards his wife who stood in
+the shadow beyond the table. She was motionless, a small woman with a
+keen, sharp face like the face of a weasel.
+
+"Shall we take it?" asked Fleming.
+
+His wife retreated a step so that the dim light of the lamp on her face
+became dimmer. She was like a ghost in the gloom. Presently she spoke,
+though her features could not be distinguished.
+
+"Has he brought the money?"
+
+"No; but he says he will write out a cheque."
+
+The dealer lifted his head, but did not look round as he addressed the
+woman, nor did he look at the man whose eyes were fixed on his face.
+
+"I have written out a cheque," he said.
+
+"For a thousand?" came the query from the dim outline of the woman.
+
+"For eight hundred."
+
+There was a silence. The dealer was one of those business men who do
+not speak much. He picked up one or two of the stones and began to lay
+them out on the table under the shaded lamp. David Fleming watched him
+curiously, unemotionally. His wife watched also, holding her breath.
+
+The dealer seemed to be absorbed in handling the stones. His fingers
+lifted one after another and held each before his eyes and against
+the light of the lamp for a moment before he placed them on the white
+table-cloth. On the window the rain was beating furiously. When the
+dealer had placed all the stones, large and small, rubies and topazes,
+cat's-eyes and peridots, diamonds and sapphires, in the position he
+desired, he cast a glance at Fleming and breathed deeply.
+
+An exclamation from the back of the room brought Fleming's eyes from
+the table. He peered over the dealer's shoulder towards his wife.
+
+"Did you speak? Shall I close the deal?"
+
+Her weasel face emerged from the shadow and her finger pointed to the
+stones arranged on the table.
+
+"Why did he put them in that fashion?"
+
+The dealer answered, still looking at Fleming, to whom the question had
+been directed.
+
+"These stones are, I think, from a tiara that disappeared from a
+dressing-room of a London ballroom a few months ago. This is the
+arrangement they formed in the tiara. One stone is missing."
+
+"Well?"
+
+The woman took a step nearer. Her husband glanced at the dealer, then
+at his wife.
+
+"I am wondering," said the dealer, "where the little stone is. Perhaps
+it was lost when you broke up the tiara?"
+
+"You are wrong. The stone fell out when I grabbed it and ran off. What
+of it? We take the risk. All you have to do is to buy what you see."
+
+There was a challenge and a sneer in her tone, to which the dealer
+merely replied:
+
+"What you say is true. It is your risk. Come, I must get back to town.
+My car is out there in all the rain. Is it a deal?"
+
+"Why didn't you bring cash?"
+
+"I came down after the banks closed. Besides, it is easier to carry a
+cheque--and safer."
+
+"But I wanted the money."
+
+"You can apply at the bank in London to-morrow morning. I have given
+you a card with my address, and I have shown you a bank-book with a
+balance that will easily meet the cheque."
+
+"I must think it over."
+
+It was noticeable that she said, "I," not "we." Her husband had not
+uttered a word during the latter part of the conversation. He sat with
+his eyes fixed on the stones arranged in the form of the tiara. The
+woman crossed the room and went out. The two men heard her go along the
+passage leading to the back door. They heard her open it and go outside.
+
+She returned to the room in a few minutes and approached the table.
+Rain had damped her shoulders and glistened on her dress.
+
+"It is a wild night," she said. "I went to get some coal from the
+cellar in the yard. We need fires in this weather."
+
+Her husband lifted his eyes towards her and now spoke.
+
+"What have you decided?"
+
+The question revealed the relationship between them vividly. It was she
+who was the master--he the servant. Beside her, Fleming was a giant in
+stature. In brain he was a pigmy.
+
+They were a couple who had been attracted--if one can use the word--to
+each other by the law of contrasts. In their relationship as a married
+pair everything about them seemed inconsistent. In the normal run
+of things they ought to have been mutually antagonistic. Even in
+appearance this was so.
+
+Fleming was a mountain of a man. She was a mouse of a woman. Her
+very features suggested the sharpness of a rat. Her teeth stuck out
+in front, yet she was not bad-looking. She appeared to be a woman of
+fifty, yet she was her husband's age exactly--thirty. She looked ill
+and she was perfectly well. This physical deception had been of use to
+her more than once when she had been arrested for stealing jewellery.
+The hotels were her hunting ground, ballrooms her gold mines. Her game
+was the rich people who frequented social events. Sometimes she went as
+a servant, sometimes as a guest. She never returned empty-handed. When
+she was caught, as had happened once or twice, her captors pitied her
+seeming frailty. Judges had been misled by her physical fraudulence and
+had been lenient where they might have been severe. She was a living
+imposture.
+
+Her audacity was out of all proportion to her appearance. It was she
+who planned the part her husband played in their lawlessness. It was
+she who had taken the tiara from a dressing-room in front of a watching
+maid, and had given it to Fleming, who was hiding by the side entrance.
+It was she who had flung pepper into the maid's eyes, and had then
+stalked confidently among the guests raising the alarm. She had gone
+out by the front door as the police came in. The maid had been blinded
+permanently. In the agony of her torture she could not give a detailed
+account of the incident.
+
+To this monstrous paradox her husband had surrendered his personality,
+unconsciously but finally. He was himself a paradox, which explains the
+curiosity. In spite of his bulk David Fleming was merely a pickpocket.
+His courage never went beyond taking a wallet, or a watch, from a
+stranger's dress. He looked a burglar capable of murder. In reality he
+was afraid of a single policeman. He had not the courage to take risks.
+His whole life had been spent among the sneaks of the street corners.
+He had married this needle of a woman because she willed it, knowing
+that he would be of use to her. He did not know whether to admire her
+or fear her. She ruled him because her rodent mind gnawed constantly at
+his bovine one. It was in the nature of both of them to steal, but she
+had been the cleverer of the two--she had stolen his personality from
+him. It was the case of the mosquito moving the elephant.
+
+All this, of course, did not enter into the docketed information which
+the police possessed of them. Scotland Yard, having their finger-prints
+and their photographs, swept aside subtleties. It classified them both
+as rogues.
+
+"What have you decided?"
+
+For the second time Fleming asked the question, blinking his big
+eyes towards her as she stood beyond the circle of light. She rubbed
+her thin hands together, making a smooth noise like the rubbing of
+sandpaper on a polished surface.
+
+"I have not decided anything--yet."
+
+The dealer turned in his chair and looked at her.
+
+"The cheque is here," he said, tapping his breast. "I wrote it out,
+knowing that eight hundred was the limit I could go to. Have you had
+these stones here since you stole the tiara?"
+
+The woman did not move a muscle of her face as she replied.
+
+"We melted the piece down and sold the gold. We kept the stones because
+there are not many who can give the cash they are worth. How did you
+get to know they were for sale?"
+
+"News travels, you know. I had the word from a mutual friend. I gave
+you his name when I wrote to you saying I was coming to-night. But I
+could not get off before the bank closed. It will be difficult for you
+to dispose of these stones if you don't sell them to me."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Isn't that all the more reason why you should take my offer?"
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+"Look here. I can't waste my time. Take it or leave it. I must get back
+to London to-night, rain or shine. It is not as if there was a hotel
+here. You have fairly buried yourselves in this neck-of-the-woods."
+
+"Will you stay the night if we provide a bed for you?"
+
+"What would be the use? You don't need all night to make up your mind?
+No, I'll get back home."
+
+He rose to his feet and began to button up his coat.
+
+"Eight hundred is my offer. Take it or leave it. I will give you ten
+minutes to decide. I am going out to crank up my car, and when I come
+in you must say what it is to be. Eight hundred is better than nothing."
+
+"Eight hundred is less than we ought to get."
+
+"You can't tell me of another diamond merchant who is willing to give
+you eight hundred and ask no questions. Just think of the trouble you'd
+have to get rid of the loot."
+
+With that the dealer strode to the door. As soon as he was gone from
+the room the woman approached her husband, who was still seated at the
+table.
+
+"He must not go back to-night," she said in a low tone, banging her
+clenched fist on the table.
+
+"Why? If you'd take his price----"
+
+"You fool! Don't you see? He is no dealer. That man is a detective. He
+is one of the Flying Squad."
+
+The words sent a shock like electricity through Fleming. He sat up
+suddenly, his large face white and scared.
+
+"How do you know?" he stammered.
+
+"It is easy. Had he been a dealer he would have paid in cash. A cheque
+would be evidence against him if anything came out later. And he used
+the word 'stole.' No dealer uses that word. He gave a name in his
+letter--the name of the man who he says told him we had the goods to
+sell. I don't believe it. I tell you that man is a detective from the
+Yard. I was watching him. I know now."
+
+"Are you sure?"
+
+"Sure? Of course I'm sure. I tell you he is one of the Flying Squad who
+came to investigate after the tiara was lifted. I have been watching
+his face. I can place him. That is why I kept to the background. He is
+setting a trap for us."
+
+"If he is a detective, why doesn't he arrest us?"
+
+"Don't you see? He heard about the stones somehow, but hadn't time to
+get a warrant made out for us. It was late when he left London. He came
+to make sure we were here--to make sure we had his letter----"
+
+"But his cheque? His offer to buy?"
+
+"A snare! A ruse! Had he brought the warrants and arrested us, did that
+give him the diamonds? He had to come to see them for himself--as a
+dealer. He needed evidence. Did you not see him working out his case
+as he arranged the stones on the table? Detectives don't carry big
+money--so he offered us a cheque."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Ass! A dealer would have had the money, as I tell you. Think, fool! If
+we accepted a cheque from this so-called dealer we would have to go to
+London to cash it. It would be made out on a London office. And they
+would be waiting for us at the bank door, or at the counter when we
+presented the paper--so!"
+
+She made a movement with her hands to imitate the clasping of handcuffs
+over her wrists. Fleming shivered.
+
+"It will go hard with you, wife. There is the blind maid. It means
+penal servitude--almost life for you----"
+
+"It will be as much for you as for me, unless we do something. We can
+get out of it yet. We must."
+
+"How can it be prevented?" he demanded dully.
+
+"By countering plot by plot. He has set a snare for us and we have
+walked into it. Let us set one for him. Do as I say. Here he comes."
+
+The door of the room was thrown open and the dealer entered hurriedly.
+Rain was running from his coat. His shoulders glistened like black
+mirrors.
+
+"Here is a fine thing!" he cried angrily. "My car is standing on her
+rims. Somebody has slashed my tyres. Who could have done it?"
+
+"Who indeed?" echoed the woman. David Fleming jumped to his feet,
+glancing from his wife to the dealer.
+
+"Your tyres?" he said. "Your tyres cut!"
+
+"Oh, we have had some trouble with tramps in these parts lately," said
+his wife quickly. "They hate cars and motorists. They say that at night
+they are sometimes nearly run down by cars. One of them has played a
+bad trick on you, mister."
+
+"It is a trick I'd make him pay for if I could find him," said the
+dealer in wrath. "I cannot go to London on three rims. I have only one
+spare tyre. The nearest garage----"
+
+He looked helplessly from one to the other, while the rain dripped
+from his coat and formed pools on the floor. The woman looked at the
+sitting-room clock.
+
+"It is miles off," she said. "It is closed long ago, anyway. Don't you
+see it is nearly midnight?"
+
+"What can be done?"
+
+"What I said before you went outside. We'll give you a bed until
+morning. Switch off your lights and put the car in our shed. If you
+stay it will serve a double purpose. I may make up my mind about the
+stones and let you have them at your price, and you may take us both up
+to London in the morning so that we can cash the cheque."
+
+"That means that you are willing to accept eight hundred?"
+
+The dealer took the slip of paper from his pocket-book and signed it,
+receiving in return the stones in a small canvas bag. He put the bag
+into his inside pocket.
+
+"It is kind of you to put me up," he said, "but all the same there
+must be a way to get back. The village is not more than three or four
+miles off."
+
+"It is merely a place of one short street."
+
+"But I may be able to telephone----"
+
+"The telephone is in the post office. It closed early in the evening."
+
+"Is there no train?"
+
+"None before dawn. And that is a slow milk train."
+
+"Well, London is twenty miles away. It is a nuisance. But surely there
+is a garage where I may hire a car?"
+
+"There is a garage, but they have no cars to let for hiring. They just
+do repairs and sell petrol."
+
+A slash of rain hit the window. The dealer could think of no more
+suggestions.
+
+"I may as well stay in that case," he said. "I'll go up by train in the
+morning and tell the garage people to call for it after I've gone. I
+can come down in a few days for it."
+
+"That is the best plan," said the woman. "And in the meantime you two
+men had better push the car into the shed and I'll prepare your room."
+
+As she went upstairs she struck her hands together repeatedly,
+muttering to herself.
+
+"He does not want to drive us up to town. He wants to go alone with his
+evidence. I know! I know! We'll see who can set snares best!"
+
+She was still up in the bedroom when the men returned to the
+sitting-room. The dealer walked through the room straight to the
+kitchen and bent down in front of the dwindling fire, spreading his
+hands out. Fleming followed him. The dealer glanced round the kitchen.
+He lifted the lid of the coal-scuttle in order to put some fuel on the
+dying fire, but there was no coal in the scuttle. When Fleming offered
+to get some the dealer shook his head.
+
+"I'll go up to bed soon. I came in here because there isn't a fire in
+the sitting-room. It doesn't matter. These tyres will cost me a bit to
+repair."
+
+At that moment the woman entered.
+
+"Would you like a bite of supper?" she asked.
+
+"No, thanks. I'm going to bed."
+
+"Then let me show you the way to your room."
+
+The dealer nodded to Fleming and followed her. She lit a candle and
+took him to his room. The room was small and mean. The bed was ready,
+the blind drawn. He thanked her once more and flung himself into a
+chair, yawning. She bade him good-night and went downstairs.
+
+When she descended to the kitchen her husband was standing gazing at
+the embers in the grate. He looked up as she entered.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"The snare is set," she answered, primping at her straight hair. "We
+have only an hour or so to wait."
+
+"What do you intend to do?"
+
+There was a tremble in his tone and a startled look spread over his
+face. Her features were more than ever like those of a rat just then.
+
+"You shall see. It is him or us. He knows all. And he is the only one
+who knows."
+
+"What then?"
+
+"There is an old mine shaft less than a mile off. What could be a
+better hiding-place for his car?"
+
+"A mine shaft?" repeated Fleming, and his face became livid.
+
+"It is better than the river," she said calmly. "It would never be
+found in the mine shaft."
+
+She went to the cupboard and drew out a long carving knife, running her
+finger along the edge. Her husband trembled at her coolness. She saw
+his agitation and smiled, her front teeth showing.
+
+"All you have to do," she said, "is to obey. I have his cheque. If we
+get someone to cash it we shall have ready money. We need not go to the
+bank. Let someone else go. We shall find a 'fence' who will cash it.
+For the present, consider that the stones are in his inside pocket--his
+coat pocket. We shall have them also. There is no lock on his bedroom
+door. If you are afraid, you may go to bed."
+
+"What are you going to do?" asked Fleming in a shaking voice.
+
+She replied quite coolly.
+
+"Close the jaws of the trap. While he lives he has evidence. It is his
+existence or ours."
+
+There was a cold ferocity about her that even Fleming had never
+previously seen, and the new knowledge of her character stupefied him
+with horror. Into his dull brain there crept a vague knowledge of a
+terrible truth. This was the climax of evildoing. First a small theft,
+then a larger one, then a still greater, then a crime that chilled
+his bones and branded them both for ever. The progress of crime, of
+violation of the law, had worked to its consummation.
+
+"Woman!" he cried suddenly, in desperate revolt. "Woman, I have married
+you!"
+
+She answered his outburst swiftly and with venom.
+
+"Fool! I have kept you!"
+
+It was the truth. Left to himself he would never have become more
+than a minor criminal, snatching small prizes, swaying between the
+gutter and the prison cell. Her greed had done two things; it had
+enriched them, but it had involved them. The law of compensation, of
+responsibility clinging to the heels of daring, worked in crime as in
+respectability. She had always viewed the prize and had disregarded the
+corollary. He coveted the one but always shrank from the other.
+
+In a little while she spoke again.
+
+"It was I who slashed his tyres. That was the beginning of the
+counter-snare. It kept him here. There is nothing much for you to do.
+When I have made it possible, you shall take him in his car----"
+
+"When you have made it possible?" he repeated.
+
+"When I have made it possible. Listen. This is what you have to do.
+Carry him down and lay him in his car. It must be done before dawn.
+You know how to drive a car. Bring it out of the shed and lay him in
+it. Then drive it to the mine shaft. On the rims of the wheels. It
+doesn't matter. Stop the car just as you come near the mine shaft, and
+get out. Then start it again and let it plunge into the shaft. Him with
+it."
+
+"But the car tracks?"
+
+"There is more rain coming. The tracks will be washed out. And nobody
+can prove anything."
+
+"What about us after this?"
+
+"We will leave this house. When we get the money from a receiver for
+this cheque we will be all right. We have had passports ready for some
+time. There will be no difficulty at all. We can sell the stones over
+in Paris."
+
+Fleming let his head fall into his hands, and remained in that position.
+
+The woman put a handful of sticks on the fire, and crossed her hands in
+her lap, her eye on the clock.
+
+It was nearly one hour after midnight. The rain had ceased, but the
+moon was struggling behind great clouds which chased each other across
+the sky. A strange quiet fell on the house.
+
+Another hour passed. Fleming remained with his hands clasping his
+forehead, his eyes on the floor. His wife kicked off her shoes and rose
+softly to her feet.
+
+She moved noiselessly towards the door and passed out. Fleming did not
+stir.
+
+He strained his ears, nevertheless. Would there be a struggle? His wife
+was agile, swift, inexorable. The sleeper was defenceless.
+
+A floorboard above the kitchen creaked. Fleming took his hands from
+his forehead and listened, his head cocked in a strained position.
+The ceiling of the kitchen was old and thin; it was the floor of the
+bedroom to which his wife had gone.
+
+Did he hear a cry? Breathlessly he waited. A blow? A groan? No. Not a
+sound. All was silent. He wanted to shout and dared not. His nerves
+were all unstrung.
+
+It seemed like an eternity, but in reality it was not more than fifteen
+minutes before the kitchen door was pushed open. His wife appeared. She
+was like a ghost. Her face was pale and grim, but her lower lip was
+held down by her projecting teeth. In her hand was a small canvas bag.
+It was the bag in which the precious stones were kept. She sat down and
+emptied the contents into her lap. They sparkled and gleamed in the
+darkness.
+
+"It is done," she said. "We hold the trump card. The snare worked."
+
+She put the stones back into the bag and hid it in her bosom. Her
+husband waited for her to speak. She pulled on her shoes slowly.
+
+"He did not stir. His coat was lying over him--to keep him warm, no
+doubt. It was easy to get the stones. He had not even taken them out
+of his coat pocket."
+
+"Did he--did he--move?"
+
+"No. Lay like a log. One blow was enough! One blow! The knife is sharp.
+I sank it deep into him. The point must be through his heart."
+
+"He did not turn?"
+
+"He had the bedclothes over his head. The room was dark, but I knew my
+way. I did not touch him. I stood beside the bed and struck. I left the
+knife there. One blow! It was easy. The knife slid down deep."
+
+Fleming gazed, speechless with horror at her recital. Her words were
+ghastly in their simplicity.
+
+"It is your turn next," she said.
+
+"For what?"
+
+"In a little while we shall be going--away. The car must be got out.
+You will bring him down. You know what to do. We needn't go to bed now.
+Let us eat."
+
+She went about the business without a shiver. They ate a hurried meal
+and drank some liquor. His wife allowed Fleming a free supply of
+liquor, knowing him for what he was. When they finished their meal she
+made a gesture, and he got to his feet.
+
+It was raining again, but Fleming did not notice this as he walked from
+the front door to the shed. He pushed the car out and guided it to the
+front entrance. He coaxed the engine, and saw that there was a supply
+of petrol in the tank. All that was needed was to crank it up. He
+returned to the house and found his wife putting on her coat.
+
+He turned his head away from her and walked towards the narrow stairs.
+His hand was on the siderail when a noise struck into the heavy silence
+of the night. The sound petrified them both. They gazed at each other.
+A motor-car was roaring its way up the lane.
+
+It stopped at their door. They were without power to act.
+
+Into the house strode three men. The foremost stepped into the lamp
+light, and the Flemings saw his face and cried aloud in terror. The
+woman's eyes seemed to start from her head.
+
+"His ghost!" she screamed.
+
+"Not his ghost," replied the man. "I heard you and your husband
+planning my death when I went out to start my car and when I went to
+my room. I slipped out of the window, leaving the pillows made up to
+appear as if I were asleep. I have been to the village. I telephoned to
+Scotland Yard. These men are also detectives. They came down in a fast
+car. You are being arrested, both of you, for the theft of the tiara,
+the blinding of the maid, and the attempted murder of myself. Had you
+really brought coal for the fire when you went out, madam, you might
+have killed me in bed, for I did not suspect you would try murder. But
+I saw that you had been out and that you had not brought coal as you
+professed, so I knew _you_ had slashed my tyres. Let me warn you both
+that whatever you say will be taken down in writing."
+
+David Fleming did not answer. His wife thrust out her rodent-like face
+as she saw the handcuffs being produced.
+
+"Why did I forget to bring the coal?" she muttered, a rat to the end.
+
+
+
+
+             THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE SECOND CELL
+
+
+"An interesting narrative," was the comment of the visitor when the
+Governor finished his tale, "but David Fleming was obviously a man of
+low intelligence or he would not now be in the cell of your prison. His
+wife made the error that brought them both to gaol--at least I presume
+she also is now in a cell."
+
+"She is, but not under my charge, of course," said the Governor in
+reply. "Now, had you been in David Fleming's place, could you have
+foreseen, do you think, the small item that led to their undoing?"
+
+"I am certain that any man of ordinary common sense would have avoided
+the pitfall," smiled the visitor. "It is fatal to trust a woman."
+
+"There may be something in what you say," rejoined the Governor. "You
+have the historic case of Antony and Cleopatra on your side. But
+generalisations do not always apply. It is curious that you should have
+mentioned that point, because it is the very one that influenced the
+actions of John Dennison."
+
+"Who is John Dennison?"
+
+"In order to know John Dennison," said the Governor, "you must hear the
+story of the occupant of the second cell, which I shall have pleasure
+in relating to you now."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Imagine yourself (continued the Governor) in a certain jewellery shop
+in the West End of London just after closing time. It is the custom
+in most warehouses of this description to take all the goods from the
+windows and lock them up in the safe every night, and Dennison and
+another salesman were engaged in this duty.
+
+"One claw diamond ring--£1,000!" called Dennison, as he stood in front
+of the safe, holding a tray of jewellery.
+
+"One claw diamond ring--£1,000," repeated his fellow-assistant, who
+bent over a stock sheet at the counter.
+
+"One necklace--£300!" called John.
+
+The checker repeated the words, and ticked the item off.
+
+The manager, from the back office, watched the two assistants at their
+work. The shop was closed, the front door bolted and locked, the iron
+fence padlocked across the plate glass windows. All the other hands
+had gone home, and Dennison and his fellow-salesman were taking the
+valuable goods from the window and putting them in the safe. This was
+Dennison's job--to carry the trays from the window and deposit them in
+the safe. While he called out the contents of the trays and the prices
+his helper checked each article off from a list. This occurred twice
+daily--in the morning, when the goods were taken from the safe to be
+displayed in the windows, and in the evening, when they were returned
+to the safe.
+
+Under such conditions one would think a robbery impossible. John
+Dennison did not think so. He was robbing the firm under the manager's
+nose.
+
+Dennison was given the job of handling the trays because he was the man
+who, next to the manager, best knew jewels. He could value stones at a
+glance. He could detect a flaw in pearls before the average salesman
+was able to recognise that a flaw was present. For over a year he had
+held the position with this firm in the West End. For over a year he
+had been using his brains towards one end--the idea of the robbery.
+
+"One brooch, Burma ruby--£450," he called.
+
+"Completion of trays!"
+
+He stepped towards the door of the large safe as the checker droned
+his reply. John Dennison's long, thin fingers moved across the tray as
+he placed it on the shelf, the brooch was lifted and dropped inside
+his coat cuff. It was the work of an instant, showing no more than
+the flash of a hand. A second later he drew his handkerchief from his
+sleeve, holding it tightly as he dabbed his brow; then he put it into
+his coat pocket. The brooch now lay under the handkerchief, beside the
+necklace, the claw ring, and several other articles he had extracted
+from the trays in exactly the same way.
+
+"That's all, sir," he said to the manager.
+
+The manager nodded. John Dennison put his weight on the safe door
+to close it. He heard the lock click into position. This made him
+perfectly satisfied, for only someone who knew the combination could
+open the door again, and the manager, who was the only person in the
+shop who knew it, already had his hat on his head and was pulling on
+his gloves.
+
+Dennison took the sheet of foolscap from the checker and laid it on
+the manager's desk. The manager dropped it into a drawer and turned
+the key. The list would not see daylight until the next morning.
+Dennison bade the manager good night and went out, with his assistant,
+by the side door. At the corner of the street he bought a newspaper
+and scanned it casually. He was not interested in the news, but he was
+waiting to see that the manager left the shop, and he was content when
+the manager emerged immediately and entered the car that was waiting
+for him.
+
+Dennison did not go straight home, though he knew his wife was eagerly
+waiting for him. His next move was proof of the extreme care with which
+he had built up the fabric of the crime that was to leave no clue.
+First he went to a shop and bought a cheap, small, metal attaché-case.
+He then went by bus to Richmond. At Richmond he hired a skiff and rowed
+a considerable distance up the river.
+
+It was almost dark by this time. It was completely dark when he
+reached a spot he had previously selected for his cache. Along the
+river-bank was a row of wooden piles. Dennison went ashore and searched
+for a heavy stone. This he took into the boat with him and pushed off
+into mid-stream. He anchored there.
+
+Wrapping his stolen goods in the newspaper, he put them into the case
+and bound it firmly with a roll of blind-cord which he had brought with
+him. On the top of the closed case he bound the stone, leaving plenty
+of cord free to take to the bank. He slipped the case over the side
+of his boat and paid out the cord until the case was at the bottom of
+the river. Then he rowed ashore, letting the slack cord run out as he
+rowed. Round one of the wooden piles he cast a wide noose, and, having
+used another stone as a sinker, he dropped the noose into the water and
+watched it disappear.
+
+After this was done he rowed back to Richmond, paid for the hire of the
+boat, and went home.
+
+It was late when he reached the flat where he and his wife lived. She
+met him as he opened the door.
+
+"Ted Hughes has been here all evening," she said. "Is everything all
+right?"
+
+"Yes, it's all right. Glad to see you, Ted."
+
+A young man about his own age had come from the sitting-room to greet
+him.
+
+"We expected you at the usual time," he said.
+
+"Kitty was getting anxious. I wanted to take her out to a show."
+
+Dennison shrugged his shoulders, grinning.
+
+"Sorry to upset your evening. You may go now, if it isn't too late."
+
+"Won't you come with us, John?" asked his wife.
+
+"Me? No. I'm not a gay bird like Hughes. I'm not keen on shows."
+
+She pulled off her cloak and flung it in a chair.
+
+"It's late. I'll not go to-night."
+
+Dennison turned to Hughes with a smile.
+
+"Come round again, Ted, and take her out."
+
+Hughes nodded, and took his leave reluctantly. As soon as the door
+closed, Dennison slumped into a chair.
+
+"There's nearly ten thousand pounds' worth in this haul, Kitty. When I
+say 'Go,' prepare to come out of England."
+
+"John, have you got it?"
+
+"Not here. Hidden."
+
+"Of course; but where?"
+
+He shook his head slowly.
+
+"Keep to your department, Kitty."
+
+"Why not tell me? You always keep me in the dark! It isn't fair!"
+
+"Adam went wrong when he trusted too much to Eve. I'm not making the
+same mistake. You know our methods."
+
+She glanced sulkily at him and turned away, but he caught her arm.
+
+"Look here, Kitty. There may be inquiries. There may be searches. Maybe
+the cops will come here. They'll be sure to watch, anyway. They have
+ways of frightening women. I don't want you to blurt out anything under
+excitement. That's what the cops aim for. If you don't know anything,
+you can say so and stick to it."
+
+"You will be careful when you sell the stuff?"
+
+"Ted Hughes will do the carrying for me, as usual. I'll explain to him
+in time where to find the goods. If he's nabbed, it's up to him. The
+great thing is to keep suspicion away from us."
+
+"You're sure of yourself--as usual?"
+
+"Oh, I'm all right. I can trust myself. I gave notice to the manager
+to-day. I leave in a month."
+
+"But if Hughes is caught and gives you away?"
+
+"He daren't. I'd kill anyone who gave me away. Hughes knows that."
+
+"Me too?" she asked, with a curled lip.
+
+"I suppose so," he answered quietly. "Why not?"
+
+They went to bed without another word.
+
+There was this to be said for John Dennison--he was remorselessly cool.
+The theft at the shop was not his first lapse into crime by any means.
+He had never been caught in any of his previous escapades, so that the
+police did not have his finger-prints or his photograph. His career had
+been one of implacable accuracy. He had always covered himself by using
+other individuals, and he always saw to it that the other individuals
+were encompassed in the toils of the net he spread. For himself he
+always left a loophole.
+
+In South Africa he had been an I.D.B.--which means that he had been an
+illicit diamond buyer. The workers in the mines had been his tools,
+taking the risks and accepting his percentage. It was there he had
+learned the value of stones.
+
+He had come to London on the tracks of stones he wished to possess. He
+had used his wife to find them. It was she who had gone through every
+fashionable shop until she was able to direct him to the store in which
+he was now engaged as an assistant. It was she who had made friends
+with Ted Hughes, who was then a salesman in the shop. Bit by bit she
+had led Hughes on, fascinating him, alluring him, ultimately destroying
+him, so that he was discharged from his post.
+
+All this time John Dennison had kept in the background. When Hughes
+was discharged, he had applied for the post, armed with credentials
+from diamond men in South Africa, had been willing to find the security
+the firm demanded, and had secured the position. It was worth while
+depositing a hundred or two pounds to be inside such premises.
+
+While he worked at the shop his wife had played her part. She had
+not thrown Hughes over. She had retained him, according to plan.
+His infatuation was deepened by the loyalty she displayed in his
+misfortune. He became a hanger-on on the fringe of the trade, and a
+friend of John Dennison as well as an admirer of John Dennison's wife.
+He knew London. He went with Kitty Dennison to dance-clubs. Her husband
+did not object. It was all in the plan.
+
+There was little to choose between this strange pair of criminals, this
+husband and wife who worked from different angles towards a common
+goal. Both played their parts independent of the other. Both retained
+a peculiar individuality of action. Both were equally deserving of
+punishment. The only bond between them was their marriage certificate.
+
+The life in London attracted her. She found all that she, as a woman,
+desired, just as her husband found all that he, as a diamond thief,
+desired. The dance-clubs did not interest him, but they interested
+her. She liked gaiety, and Hughes was able to show her where it was to
+be had. He strove to please her. He succeeded, but at a cost he did
+not then realise. For her part, she was so used to being directed by
+the cold, intense implacability of her husband that she found in the
+society of Hughes a bath of pleasure. She went about with him without
+restraint. John Dennison watched, and waited.
+
+Gradually Hughes became financially overwhelmed. He had been led out
+of his depth. His discharge from his position constantly rankled as an
+injustice. Resentment breeds revenge. The time was ripe for a coup.
+Dennison sounded him. Hughes, desperate and in debt, was willing to
+do what Hughes, solvent, would never have dreamed of doing. He was
+prepared to be a seller of stolen property. He was introduced to
+"receivers."
+
+Dennison tested him with small stuff at first. All that was asked of
+Hughes was that he went to a spot, found a parcel, and took it to an
+address. He did not even know the contents of the parcel. A day later
+he received his share of the proceeds from Dennison. He believed he was
+dealing with smuggled diamonds.
+
+Thus it was that John Dennison was a criminal, but was safe even under
+police observation. It was Hughes who faced the accusing law. If Hughes
+was caught, Dennison was ready to prove that he was guilty of nothing
+more than a passing friendship with him. Not once had he discussed the
+shop with Hughes, though he was aware that Hughes knew the combination
+of the safe. Knowledge of the lock was nothing to Dennison. He was not
+a burglar.
+
+In the present case he was content to wait long enough to allay
+suspicion. He held the winning card.
+
+The robbery was discovered when the manager came to the shop the next
+morning and opened the safe. The shock sent a thrill through the
+establishment. The police were called. Detectives came. They examined
+the premises, the safe door, the locks and bars of the shop entrance.
+They could make nothing of it.
+
+The manager was able to show that the goods had been put in the safe
+as usual. He had seen Dennison and the other assistant take them from
+the window. He had seen the safe closed. He had tested the lock before
+he left the premises. His finger-prints, and those of Dennison, were
+still on the safe door. Who knew the combination? Not an assistant
+save the head salesman, who had been gone before the trays were taken
+out of the window, and the manager himself, who was, of course, above
+suspicion.
+
+The detectives hovered about the shop all day. Others came, examined,
+and went away. The manager spent most of his time being interviewed by
+them in his office. The end was that all agreed it was a mystery, a
+classic crime. John Dennison had done what every thief, every burglar,
+every criminal, dreams of doing--he had robbed, and obliterated his
+trail completely. This was a tribute to his daring as well as to his
+skill.
+
+But John Dennison was not content with this. He went one better. He
+aided the detectives. It was he who supplied them with a clue. Under
+his counter he discovered a skeleton key and a small jemmy. He bore
+them in triumph to the manager.
+
+The detectives surged round him as he explained how he had come across
+them when he was looking for a polishing-brush. He did not explain that
+he had slipped the articles from his sleeve as he stooped towards the
+floor!
+
+Why had Dennison given the detectives this clue? Obviously because
+he knew the working of the official mind. If no clue was available,
+they would come to the conclusion that this was an "inside" job, that
+it had been carried out by someone within the shop. The key and the
+jemmy supplied them with something to investigate while he made his
+preparations for escape.
+
+While the detectives were busy examining the jemmy and the key, other
+investigators came--the insurance people. Two experts came to represent
+their interests. One of these two, a tall, thin man with dreamy eyes,
+looked at the safe for a long time. The manager explained everything in
+detail. The tall, thin man listened attentively. He examined the jemmy
+and the key, fitted it into the lock of the side door, cast his eyes on
+the ceiling, the cellar trap-door, the cabinets ranged along the walls.
+
+"A clever theft," he murmured.
+
+He joined the other detectives, who were comparing notes. They took
+away the key and the jemmy, and the excitement died down in the routine
+of the shop duties.
+
+That night when John Dennison went home he told his wife to advance the
+next step in his scheme.
+
+"Book passages for Cape Town on the ship sailing the day after I finish
+with the firm. Give any name except our own."
+
+"Everything all right, John?"
+
+"Everything."
+
+She did not go out that evening, but remained content beside him,
+listening to the wireless.
+
+Dennison went about his business as usual. Every evening for a week he
+asked the same question as he hung up his hat in the hall.
+
+"Anybody been here?"
+
+"Nobody."
+
+During the second week his question changed.
+
+"Seen Hughes to-day?"
+
+"No."
+
+During the third week the query was:
+
+"Going out to-night?"
+
+The answer remained the same:
+
+"No."
+
+One morning a few days before he was due to leave the shop he looked up
+from his breakfast.
+
+"Kitty, I'll want Hughes soon."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"You'd better tell him so."
+
+"I haven't seen him for some time."
+
+"You haven't quarrelled?"
+
+There was a challenge and a menace in his swiftly raised voice.
+
+"No."
+
+"You've been keeping indoors a lot of late. Hasn't he been asking you
+out to shows?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You've got to bring him along. I need him--for the last time."
+
+"I told him not to call again, John."
+
+"What?"
+
+"I told him not to come for me."
+
+"Why?"
+
+She looked at him strangely, biting her lip. There was a trace of
+nervousness in her tone as she answered:
+
+"I didn't want him to come. He told me the last time I saw him that he
+loved me."
+
+Dennison threw back his head and laughed.
+
+"Well, what about that? I knew he was infatuated. I'm not blind, but
+it's all in the game, isn't it? You've got to keep it up with him, as
+you've done with others. We're leaving London soon. Better send a note
+asking him to come and take you out. He has to pick up a parcel for
+me----"
+
+"The diamonds you took from the shop?"
+
+"Sure."
+
+"Is it safe now?"
+
+"The insurance people have paid. That's good enough."
+
+"Then why worry about Hughes? Tell me where it is, and I'll get the
+stuff----"
+
+"And deliver it to the fence? Not at all, Kitty. Cops sometimes hang
+round fences' homes. I won't expose you to risk. Your job is to bring
+Hughes here. The money will be sent to us on board the ship by special
+messenger, after Hughes delivers the loot."
+
+She pouted, eyeing him in a way that showed she felt hurt.
+
+"John, why don't you let me into the secret? I'm not a baby. You seem
+to be almost inhuman at times, keeping everything locked up inside you.
+You just use people like pawns. Why can't you be like Hughes--nice and
+sociable----"
+
+"It is because Hughes is nice and sociable that he is aiding us, Kitty.
+Hughes is part of my plan. He is necessary to side-track suspicion.
+I'll tell you where I hid the stuff when we are away, but not now. In
+the meantime it's your job to be nice to Hughes. I expect to meet him
+here this evening. We leave in about twenty-four hours."
+
+"Why not write to him yourself?"
+
+"He'll come quicker to see you, and letters may be used as evidence."
+
+His eye travelled to the telephone on the hall table.
+
+"He's not on the 'phone, and I'd hesitate to use it, anyway. You never
+know who's tapping the line. We'll keep that for emergency, Kitty.
+Hughes has got to deliver the loot at once; then you may have a last
+outing with him--but don't tell him it's the last!"
+
+"You want me to go out with him to-night?"
+
+"I do; after he has delivered the goods he can join you at the
+dance-club. He'll work swiftly to get there, and, as he'll be paid by
+the fence, he'll have money to burn. I'll pack up while you are away.
+Hughes will report progress to you, and you to me on your return."
+
+He noticed an anxious look in her eyes as he went off to his work. This
+was his last day at the shop.
+
+Ted Hughes was at the flat when Dennison returned in the evening. Kitty
+was dressing, and kept to her room while the two men talked, and, as
+soon as everything was arranged, she and Hughes departed. Dennison
+began to pack.
+
+He reckoned that by the following midday he and Kitty would be aboard
+the liner. Hughes would not know they had gone from the furnished flat
+until he called one day to find it empty of tenants. Swift action was
+the keynote of Dennison's plans. Hit and run! Sell and vanish! No trail
+was ever left behind.
+
+He finished packing, and sat down to wait for his wife's return.
+Reviewing the situation, he decided that he had managed it rather well.
+Kitty would be able to tell him when she came back how Hughes had
+succeeded. He had parted from the manager of the shop on very friendly
+terms. His excuse for leaving was that he was going to America.
+There had been no hint or mention of the robbery, which had become
+history--unexplained, if not forgotten, history.
+
+There was only one point on which he was not quite satisfied. He
+wondered why Kitty had mentioned to him that Hughes had fallen in
+love with her. He considered this carefully. The fact that Hughes was
+infatuated with her did not disturb him. Other men had been infatuated.
+But the fact that she had allowed him to fall seriously in love
+with her was unusual, for she had hitherto played her part with the
+joyous daring of irresponsibility. Was it possible that she had become
+attached to Hughes because he was "nice and sociable"? Thinking all
+this out in cold blood, John Dennison, for the first time in his life,
+experienced a pang of jealousy.
+
+He became restless as the hours passed. Midnight came and went. One
+o'clock struck. Two. Three. Four. Daylight broke. The city began to
+awaken to life. John Dennison watched the clock steal hour after hour
+from him. He gnashed his teeth and beat his hands together. But still
+his wife did not come.
+
+He was at his wits' end by breakfast-time. He was sleepless, haggard,
+red-eyed. Yet he was helpless until Kitty arrived. For want of
+something to do, he made himself a cup of coffee on the gas stove in
+the kitchen. He was drinking the coffee when the door knocker thudded.
+
+He knew this was not his wife, for she had a latchkey. He went to the
+door, opening it cautiously. Facing him was the tall, thin detective
+who had represented the insurance company.
+
+"Can I have a word with you, Mr. Dennison?"
+
+Before Dennison could answer, the man strode into the hall.
+
+"I saw your light on early in the morning. I suppose you are waiting
+for your wife?"
+
+"What is that to you?"
+
+"Well, I don't expect you'll see her again. I am a private detective,
+Mr. Dennison. I was engaged on the robbery at the shop, and in the
+course of my duties I had to keep an eye on you and your wife. Are
+you aware that she has been friendly with, and is now running off
+with, a man named Hughes? I considered it my duty to tell you. I have
+discovered they are leaving the country as Mr. and Mrs. Hughes----"
+
+John Dennison saw red in that moment.
+
+"How do you know?" he demanded hoarsely.
+
+"I have watched your wife's movements."
+
+Dennison blazed.
+
+"They've turned on me!" he cried in wrath. "She's gone off with him
+because he was nice and sociable! They've taken the swag!"
+
+He threw his hands above his head savagely.
+
+"I'll give you no trouble. I confess everything! But I'm confessing so
+that you may beat Hughes and her! They mustn't get away with it! It was
+I who took the diamonds. Hughes was the carrier. I'll tell the whole
+story if you catch them. We are all in it--the three of us----What are
+you staring at? You're losing time instead of getting after them!"
+
+The telephone bell tinkled in the hall. He leaped for it, the detective
+at his heels, but he waved the man back. The receiver was already at
+his ear. Someone was calling him. It was his wife's voice.
+
+"Hullo, John! It's me--Kitty! I didn't come home last night because a
+detective was on my heels. I've seen him hanging about before, but I
+gave him the slip and came to this hotel. I didn't dare telephone you,
+in case he was tapping the line, but this morning I slipped out the
+back way. Hughes found the loot and delivered it safely. We've just
+time to catch the boat-train. I'll meet you at the station. You'll find
+the passage tickets in my dressing-case. I had them made out in the
+name of Mr. and Mrs. Hughes----"
+
+John Dennison dropped the receiver and sagged into a chair.
+
+The detective, who represented the insurance company, was watching him;
+and the look on the man's face told John Dennison that he had beaten
+himself. His unfounded jealousy had made him say too much, and the
+passage tickets were not any use to him, nor to the wife who was above
+suspicion.
+
+It had proved disastrous to him _not_ to trust a woman.
+
+
+
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE THIRD CELL
+
+
+"I admit," said the visitor, who seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed the
+stories he had just heard, "I admit that a generalisation does not
+always work in regard to women any more than in regard to anything
+else. In both the instances you have given, however, the flaw was that
+the people concerned (whom you would call the criminals) did not get
+away quick enough. They delayed their exit."
+
+"Pardon me," said the Governor, "if I suggest that there have been
+cases where swift flight has been on the side of the culprit and yet,
+through some unknown, some subtle, misgiving, some unexplainable
+cause, it has availed him nothing in the end. And this has happened
+not because the pursuers have known where to find their man. It is one
+of the strange things of crime that always, somewhere, at the most
+unexpected moments, the flaw appears and the whole fabric of defence
+and escape falls to dust. I hold that in case after case the criminal
+defeats himself."
+
+"Not if he knows his objective and goes straight for it," retorted the
+visitor. "Now, I know my objective----"
+
+"So did Samuel Vining," interrupted the Governor. "And yet Samuel
+Vining is at the present moment the occupant of the third cell in the
+corridor beneath us. He is one of those who will pay with his life for
+his error. Since his is a very remarkable case, I propose to relate his
+experience in support of what I say."
+
+The visitor settled himself in his chair and helped himself to another
+cigarette, while the Governor took a sip of whisky and soda and cleared
+his throat.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There was nothing subtle (began the Governor) about the murder
+committed by Samuel Vining. He struck down a man in the bar of a small
+public-house during a heated argument--buried a seaman's knife to
+the hilt in the man's side. There the victim lay, his glazing eyes
+turned towards the ceiling. It had been the deed of a moment. When the
+bystanders realised that the man was dead, Vining had disappeared.
+
+He had not more than half an hour's start of the police, but half
+an hour is a long time when a man is speeding from justice. Vining
+had the world to roam, the whole earth in which to hide. His impulse
+was to flee. He boarded a bus going westward and took a ticket to
+the terminus, not knowing where the route would lead him. His main
+object was to get away, to get away, to get away! The desire to escape
+from humanity surged through his brain. Did he repent of his crime?
+Repentance was nothing. Punishment was the avenging force he had to
+escape from. Repentance was an inward thing. Punishment was not
+anything _he_ could decide. _That_ was in the hands of those who were
+pursuing him at that very moment.
+
+When the bus reached its journey's end he continued along the country
+road. He had no idea where it would lead. He did not, for the moment,
+care. Sometimes he ran, but he found running consumed his energy too
+quickly, so he walked mainly. The night was dark, but the stars were
+out. The road was lonely except for an occasional motor-car going
+towards, or coming from, London. He drew into the hedge when the cars
+passed, hiding from them. The stars told him he was walking south. In
+the south was the sea. This thought gave him some comfort.
+
+By dawn he was so weary that he was almost dropping from exhaustion;
+but he stumbled on, blindly getting away! He was passing through
+undulating country by this time. In the meadows he saw occasional
+houses. Workers were stirring. A labourer could be seen in the paths
+now and then. Dogs awoke and barked. The barks sent a shiver through
+Vining's frame. They were like warnings, challenges to him. They were
+the voices of civilisation telling him that he was observed. This made
+him hurry once more. He reflected that the police were on his trail,
+searching for him everywhere. Their net would be cast in the city,
+the telephones would be bearing messages, the telegraph would be
+issuing calls for his arrest. How could he defeat these means? Not by
+swiftness, but by cunning.
+
+At a bend in the road he came upon a road-mender seated beside a
+heap of stones. Beside the roadman was a can of tea, and in a red
+handkerchief was his early morning meal. A newspaper was spread over
+his knees. He looked up as Vining approached.
+
+They stared at each other for a moment. The road-mender spoke.
+
+"Bin on the road for a bit, I reckon. Goin' to the coast, hey?"
+
+"How do you know I've been on the road for a bit?" demanded Vining
+challengingly.
+
+"Humph! By the dust on your clothes. Makin' for the coast?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"It's a tidy way. Well over a score of miles. Hastings lies over the
+hill yonder."
+
+"Does it?"
+
+"Nearer a score and a half of miles. I've seen a few walkers to the
+coast in my time. They generally walk durin' the night. Cooler, I
+dassay. You're fagged out."
+
+"Give me something to eat."
+
+It was more a demand than a request, and the road-mender lifted his
+eyes from the newspaper suddenly, then dropped them again to the
+printed page.
+
+"Take what you want," he said, his tone changing. "There's tea, an'
+bread, an' cheese, an' a scrap of meat."
+
+Vining slumped down on the roadside and started to eat ravenously.
+He finished the man's allowance and drank the tea. The food gave him
+strength, and the tea washed the dust from his parched throat. The
+road-mender was watching him, his right hand holding his long, thin
+hammer close to his side. Suddenly he rose to his feet, moving off
+backward.
+
+"Where are you going?" demanded Vining quickly.
+
+"For help."
+
+"Help? What for?"
+
+"I know you. Think you can escape, do you? It's in the newspapers about
+you. At first I didn't think--but I bin watchin' you. The dust of you
+gave you away."
+
+"The dust?" echoed Vining dully.
+
+"It told me you'd bin walkin', an' then I looked at the paper. It says
+that a man named Sam Vining, a seaman, killed another man in a pub in
+the East End last night. You're him--Vining."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"The dust told me you'd bin walkin', then I read your description.
+It's there--in print. Medium-sized, broad, dressed in shabby navy
+suit, tattoo marks on the back of right hand, brown eyes, mole on left
+temple, black-and-white check cap. That's you. They have a photo,
+too--not very like you, but near enough; must have bin taken a while
+ago. You killed this man because of a woman. She gave the police a lot
+of information. Her name is there."
+
+"Sarah," muttered Vining hoarsely.
+
+"That's it--Sarah. Sarah something. It's you, isn't it?"
+
+"It is me. What about it?"
+
+"Your number's up."
+
+The road-mender was moving farther off, still walking backwards.
+
+"Where are you going?" asked Vining.
+
+The roadman pointed to a hollow beyond the road, from which a thin
+trickle of smoke issued among the trees.
+
+"Down there is a village. A policeman lives there. I'm going to tell
+him. Better come with me quietly. Give yourself up. Come on. I've got
+you."
+
+He stood erect, swinging his long, thin hammer by his side. Vining made
+a movement as if he was about to rise.
+
+"Don't try to escape," warned the road-mender. "I can throw this hammer
+straight as a die!"
+
+Vining put his hand on the stones to raise himself. Next moment he
+fired one--a jagged rock that took the road-mender on the cheek. Vining
+was used to slinging pins and tools aboard ship. The road-mender went
+down, blood spurting from his cheek. Vining was gone by the time he
+gathered himself up.
+
+Down the road, then through a gap in the hedge into the meadows, went
+the fugitive, bending almost double as he dodged along ditches and
+under cover of hedges. From a nook he saw the policeman, some time
+later, go along the road on a bicycle at a great speed. He watched the
+officer's helmet disappear round a bend; then he struck deeper into the
+meadows.
+
+The one thing that stuck in his mind was that he was within possible
+distance of the coast. He knew the general position of Hastings. It was
+south of Dungeness point; and Dungeness was almost opposite Cape Gris
+Nez. If only he could take a boat at Hastings he could row to Gris Nez.
+His tiredness seemed to lift as the plan came to him.
+
+But before he stole a boat he had to get to the coast; and before he
+got to the coast he had to travel unseen during a long day. He decided
+to sleep for a few hours. He slept in a dry ditch in a small wood.
+
+When he awoke, the sun's position told him it was late afternoon. He
+was hungry. He had a few shillings in his pocket; but what was money if
+he dared not show his face to human beings? He searched for a brook,
+found one, and bathed his hands and face in the muddy water. It was
+cooling at any rate. He even drank some of it. As he dried himself with
+his handkerchief he pondered the situation.
+
+"They are all against me," he muttered, "but I'll win through.
+At Gris Nez I'll ship off--anywhere! They always want firemen--on
+coasters--anything!"
+
+He recollected suddenly that to get a job he must show discharge papers
+from his previous ships. For an instant the thought staggered him; but
+only for an instant.
+
+"I'll knock somebody down and take his papers. Then I'll pretend I'm
+dumb. I only want to get to Gris Nez."
+
+This became his passion, the objective to which his mind clung. Gris
+Nez! Gris Nez! He rose and stumbled on.
+
+Towards night he was near the hill which the road-mender had pointed
+out. But he was again exhausted. Not used to marching, the fatigue
+was telling on him; on mind as on body. He sat down by the edge of a
+cornfield and closed his eyes.
+
+Suddenly he heard voices. He dived into the corn, flattening the grain
+as he floundered along. The voices grew louder. He lay down. A man was
+calling.
+
+"Dick, where'd you put the rake?"
+
+Another voice answered unintelligibly. The sound of someone thrusting
+his way along the edge of the field came nearer. An exclamation burst
+out, and the first voice called harshly:
+
+"Someone's gone and trampled the corn down. If I only got hold of
+him----"
+
+Another step brought the man almost on top of Vining. The latter did
+not wait for the alarm to be raised. He jumped to his feet and attacked.
+
+It was all done so suddenly that the farm worker had no chance to
+defend himself. He went down before the onslaught, kicking and
+struggling, but Vining was desperate. He pounded the man into
+unconsciousness and left him. Rising to his feet he ran--straight
+through the cornfield.
+
+He heard voices as he ran, but he took no heed. He did not stop until
+he reached the opposite end of the field. As he forced his way through
+the hedge he looked back. Two men were pursuing, smashing their way
+through the corn in his wake. Vining gritted his teeth. He had laid a
+trail of flattened grain which was impossible to mistake. The harvest
+of the fields was aiding his enemies.
+
+He broke through the hedge and ran. Fear gave fleetness to his feet,
+but he did not know the ground. There were rabbit-holes which hurt his
+ankles when he stepped into them. There were hidden hillocks, mounds,
+rushes, tufts of grass, that seemed to try to impede him. He crashed
+on, labouring like a wounded animal. He ran for nearly an hour. When he
+stopped there was no sign nor sound of his pursuers.
+
+"They'll come after me," he muttered. "They know the country, and I
+don't. They'll come after me. I'll keep to the hill----What was that?"
+
+From somewhere behind he heard the bark of a dog, the baying of a
+hound. His heart stood still. They were pursuing him by scent! Their
+dogs could come where a vehicle could not follow. What was to be done?
+His right ankle suddenly bent under him. He fell as a sharp pain shot
+up his leg. He had put his foot into a rabbit-hole.
+
+The shooting pain made him, for the moment, forget his pursuers. He
+could hardly rise, but he got on his feet by strength of will and
+hobbled on. As he toiled along he cast his eyes about. What was he
+looking for? He found it soon enough in that natural backyard. A thick
+branch of a tree lay on the ground. He tore it up and sat down to wait.
+
+The baying came nearer. It was almost dark now. If only he could get
+one good blow at the dog, that was all he asked. One blow would be
+enough. Samuel Vining knew how to strike.
+
+He sat motionless, waiting. Suddenly something that seemed to be a part
+of the gloom swept past him. He caught a glimpse of a brown, furry
+animal which leaped aside as he stirred, and vanished suddenly.
+
+"A hare," he thought. "The dog has disturbed it."
+
+He had no time to think more, for just then there broke on his ears a
+deep bay, and a white dog plunged into view. Vining gripped his club
+and waited, tense for the stroke.
+
+The dog was running to a scent. He had his nose to the ground. Vining
+drew back to make sure his arms had the swing he wanted. He held the
+branch aloft. The dog came straight towards him. Vining struck.
+
+It was a terrible blow, with all the force of a pair of powerful
+shoulders behind it. The rough branch caught the dog on the head just
+above the eyes. Such a blow would have killed a man.
+
+The club was shattered, the dog's breath came in a strange gasp, its
+body crumpled up and rolled over. Vining scrambled to his feet as he
+heard other dogs in the distance.
+
+"They've sent a pack after me," he cried. "That one will stop them."
+
+He staggered into the gathering gloom, making his direction towards
+a small wood that clung to the hill-side. He heard no more from his
+pursuers, but when he lay down he was surprised to see that his hands
+trembled. A peculiar throbbing was in his breast, the blood was
+pounding in his ears, his teeth were chattering. He was not cold.
+He was perspiring. Through his body the trembling continued; he was
+shaking as if he had ague. It was his nerve that had deserted him.
+
+Samuel Vining did not know the psychology of his case. He had never
+heard of psychology. All he knew was that he was feeling "done in."
+His vision was becoming blurred. His mind had become rusty, almost
+incapable of acting. He started at the least sigh of the wind, the
+slightest rustle of the trees.
+
+"Gris Nez!" he muttered constantly. "Gris Nez! Hastings, then Gris Nez!"
+
+When he tried to sleep he found it impossible. He could not even rest.
+The ground was hard, the surface uneven. His body was pained, his limbs
+ached. Hunger did not trouble him, but thirst did. He felt terribly
+thirsty. It is a peculiar fact that nervousness brings thirst; dry,
+cracked thirst which cannot be relieved.
+
+"Hastings," he cried suddenly. "I must get to Hastings! Then Gris Nez!
+Before morning!"
+
+But, though he cried aloud his necessity, he lay where he was, unable
+for the time being to rise and make the effort to march. Was this
+conscience? Conscience did not trouble Samuel Vining. It was merely
+exhaustion of mind and body that was lashing at him, wearing him down
+with a grinding pressure that was irresistible. He went over the events
+of the murder and his subsequent actions slowly and methodically,
+dwelling on every point with a mind that was strung up to high tension.
+
+He could not stop thinking of the past twenty-four hours. He could not
+sleep. The fear of the dogs was upon him. He could not rest. A strange
+paradox was present within him, one part of him declaring for repose,
+the other clamouring for action. He was hardly able to keep still.
+At last he rose, bound his handkerchief about his injured ankle, and
+stumbled on. He broke off a stick from a tree to aid him as he marched.
+
+Things were becoming vague, but his mind was clear, strange as the
+seeming contradiction may be. He was constantly remembering the
+incidents of his flight and his escapes. His brain was fumbling at the
+problem, searching for a way out. It ought to be comparatively easy for
+him to make his escape. Why had he not done so? Why had these people
+come upon his trail? Like a flash he saw, and he uttered an exclamation
+as the reason struck him like a blow.
+
+Man was his enemy. From man he need expect no aid. He had run from the
+face of man. In the wide fields he ought to have found the solitude
+he sought; but he had found the woods and meadows willing to give him
+up. The dust of the main road had betrayed him to the road-mender.
+The cornfield had betrayed him to the farm hands. The scent of his
+clothes had betrayed him to the hounds. Where could he escape from this
+accusing Nature? The answer came as swiftly as the question was uttered.
+
+"Hastings! Then Gris Nez!"
+
+The sea would hide him as she hid untold secrets. That was it. Let him
+get back to the sea, his natural element, and he would put his pursuers
+to confusion! He was at home where the sea was. This land, where roads
+were unsheltered and meadows were cultivated, was his enemy also. He
+toiled on, filled with a new hope and trembling resolve.
+
+He did not know how many hours he walked, but he kept his position by
+the big hill. He understood that this hill was part of the white cliffs
+he had seen so often from the Channel. He reached the shoulder of the
+hill when the night was still dark. He stopped, raised his head, and
+sniffed. A new tang came to him. It was the tang of the sea.
+
+He pushed his way round the shoulder and saw the Channel at his feet.
+The lights of a town twinkled away to his right, the long promenade
+showing up like an uneven line of burning matches.
+
+"That is Hastings," he told himself. "There are caves among the cliffs."
+
+He had heard, like many others, of the caves which were at one time
+used by the smugglers of the coast. He determined to find one of
+these caves and stay there for the next day. From the cave he could
+mark a boat, and go for it as soon as the following night covered his
+movements. He was jubilant, for in the darkness he felt that many boats
+were lying there.
+
+He crawled down the hill facing the sea, moving slowly because his
+strained ankle pained him, and because he was on dangerous ground. The
+dawn broke grey and sullen while he searched for a cave. By its light
+he found what he wanted, a hole in the shoulder of the cliff into which
+he could crawl. It was reached by a narrow, scarcely visible track, and
+was in a part of the cliff which visitors were not likely to roam.
+Vining drew himself into the hole and lay down his full length, gazing
+out to sea.
+
+The wash of the waves on the shingle sounded eerily, but above the wash
+and rattle of the shingle came a cry that thrilled his bones and caused
+him to sit up in swift alarm.
+
+"_Get away! Get away!_"
+
+The command came unexpectedly, high pitched, with the muffled blur of a
+voice shouting in a strong wind. To Vining the words were a cataclysmic
+disturbance. He had been seen! He leaned far out of the cave, his hair
+on end, his nerves tingling.
+
+A bird flew past the opening of the cave--a white gull with grey wings
+and open beak.
+
+"You can't see me!" he called in wild derision, a swift defiance in his
+tone.
+
+He waited in suspense for a reply, expecting to hear a challenge, an
+order to surrender. None came.
+
+The bird that had flown past the cave swung back again, a beautiful
+thing sailing against the lightening sky. He saw its outline moving
+steadily, perfectly poised, with outstretched wings, beating up against
+the cold breeze that heralded dawn. It swung close to him, its little
+beak open, its feet dangling, ready to alight. He lost it in the gloom.
+
+The waves breaking on the shingle surged far up the beach, then swept
+back, and the stones rattled down after the receding water with a noise
+like thick hail.
+
+"Who are you, anyway?"
+
+Vining shouted to make himself heard above the clatter of the shingle,
+but he was conscious that his voice was drowned in the noise. He
+shouted a third time. There was no reply. Only the swish of the spent
+waves and the rattle of the rolling pebbles came to him.
+
+"There's someone down there," he muttered uneasily. "Someone was
+calling."
+
+Fear came to him in renewed force. Had he been trailed? Had someone,
+some night prowler, seen him descend to the cave? Or was it his fancy?
+Was it possible that no one had called, no one at all? Were his ears
+deceiving him? Was his nerve gone?
+
+He put his hands to his head, which was aching and throbbing, and
+held his temples. His hands trembled. He was shaking all over. As he
+crouched there, a wretched figure, afraid, scared, shivering with cold,
+and with the thrill of his breaking spirit racing within him, he heard
+it again.
+
+"_Get away! Get away!_"
+
+There was no mistaking it, though the call was much fainter. It came to
+him borne on the wind, a cry from far up the beach.
+
+"_Get away!_"
+
+He bounded to his feet, every shred of his former self abandoned, every
+sinew urging him to action.
+
+"All right," he cried. "I'll get away! I'll get away!"
+
+He had been seen. Someone had observed him. He had stumbled on to a
+forbidden piece of the cliff. Was it a watchman who had seen him and
+had warned him to go away? It could not be the police. They would
+not have warned him to go away! They would have come and taken him.
+He dared not wait there. The observer would give information of his
+presence. The police would come to investigate. He would be found, and
+then--the scaffold!
+
+The land was his enemy. His soul clamoured for the sea and the things
+of the sea. He knew the sea. He had sailed on it for years--deep-water
+sailing, out of the sight of land and human beings. The sea would cover
+him, and his pursuers would be baffled.
+
+The land was for landsmen. The police worked on land. The land had
+betrayed him thrice already--first by the dust of the road, next by
+the corn in the meadow, then by the scent of his clothes. The land had
+tried to hinder his escape; it had tried to maim him. How he cursed the
+rabbit-hole that had sprained his ankle!
+
+Dawn was coming up in the east. He must move at once, before his
+pursuers came after him. He would go down and take a boat at once and
+be off before daylight--off to Gris Nez! He would outwit the unseen
+observer, and be halfway across the Channel before the boat was missed.
+
+Crawling out of his cave, he toiled slowly and painfully up the cliff,
+stopping every now and then to listen. Once he heard the call, but it
+sounded far away, almost like an echo.
+
+"_Get away! Get away!_"
+
+He smiled grimly to himself. The observer was on the wrong tack,
+evidently moving towards the town, while he moved in the opposite
+direction. The dawn was present by this time--a grey dawn--but daylight
+was coming fast. Every minute brought more light. Now was his time to
+get to the beach and choose his boat from those he could see lying
+about the shingle.
+
+He reached the crest of the hill, intending to descend on the other
+side; but, as he peered over the ridge, he heard cries and shouts and
+saw a strange sight. Coming along the top of the cliff was a pack
+of hounds--brown and white hounds, like the one he had slain in the
+meadow. They were coming straight for him; and behind them were men on
+horseback. He had no time to think, no time to do anything except rise
+to his feet and strike at the foremost dog as he had struck before.
+This time he did not kill, but he sent the animal howling to the rear;
+and, as he saw the pack breasting the hill, he took to his heels.
+
+Oblivious of the pain in his ankle, he ran towards the sloping cliff.
+He had no time to select his place of descent, but he found one. He
+slid, rolled, bumped, towards the shore, landing in a heap on the
+shingle. He was up again, and ran towards the boats. They were after
+him. He saw some men on horseback shaking their whips at him and
+shouting. He did not care. His hands were on a boat, but he could not
+move it alone. He looked out to the sea. A small fishing-boat bobbed to
+the swell less than a hundred yards from the beach. He ran into the sea
+and struck out for it.
+
+"Gris Nez! Gris Nez!" he called. He would show them some sailing! Was
+he not a seaman? He swam fast and reached the fishing-boat, hauling
+himself aboard by a fender. He did not trouble to look at his enemies.
+He had too much to do to escape. The anchor-rope refused to come; he
+cut the line in desperation and began to haul the sail up as he drifted.
+
+"_Get away! Get away!_"
+
+The command startled him, so clear was it, so sharp. His fingers let go
+the rope, the sail dropped, crumpling up in a tangled mass. He looked
+aloft, and saw a little white gull, with grey wings, perched on the
+masthead, and above it another gull wheeled and circled.
+
+Vining was still staring at the gulls when a motor-boat ran alongside
+his drifting craft. Over the gun-wale men clambered and faced him. One
+was a policeman, but a man in the garb of a huntsman thrust his way
+forward and pointed to Vining.
+
+"That is the man, constable. We had a dog killed yesterday, and that
+broke the chase, and we routed out a cub this morning, and chased it
+along the cliff, when this man----"
+
+"I killed the dog in the meadow yesterday. I am Samuel Vining."
+
+"The murderer!" cried the constable. "We have been watching for you."
+
+Samuel Vining did not move, though the others shrank from him. He was
+staring insanely at the gulls overhead.
+
+The wild things of the sea had joined forces with the wild things of
+the land to betray him. There had just penetrated his tossing brain the
+knowledge that it was no human voice that bade him run from the cave
+where he might have lain unobserved and safe.
+
+What he had imagined, in his anxiety, to be a watcher's warning was
+merely the call of the little, grey-backed bird, the Jenny gull, the
+kittiwake, that gets its name because of its chatter, so imitative of a
+plaintive human call.
+
+_Kittiwake! Kittiwake!_
+
+_Get away! Get away!_
+
+
+
+
+             THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FOURTH CELL
+
+
+Before his visitor had time to raise any plea of weakness in the story
+he had just been told, the Governor lifted his hand, coughed, and
+continued apologetically:
+
+"You are about to say that the capture of Vining was inevitable from
+the start? That was true so long as he remained on land. But had he
+been a stronger man mentally he might have succeeded in calming his
+nerves. Alas, there is always the one 'if' that makes what seems the
+perfect, clueless crime a failure in the end! Now, it so happens that
+in the cell next to that occupied by Vining there is a man who has been
+found guilty of a similar crime, but he committed it in what is perhaps
+the nearest approach to perfection--if one can use the word in this
+connection--I have ever heard of."
+
+"Just a moment," said the visitor, as he sipped from a glass of
+soda-water. "May I ask why you have other condemned men in cells next
+to crooks and thieves?"
+
+"It is a delicate explanation I am forced to give," responded the
+Governor. "You see, when an execution takes place, all the prisoners
+are kept in their cells until it is over. Even this precaution, this
+consideration for their feelings, however, does not prevent them
+knowing that the ceremony has taken place. When the executioner pulls
+his lever the sides of the trap fall with a resounding bang against
+the sides of the pit. Every man in the prison hears that bang. Now,
+to-morrow morning I intend to place these fourteen prisoners in their
+respective and proper grades and cells----"
+
+"And I am here to see that they will not be offended by hearing the
+bang," interrupted the visitor firmly, as his fingers toyed with his
+revolver.
+
+"Just so," agreed the Governor. "That is why you have favoured me with
+your company, which I find very exhilarating, in spite of its menace to
+my self. But to proceed with my explanation to your question. Whether
+I am alive or dead the fourteen prisoners will, before their midday
+meal, be transferred to the cells which will be theirs so long as they
+remain. Their present abode is merely, let us say, expedient."
+
+"You excite my curiosity by the mention of the man who almost succeeded
+in making a clueless trail," commented the visitor. "I presume you will
+place him among the Intellectuals?"
+
+"I am not prepared to say so. His crime was one of murder. That is a
+class by itself. But let us proceed to compare his methods with that of
+cruder persons."
+
+With that the Governor leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands
+as he took up the story of the occupant of the fourth cell.
+
+When a fox sets out to kill [said the Governor] he uses craft. Harvey
+Wilkins was a fox.
+
+He had pondered long on his crime; so long that it had ceased to be
+hideous to him. It was merely a means to an end. He had made up his
+mind to kill Gilbert Hoey and he had got him into the best position for
+the purpose. He had balanced his chances so cleverly that he knew that,
+even if the result of his action was discovered, ordinary investigation
+could not lay the blame at his door. Third degree methods are not
+resorted to in England.
+
+A few yards beneath where he and Hoey stood was the white-hot, moving
+surface of molten metal in one of the factory's cauldrons. They were
+standing on a narrow platform that ran a few yards above the edge of
+the huge fire-clay crucible from which the liquid metal would be poured
+by machinery. The furnaces were roaring. Wilkins had planned it well.
+They were alone. The workers of the factory had just gone for the
+night, the staff of night workers were coming in at the gates.
+
+They had halted above the glowing pit, watching the tiny bubbles that
+shot up to the surface as the gases escaped and the scum arose. Harvey
+Wilkins glanced at Gilbert Hoey. He noted Hoey's eager features, his
+intent air. He hated Hoey with all the force of his jealous nature.
+
+They were both engineers, both employed by the firm, both ambitious.
+They had worked side by side, both in charge of their own gangs of
+workers. But Hoey was beating Wilkins in the prizes of their calling.
+It was Hoey who had discovered a recipe for purifying steel, a swifter
+method for puddling pig-iron. It was Wilkins who kept to the old ways.
+
+The two men were a contrast in almost everything. Hoey was brilliant
+and erratic; careless in many things, such as keeping his own set of
+books. He left details to others. Wilkins was deliberate and watchful
+of details; a plodder who lacked vision.
+
+As he saw Hoey gazing down at the bubbling metal, Wilkins noted that he
+was resting his arms on the steel rail that guarded the platform. This
+rail was a sliding one, fitted in a similar manner to the deck rails of
+a ship. It could be slipped from its socket by the removal of a long
+steel pin, so that part of the machinery above the casting could be
+cleaned and oiled when the furnaces were not in blast. Wilkins glanced
+at the steel pin. His fingers fumbled with it. His eyes travelled to
+Hoey, who was leaning on the rail intent on the examination of the
+metal below. The heat came up to both men in waves. Wilkins closed his
+hand over the pin. Just one tiny pull and he would be free to carry out
+the schemes he had long contemplated but had been unable to achieve
+because of his rival Hoey. He pulled at the pin. It came away in his
+hand.
+
+Down fell the rail, borne adrift by the weight of Hoey's elbows. Down
+went Hoey, his arms flung wide, his hands grabbing at space and failing
+to find a hold. His body plunged into the boiling metal. A flame shot
+up, a blue flame with a white fringe. And that was all.
+
+There had been no cry, no shout of alarm. The whole thing had been
+so quick that even Wilkins was amazed. It had been so simple that it
+seemed impossible to believe.
+
+The steel rail dangled idly from the stanchion. The metal bubbled and
+stirred in the cauldron. There was no more Gilbert Hoey. Not a vestige
+of him could ever be traced henceforth. He had been obliterated more
+efficiently than a man blown to atoms. He had been engulfed in a liquid
+that had made of him nothing more than a shooting flame.
+
+Harvey Wilkins picked up the hanging rail and put it back into its
+socket. He pushed the steel pin home. He looked about the works. No one
+was there, the place was deserted. The last of the nightshift men were
+beginning to come through the timekeeper's wicket on the other side of
+the yard. Wilkins walked back to his office.
+
+He sat down and drew his handkerchief over his perspiring forehead.
+He was pulling himself together. As he sat in his chair he heard the
+hooter sounding, telling him that another casting was about to be made,
+that another furnace had finished its job. In a few more minutes the
+molten metal would run like seething silver into the moulds and cool
+off in time in the shape of rails, ships' propeller-shafts, and other
+necessaries for the world beyond.
+
+Harvey Wilkins felt perfectly safe, if a little nervous. His love of
+detail had stood him in good stead for this, the greatest risk he had
+ever taken, the foulest act he had ever committed. There was no one to
+say that his hand had withdrawn the steel pin that dropped the guarding
+bar. There was no one to say that Gilbert Hoey had been examining the
+job. The entrance to the office was on the other side of the building
+from the men's entrance. Hoey did not come down at night usually.
+It had been at the suggestion of Wilkins that he had come down this
+evening. No one had seen Hoey fall to his death. The murder had been
+complete, clueless, without a trail leading to its author.
+
+"He couldn't have felt it," Wilkins murmured. "The temperature is the
+highest a furnace can reach. He couldn't have felt a thing."
+
+He kept repeating the last sentence to himself for some time; perhaps
+as a sort of a salve to his screaming conscience. But now and then he
+shuddered as he thought of the scene.
+
+The thudding and crashing of the steam hammers, the dull roar of the
+moving machinery, came to him suddenly, though the noise had been going
+on since the sounding of the hooter. He stirred himself, took a glass
+of spirits from a bottle in a cupboard, and began to set about the
+minor part of his crime. He intended to prove that the man who had thus
+been blotted out of life had gone from the factory in quite another way
+and of his own accord. One thing was certain, he told himself, getting
+great comfort from the reflection: Hoey would never be able to disprove
+what Wilkins was going to say about him!
+
+Wilkins rose from his chair and went into the small office which Hoey
+had used. They had separate rooms, but the girl who typed their letters
+and acted as their joint secretary was always gone for the night before
+her two superiors. Wilkins sat down at the typewriter and typed a short
+note on a sheet of paper. He left the paper in the machine.
+
+Next he took down a cash-book and a ledger and did some figuring on
+the last pages on which entries had been made. He left the books open.
+He opened Hoey's desk with his keys and searched among the contents.
+He found what he sought without much trouble. It was a small enamelled
+cash-box. Using a key on Hoey's key-ring, he opened the box. It
+contained a bundle of treasury notes and a handful of silver. Wilkins
+emptied the contents into his own pockets. He put the cash-box back in
+the drawer, left Hoey's keys dangling in a lock of the desk, switched
+out the light, and returned to his own room.
+
+From his own desk he took a shipping company's brochure and put it in
+the pocket of Hoey's overcoat, which hung from a peg in the passage
+outside. The brochure was an illustrated one giving the fares and
+passenger services to and from South American ports. When he had
+finished these arrangements, Harvey Wilkins put on his own hat and coat
+and hurried from the office.
+
+He went straight to the house of his employer, the head of the firm. He
+was admitted on his application to see his employer urgently. In a few
+minutes he was faced with the man he had come to see.
+
+"Mr. Mynes," he began, acting the part well, "I have come up at once
+because I have reason to think that you ought to know what has been
+going on. I am afraid that the news I bring is rather terrible."
+
+"What is it, Wilkins?" asked Mr. Mynes, settling himself in his chair.
+"Nothing gone wrong at the works, is it?"
+
+"I'm afraid, sir, it has something to do with the works. Do you realise
+that you have been swindled by Gilbert Hoey, and that he has absconded
+with the money he drew to pay his men's wages?"
+
+"God bless my soul!" exclaimed the factory owner, jumping to his feet.
+"It is impossible!"
+
+"I could hardly believe it myself, sir, when I saw what was going on.
+But it is true. I came to you to-night because the crisis has been
+reached."
+
+He stopped as the door of the study opened, and on the threshold stood
+a girl dressed in white. She had dark chestnut hair which, exquisitely
+shingled, made a fitting frame for her attractive features.
+
+"I'm sorry," she began, seeing Wilkins, "I thought you were alone,
+father."
+
+Wilkins knew that this was not strictly true. She had come to the study
+because she thought Gilbert Hoey had arrived. She and Hoey had been on
+very friendly terms for some time; more friendly than Wilkins liked,
+for he had hoped to marry his employer's daughter.
+
+"Come in, Ada," cried her father. "Come in and hear what Mr. Wilkins
+has come to tell me. What do you think? Hoey, the man I trusted
+implicitly--the man who was carrying out one of the biggest jobs for
+me--the man----Words fail me when I think how I trusted him."
+
+"What has he done?" asked the girl.
+
+"Listen to Mr. Wilkins. Go on, Wilkins, and let me have this in detail.
+I want proof, not suspicions. You say Hoey has run off with the wages
+money of his men."
+
+"That is what I say, sir. You may remember that a few months ago I
+took over the books of Hoey at your suggestion, so that they might be
+brought up to date?"
+
+"I told you to do so. Hoey said he couldn't do book-keeping. He hated
+book work unless it was connected with engineering specifications."
+
+"That is what you told me, sir. I took over his books. I found finally
+that it was impossible to make them balance. He had used sums of money
+for which he could not account. You allowed him to pay the workers on
+his contracts himself. A week ago I spoke to him about it. He promised
+to make reparation."
+
+"Why didn't you come to me at once?"
+
+"Because I wanted to give him a chance. I thought he might have been
+negligent."
+
+"Go on."
+
+"To-day I knew that he had drawn a large sum for wages. The big
+contract for steel rails and forgings was in his hands to a great
+extent. He has been managing the laying of the new railroad. I asked
+him to come down to the office to-day and talk things over. He came
+into his office late in the afternoon, but did not come near me. I
+waited, doing overtime on my own books. His typist stopped work and
+went home. I called out to him, saying I was ready to go over the books
+with him. He replied that he would come to me later. Some time passed.
+I heard him go out. I went into his office. A sheet of paper was in the
+typewriter. It contained a short message to you, sir. I have left it
+just as I found it."
+
+"Well, what was the message?"
+
+"It was to the effect that, as he saw no hope of getting a partnership
+with you, he was taking matters into his own hands, and was going away
+with the wages. He says that it is useless for you to seek him, as he
+will never be found."
+
+"And the money?"
+
+"I looked into the cash-box. It was empty. He must have been gone an
+hour before I went into his office."
+
+"The fool!"
+
+Mynes sat back in his chair and gritted his teeth. Suddenly he rose to
+his feet.
+
+"He was a fool," he said bitterly. "I trusted him, and I intended to
+make him a partner. I had not told him so, because I wanted it to be a
+surprise after he had put the present contract through. Hoey a thief!
+Hoey a common swindler! Wilkins, you and he were my right-hand men!
+Well, I'll make an example of him!"
+
+He strode towards the door, then turned and beckoned to Wilkins.
+
+"Come down to the factory at once. I want to go into this matter. I can
+hardly believe it, but if it is as you say, I'll have a warrant out for
+his arrest to-night----"
+
+"You will have to be swift, sir. I searched his overcoat which he left
+in the office. In the pocket I found a shipping list dealing with
+sailings for South America. I fancy he has laid his plans----"
+
+"He won't get there. I'll have every ship watched; I'll bring him back
+and send him to prison. Ada, you and Hoey were fairly friendly. Don't
+let this upset you. I'll deal with him."
+
+He rushed out to get his hat and coat. Wilkins raised his eyes to the
+face of the girl, who had stood still during his recital.
+
+"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such news, Miss Ada, but it was my duty."
+
+The girl sat down suddenly, clasping her hands in her lap. Her eyes
+were fixed on Harvey Wilkins's face.
+
+"I don't believe a word of it," she said quietly.
+
+Wilkins merely bowed. He knew that Hoey had been friendly with Ada
+Mynes, and her disbelief in his story let him see how deep that
+friendship had been; but he held the whip handle. Time would change
+her. Circumstances would make her alter her ideas. One thing at a time,
+he told himself. Hoey had disappeared. That was enough for a day.
+
+He went down to the office with Mr. Mynes. He showed him the evidence
+he had arranged. He repeated his statements. He advised caution,
+suggesting that the news need not be published broadcast as it would
+damage the firm. He went with the factory owner to the police station
+and laid the information. On the sworn evidence of Wilkins and Mynes a
+warrant for the arrest of Gilbert Hoey was made out, and the network
+of police resources began to operate. By telephone and telegraph every
+port was notified of the disappearance of Hoey. Harvey Wilkins was
+congratulated by his employer and went home to bed.
+
+That he was a murderer did not disturb him. Who was there to say it had
+been murder? Who could find the body of a man who had been consumed in
+a flash of fireworks? The crucibles would be emptied by the morning,
+the metal would be turned into moulds, into rails, ships' propellers,
+pig iron--a hundred different matters. Giant rollers would soon be
+pressing out this particular cauldron's contents into long sheets.
+These would be rolled up again and pounded by great steam-hammers into
+the form desired. Gilbert Hoey had disappeared like a puff of smoke.
+The boiling metal had not only killed him--it had also wiped out every
+trace of the incident.
+
+The following morning Wilkins went down to the works as usual. On his
+way he called at the police station to see how far they had gone. The
+inspector who had seen him the previous night was not at the desk, but
+his substitute told Wilkins all the news they had. Hoey's description
+would be telegraphed up and down the country. His rooms had been
+searched, and his belongings were intact. He had not been traced.
+
+"I expect he fled when I challenged him," said Wilkins. "He didn't even
+take time to pack a suitcase. He must have been scared badly."
+
+"I expect so," said the officer drily. "I can't give you any more
+information, as I'm not in charge of the case."
+
+Wilkins went to his office feeling surer than ever. He had put dust
+into the eyes of the law. He smiled to think of the police watching
+ports, railway stations, roads, hotels--looking for a man who would
+never be found.
+
+Mr. Mynes did not come to the office at his usual time, and Wilkins
+continued his work leisurely. He was at his desk just before lunch
+time, when the door of his office opened. Miss Ada Mynes walked in and
+took a seat. She left the door ajar. Wilkins rose to find a chair for
+her near his desk, but she waved him back to his seat. There was a
+strangeness about her he had never seen before. She was all strung up,
+but she was holding herself in check.
+
+"I came to you because the police can't say what I want to say," she
+said. "I came to hear about the disappearance of Gilbert Hoey."
+
+"If I can be of any help, Miss Mynes, I shall be glad; but the police
+have the matter in hand, and your father----"
+
+"My father knows I am here. I told him I was coming."
+
+"If he gave you permission that is all right, Miss Ada. What is it you
+want to know?"
+
+"Everything."
+
+"I can tell only what I myself know."
+
+"That may be enough."
+
+The tone struck him. It was antagonistic, but she was nervous and was
+trying to control herself. Her eyes were on his face--eyes that seemed
+to be gimlets. There was no escaping them. He sought to pacify her,
+beginning to tell once more the story he had told the previous night.
+She waved it aside.
+
+"I have come to ask questions."
+
+Again that tone--strange, incisive, charged with meaning. He suddenly
+felt the sharpness of it. It was the tone of a terrier; without snarl,
+without growl; the tone of a terrier when it is about to worry.
+Persistent and annoying.
+
+"I told you yesterday I did not believe your story," she said in a
+level tone. "I repeat that now. Gilbert Hoey is no defaulter."
+
+"You were friendly with him, Miss Ada; but that does not alter facts."
+
+"Why do you say 'were'? Why speak in the past tense?"
+
+He saw the grimness with which she thrust the question at him; but he
+smiled. He knew that she felt the situation keenly. She was fighting
+for Hoey's reputation. He would be easy with her, since she was a
+woman; a woman whom he wanted in his own time.
+
+"I used the past tense because I hardly think you can remain friendly
+with him after this. Your father would object, I fear."
+
+"Leave my father out of it. I was yesterday more than friendly with Mr.
+Hoey."
+
+"Indeed. I did not know it had gone so far."
+
+"That is why I am here."
+
+Again the biting tone gave him the impression of a terrier. It was as
+if a household pet had become an enemy. He saw a strain of her father
+in her then; the strong, determined forcefulness of the parent was
+coming out in the child. He admired her for it.
+
+"Ask your questions," he said, leaning back in his chair.
+
+She drummed her fingers on the desk for a moment, looking at him from
+under her eyelashes.
+
+"When Mr. Hoey came down to the office last evening, did he go into the
+works?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Sure?"
+
+"Positive."
+
+"He told me you had invited him to look at the cauldron."
+
+"I cannot help what he told you, Miss Mynes."
+
+"We have proof that he did not leave this town last night."
+
+"Who has proof?"
+
+"The police. I have been with them all night. Mr. Hoey did not go by
+train. We inquired at the booking office. He did not go by car. His own
+is still in the garage. No car was hired. We have been to every car
+owner, every hirer there is."
+
+"If he did not leave the town he must be about somewhere. Let the
+police find him."
+
+There was a sneer in the taunt he flung at her--a sneer that had been
+his natural retort.
+
+"Was there any need for him to steal the money?"
+
+"His bank balance was not large, I believe, Miss Mynes."
+
+"You know that?"
+
+"He made no secret of it."
+
+She bit her lip. The terrier in her attitude had received a check; but
+she tried another grip. Just like a terrier.
+
+"Mr. Hoey told me yesterday that he was coming down to see how a
+casting was going on. You say he did not look at any casting?"
+
+"That is what I have told you."
+
+"The furnaces were preparing a job of which he was in charge?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"He was expecting to leave for the Continent in a few days to
+superintend this job's delivery?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"The money in his care was for payment of his men who were going with
+him?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"It was not a large amount?"
+
+"It was over a thousand pounds. There were other expenses he was to
+clear off--quite large enough to be a temptation when I had challenged
+his books."
+
+"You expected to get this job?"
+
+"Your father preferred him."
+
+"You were rivals in the factory?"
+
+"Not rivals; co-workers."
+
+"You told me once you were rivals."
+
+"When?"
+
+"The day you told me you were in love with me; the day I told you I did
+not desire your affection."
+
+"Oh, I may have said that in a moment of disappointment at finding you
+liked Hoey."
+
+"You asked my father for a partnership?"
+
+"Yes, and he declined--for the present. What do you mean by raking up
+these things?"
+
+"I want to prove that you were rivals."
+
+"And then?"
+
+"I am seeking a motive."
+
+The terrier was there openly, defiantly, frankly, facing the fox that
+had covered his tracks. There was no use hiding the situation longer.
+It was a duel between them. Her eyes told him more than her words. Had
+she been a stranger, a detective, he would have shown her the door. But
+she was the daughter of his employer. He became frigid.
+
+"A motive for what?" he demanded.
+
+"A motive for Gilbert Hoey's disappearance."
+
+The sudden suspicion that had flamed in his mind died down. She was
+floundering, he told himself; floundering in her use of words because
+of her anxiety for Hoey. He felt that he could handle her. Was she not,
+after all, only a woman? She would forget Hoey in time.
+
+"I see," he said gently. "You are seeking a motive for his running
+away."
+
+"For his disappearance."
+
+"It is the same thing."
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+"Do you mean to suggest any other explanation?"
+
+Now was his time, he thought, to bully her into reason! They were
+alone. He would frighten her, as she had almost frightened him. He knew
+he was safe. The cauldron of molten metal would tell no tales. The fox
+is seldom afraid of one dog. But he runs from a pack. This girl was
+hysterical, he told himself; she needed to go home and rest.
+
+"I am very busy this morning, Miss Mynes. If you don't mind I would
+suggest that you take things easy and do not worry. Hoey may not have
+been worthy of your thoughts. And really you ought not to come here and
+question me. It is most unusual----"
+
+"Many things are unusual. But they are sometimes necessary."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"You will learn in time. I have a few more questions to ask."
+
+"Very well. Ask them. But I shall tell your father I have been
+interrupted----"
+
+"Has the metal which was in the cauldron last night been poured off?"
+
+"Yes, by the night gang."
+
+"So that the machinery above would be oiled and cleaned to-day?"
+
+"I gave orders for it to be done this morning. I expect it has been
+attended to. We are very busy."
+
+"It has _not_ been attended to."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"The police decided that it was to be left as it was. No workmen have
+been near it."
+
+"Indeed?" cried Wilkins; and there was, for the first time, a hint of
+alarm in his tone.
+
+The girl leaned across the desk. Her mood was that of the terrier more
+than ever; a terrier that has got a hold at last.
+
+"If any sand or grit were in that cauldron with the metal it would be
+skimmed off or the casting would be spoiled, would it not?"
+
+"Yes, but what----"
+
+The answer was a movement by the girl. She slammed a small package on
+the desk and separated the blackened, ruined fragments as she raised
+her finger. The terrier had the fox in a corner.
+
+"See this? It is the remains of a meerschaum pipe in an asbestos case
+which I gave to Gilbert Hoey yesterday evening before he came down
+here. This was fished out of the cauldron."
+
+Wilkins gave a stifled cry. He felt his feet slipping, but he was
+crafty.
+
+"He may have thrown it into the cauldron!" he cried.
+
+"But you said he did not go to the works! You said he never left this
+office!"
+
+There was a silence. Wilkins knew then that he was faced by a girl who
+was fighting to avenge her lover with all the subtlety of a woman's
+nature. She was more than terrier then. But she had no proof. This was
+his trump card. She had no proof. It was merely intuition that had
+prompted her. He faced the terrier and steadied himself with an effort.
+
+"He may have gone without my seeing him," he declared quickly.
+
+For a moment the terrier lost her hold. But she came back to it.
+
+"The police want your finger-prints!" she cried, jumping to her feet.
+
+"What for?" he countered.
+
+"Do you not see on this asbestos case are Gilbert Hoey's initials in
+platinum? I gave him the case. It takes a greater heat than that of
+molten iron to melt platinum! He would not throw it away. He came
+down to look at the casting. He stood on the platform above the
+crucible. There is a sliding bar there, held by a pin. On that pin are
+finger-prints. They are his or yours. No one else has been there. The
+police have taken a print of these fingers, to compare with the prints
+on the typewritten message."
+
+"You can prove nothing!" he cried. "He fell in! It was an accident! It
+was an accident!"
+
+The fox was at his last ditch; a safe one, he was sure. But the terrier
+pursued him, knowing she was near victory.
+
+She ran to the door and threw it open. There, in the next room, stood
+her father, the police inspector, and another man who was busy with a
+note-book.
+
+"Our talk has been taken down in shorthand," she cried. "The defence
+you put up could not have been torn down by ordinary methods, so I came
+alone to you. I accuse you of murder!"
+
+The fox had still his last defence.
+
+"It was an accident!" he cried. "You cannot prove anything!"
+
+"You were seen!"
+
+Harvey Wilkins stared at his accuser, then at the inspector; at the man
+who was busy with his pencil, at his employer. He dropped into a chair.
+
+"In that case," he muttered, "it is useless to deny it. I confess. I
+pulled the pin and let him fall into the cauldron."
+
+A cry from the girl startled him. She had played her trump card. It had
+broken down his defence. The inspector stepped forward. Wilkins raised
+his head.
+
+"Who saw me?" he asked hoarsely. "Bring your witness. Was it you?"
+
+"No," she answered. "God!"
+
+The fox had been tricked.
+
+
+
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FIFTH CELL
+
+
+"Women are certainly the deuce," commented the visitor as the Governor
+dramatically ended his story of the fourth prisoner. "So far you have
+proved that my contention is right. A man ought not to have anything to
+do with them."
+
+"And yet," replied the Governor, "men can make errors even when they
+think they are most safe. My experience has shown me that very vividly.
+And, since you may be pained at the part women have played in the tales
+I have already related to you, I commend to your attention my next
+story, which deals with the occupant of the fifth cell."
+
+"I shall be happy to hear it," said the visitor.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I intend to introduce to your notice (said the Governor) a remarkable
+young man in the person of Frederick Clausen. We will find him seated
+in a cheap coffee-house in one of the northern districts of London.
+His elbows were on the marble-topped table at the moment I have in
+mind, and he was looking up into the face of the not too immaculate
+proprietor of the cheap restaurant.
+
+"Yes," he said loudly, "the money was taken from the bank to-day and is
+safe in a black japanned box in the boss's escritoire. I myself put it
+in his study. There are two thousand pounds in notes alone, and----"
+
+"Not so loud, Mr. Clausen," hastily interrupted the restaurant-keeper
+in a whisper, as he glanced over his shoulder. "Not so loud."
+
+But Frederick Clausen took no heed of the warning. He laughed and threw
+back his head, then took a sip of coffee as his eyes travelled round
+the small, dingy room.
+
+"It would be an easy haul for any robbers," he continued, "but there's
+nothing to fear on that score. We start paying out to-morrow at nine
+o'clock. I thought I'd let you know, so that you could tell anybody who
+hasn't been notified. Two thousand pounds, mark you! Fancy all that
+money lying in a little japanned box in the study!"
+
+His eyes looked over the rim of his cup. Two men sitting at a table
+within two yards of him were busy looking at the moving traffic in the
+street. They were typical of the residents in the district--at least, a
+certain proportion of the residents--drifters, nondescripts. The peaks
+of their caps were drawn over their brows, their clothes hung loosely
+on them; yet their hands were soft and white. At other tables sat other
+people of similar type. There were derelicts there, and workers too,
+some furtive-eyed, some weary, some crooked-mouthed.
+
+Frederick Clausen put down his cup and rose to his feet.
+
+"I'll be going back home," he said. "To-morrow means a hard day's
+work--paying out all that money."
+
+As he moved towards the door the restaurant-keeper came with him and
+laid a hand on his arm as they stood on the front step.
+
+"You're getting on well, Fred," he said in a low tone, "and I'm glad
+to see one of the boys of the district making good. It isn't often
+you look in here; but you oughtn't to speak so loud about that money.
+You're forgetting what you ought to remember--that there's always
+someone sitting about. You know what I mean!"
+
+"Oh, was I speaking too openly? I'm sorry."
+
+"I'm saying nothing, Fred, except this. If I was you I'd shift that box
+of money from the study when you get back. I can't stop people coming
+into my shop for a cup of coffee so long as they behave themselves; but
+I'm giving you a hint. See? So-long."
+
+He turned and went back to his frowsy counter. Frederick Clausen
+shrugged his shoulders and walked smartly along the grim street, his
+lips set in an equally grim smile.
+
+"The old fool!" he muttered. "As if I didn't speak loud on purpose!
+Does he think I didn't know those two crooks were drinking in every
+word? Well, I'll bet it comes off all right."
+
+He felt like laughing out loud, so pleased was he with himself. It was
+late in the evening, but he had spent the time to advantage. Was he
+not, in the eyes of his employer, above suspicion?
+
+Turning into a quiet street, he mounted the steps of a tall, narrow
+house and let himself in with his latchkey. He shot the bolts of the
+front door with considerable force, spoke a cheery word to a maid who
+was finishing her dreary duties in the kitchen, saw that she had a
+candle to light her way to her bedroom, then put out the hall light and
+went to his own apartment. He undressed and jumped into bed at once.
+
+But if Frederick Clausen went to bed he did not go to sleep. He did
+not want to sleep. In a few minutes he heard the scullery-maid mount
+to her room. A deep silence pervaded the house. Clausen lay still for
+nearly two hours, smoking an occasional cigarette to pass the time. It
+was long past midnight before he decided to move. He got up, put on
+a dressing-gown, took a small phial from his coat pocket and, with a
+handkerchief in his hand, opened the bedroom door. All was still.
+
+He crept along the corridor to a door at the end of the passage and
+tried the handle. It turned easily. He shook some drops of the contents
+of the phial into his handkerchief and slipped into the room.
+
+In a short time he came out again and went to another bedroom. This
+time he listened at the door some time before he entered. Then he
+slipped in, and came out again noiselessly.
+
+He crept up a short flight of stairs and soaked his handkerchief from
+the phial before entering a third bedroom half way to the next floor.
+When he returned to the semi-darkness of the corridor he stood still,
+his face expressing satisfaction, his nerves jumping just the slightest.
+
+He stood in the corridor and breathed deeply, but smiling to himself.
+In his hand he held the small phial and the handkerchief. In his head
+he held the scheme he had evolved and was now executing step by step.
+
+What he had just done was the second stage of his plan, and both had
+been remarkably easy--easier than he had anticipated. He had entered
+the bedroom of his employer and had laid the handkerchief, soaked with
+chloroform, on his face. He had done the same with his employer's
+wife, with their son--a young man about his own age--and with the
+housekeeper. The servant who slept at the top of the house was far
+enough removed from the scene of operations to be dispensed with as a
+danger.
+
+Clausen had gone to this trouble because he wanted to eliminate risk
+in carrying out his intention of robbing his employer, an intention he
+had harboured for some time. Robbery as an idea was old, of course;
+but robbery by his method was sufficiently original, he calculated, to
+place its author beyond suspicion. He had used chloroform merely to
+intensify the sleep of those who might disturb his work.
+
+There still remained the third and final stage of his plan. He put
+the phial, in which were only a few remaining drops of the drug, into
+the pocket of his dressing-gown beside his handkerchief, and went
+downstairs towards the study on the ground floor back. The curtains of
+the room were open, and the fading moon gave him all the illumination
+he needed. He knelt beside the escritoire, opened it with a key, and
+extracted a black japanned box. He opened the box and gazed on the
+money.
+
+It did not take him long to extract the major portion of the notes,
+which were done up in handy bundles. Some silver was in paper bags.
+He took most of it also; but he did not touch several cheques and
+postal orders which lay in a drawer beside the notes. Cheques and
+postal orders are traceable. Treasury notes, unless the owner knows the
+numbers, are not; and Clausen was well aware that his employer did not
+know the number of a single note.
+
+He was gathering up the money when something soft brushed against his
+hand. He started, but next instant smiled at his alarm.
+
+"Hullo, puss," he whispered, as he stroked the large black cat that was
+rubbing its head against his leg. "A black cat for luck!"
+
+He tickled the cat's ears, then pushed the family pet away and
+completed his theft. He closed the japanned box and put it back in the
+escritoire, then wiped the metal with his handkerchief. He removed his
+finger-prints from the escritoire in the same way, and went back to his
+room. The cat came with him, purring and pleased as it rubbed itself
+against his ankles.
+
+It wanted to follow him into his bedroom, but he pushed it out into the
+corridor and closed the door. His next act was to conceal the money.
+
+This part of his scheme was also well prepared. From the fireplace he
+removed a brick, which he had loosened by degrees during his leisure
+hours, and in a cavity behind the loose brick he placed the notes and
+silver. As he replaced the brick a small fall of soot dropped on his
+hands. He shook most of it off into the fireplace, but, as some grime
+remained, he went to the bathroom and washed the smuts off. He was not
+taking any chances. Everything had been flawless in his plan so far,
+and he intended to be sure that the high efficiency continued to the
+end. Frederick Clausen was very thorough.
+
+When he had cleaned his hands he returned to his bedroom, closed the
+door, threw his dressing-gown on a chair beside his bed, and turned in.
+He had finished the work he had set himself. The phial of chloroform
+and the handkerchief he had used could not be got rid of until the
+morning. For the present they were safe in his gown pocket.
+
+Clausen was quite at ease regarding his theft. He was not an habitual
+criminal by any means. He was private secretary to Mr. James Holson,
+and he therefore knew all about Mr. Holson's affairs. The latter was
+what was known as a welfare worker, who gave his spare time to help
+those who desired to help themselves.
+
+James Holson was well known in the charitable world, or, rather, the
+world of charities. He was founder and treasurer of one of the largest
+welfare societies in England--a society of the club type, which
+accepted contributions from its members and disbursed the funds on
+certain days of the year to the investors. Mr. Holson made no profit
+for himself out of his club-society. He was content to preach the duty
+and virtue of thrift. He handed out the savings from his office on the
+ground floor of his house in Euston district with the same smiling
+cheerfulness as he accepted the contributions.
+
+Frederick Clausen was one of his "finds"--a young man of the lower
+working-class community who had aspirations, and ambition. He too was
+a member of the society, and he had become Holson's secretary because
+he was a young man who had shown a desire to "get on." Through his
+hands passed most of the details of the organisation. He lived in his
+employer's house, capable and trusted.
+
+It was Clausen's desire to succeed in life, and this very ambition led
+to his present crime, strange though that may seem. His salary was
+small--too small, he believed, for his abilities. He had often asked
+for an increase, but had as often been told that an increase was not
+possible for the time being. To Clausen this was a grievance. He did
+not care that charitable societies such as his were incapable of paying
+large salaries to their staffs. He did not argue that the organisation
+was limited in funds by its very objects. But he did care that money
+in a lump sum was a very valuable possession, and he argued that to
+possess money enough to fill his dreams was worth a small risk. In him
+his ancestry warred with his lately acquired respectability. He felt
+his opportunities limited. He was not perhaps morally strong enough
+to step outside the limitations and go farther afield. His quarrel
+was that his limitations were limitations. Thus his alleged grievance
+gradually became a vague sense of injustice. There are many similar
+cases. Temptation fed on mistaken ideas grows strong. Thus the sapling
+became an oak.
+
+So long as there is temptation there will be crime. So long as there
+is crime there will be law. So long as there is law there will be
+law-breakers. Rectitude and guiltiness are not separated by a straight
+line, as is commonly supposed. They are segments of a circle. Frederick
+Clausen had passed the first two segments, and now, having taken the
+money from the japanned box, had completed the last arc of the circuit.
+
+He had approached his act as do practically all who, for the first
+time, set out to beat the law. That is to say, he approached it with
+acumen and knowledge born of considerable study. The average burglar
+who has adopted theft as a trade goes straight to his objective, and
+retreats swiftly from it after accomplishment. The amateur criminal is
+much more elaborate. He believes that he has the wit to do what others
+have failed to do.
+
+Clausen was not content to steal and wipe out all traces of his trail.
+That, to his acute mind, was but to leave the structure of his plan
+half finished. He had gone much farther than that. He had seen to it
+that a burglary would be provided to send the authorities on a false
+scent.
+
+His knowledge of the district guided him towards the keystone of
+his crime and supplied him with an alibi that seemed proof against
+suspicion. He had called at the dingy coffee-house deliberately to give
+information to ears that were always open to receive and act on stray
+news. To this mean eating-house came characters he had known in his
+unregenerate days--men who trod the shady paths of life, youths who
+lived by lawlessness. Clausen himself was of the locality. He knew the
+suspects who frequented the side-streets and roamed the dim by-ways,
+seeking like wolves, the opportunity to plunder.
+
+He had timed his visit to the restaurant with care, and had sat at a
+table reading his newspaper and exchanging a spasmodic conversation
+with the proprietor, knowing that the visitors would come who could
+make use of his words. He was perfectly aware that the two men who sat
+at the next table were thieves, convicted and hardened in roguery. He
+had spoken for their benefit. The chances were a thousand to one that
+they had inwardly smiled at his seeming innocence as they listened to
+his information. Simple people are the carriers of news. What burglar
+could turn his back on a proposition where the details were handed to
+him so guilelessly?
+
+So Frederick Clausen argued, knowing the district and the men. Their
+minds were less subtle than his. They would act true to type. He
+had left something in the japanned box for them, a reward for their
+trouble. They would take the postal orders, even if they did not take
+the cheques, and thus they would be convicted.
+
+As he lay in bed, Clausen went over every point. He had made things
+easy for the burglars. He had undone the catch of the study window, he
+had left the japanned box unlocked. Even if they did not come, he was
+still safe. The chloroform he had used on the occupants of the house
+would work off before morning. They would have heard nothing, and the
+released window-catch would tell that a burglary had been committed
+from the outside.
+
+He estimated that the burglars would come within three hours after he
+had taken the money, if they came at all. The time passed slowly, and
+he was conscious of a tinge of anxiety. He heard the public clocks
+strike the hours. Dawn was not far off when his slumbering senses were
+jerked into action. Somewhere in the house a bell was ringing.
+
+He sat up in bed. What was the bell? With an exclamation of irritation
+he lay down again.
+
+"It's the scullery-maid's alarm clock," he muttered. "I'd forgotten she
+uses one to awaken her. I wonder what is the time."
+
+His hand was under the pillow, searching for his watch, when he
+suddenly became tense. The bell had ceased to ring, but another noise
+came to his ears. It was from the ground floor. At first the sound was
+a confused jumble, then what seemed to be the smashing of glass and the
+rumbling of men's voices. Clausen's heart beat quickly. The burglars
+had arrived. His theories had worked out after all. Was this not proof
+of his ability to gauge men and their actions accurately? A glow of
+triumph swept over him.
+
+And then, out of the stillness that followed the noise, there came
+other sounds. He heard feet on the corridor pass his door. He lay down
+and drew the bedclothes up to his chin. Voices were talking. Someone
+was knocking at a door. More voices added to the confused sounds. He
+heard the sound of feet on the corridor again--more feet, heavy feet.
+Someone knocked at his door. He lay still and did not answer.
+
+The knock was repeated. A voice called his name. He did not answer. The
+handle of the door turned. A light flashed. He lay still, breathing
+regularly, feigning sleep.
+
+Fingers touched his shoulders and shook him. He opened his eyes,
+pretending to be startled, and called out in well-acted alarm:
+
+"What's that? Who are you?"
+
+"It's all right, sir," said a policeman who was standing at his
+bedside. "You've had a visit from burglars. We came in through the
+study window after them, and the maid told me this was your room.
+You're Mr. Holson's secretary, aren't you?"
+
+"Yes! Burglars! In here! Where are they? What's to be done?"
+
+He was sitting up now, rubbing his eyes, running his fingers through
+his hair, apparently dazed.
+
+"It's all right, sir, don't be alarmed. The burglars didn't come this
+length----"
+
+"Burglars! The scoundrels! It's the money they're after--the money in
+the box--two thousand pounds--the society's money to be paid out this
+morning. This is terrible."
+
+"Better get dressed quickly, sir. I've awakened young Mr. Holson and
+told him to waken his father. You must all sleep soundly in this house
+not to have heard us. Will you please come downstairs quickly? We want
+your information."
+
+"I'll come now."
+
+Clausen leaped out of bed, intending to snatch up his gown; but as he
+put his hand out he hesitated. Snuggled on the top of the gown as it
+lay on the chair was the lazy black cat, the household pet, curled up
+on the soft cloth which formed for it an ideal resting-place.
+
+The black cat for luck! Clausen's mind was quick to take advantage of
+the cat's choice of a bed. The dawn was beginning to struggle through
+the curtains, giving a strange coldness to the room. He shivered and
+turned to the policeman.
+
+"I might as well dress. A secretary's work is never done, and I may as
+well get up for the day. Will you give me a few minutes?"
+
+"Oh, I'll wait, sir. My mate is downstairs on guard. We'll want Mr.
+Holson and you to go over the study with us. Come down when you are
+ready."
+
+The constable moved into the corridor, leaving the door ajar. Clausen
+heard his employer's son calling to his father, who answered drowsily.
+The house was awaking jerkily. Clausen began to dress, smiling towards
+the black cat asleep on his gown. What could have been better? The
+animal must have slipped into his room when he was washing the soot
+from his hands. He stroked its neck as he passed. His gown was safe
+under that cat.
+
+As Clausen dressed hurriedly, he heard Mr. Holson and his son stumble
+along the corridor on their way downstairs. The policeman was with
+them. Mr. Holson was talking in half-awake, grumbling accents, coughing
+and groaning as he moved. Clausen did not wash himself, nor shave. He
+hurried down at their heels, pulling his jacket on as he went.
+
+All the lights in the house were lit by this time. The servants were
+in the hall. Clausen joined the investigators. He found his employer at
+the foot of the stairs, on the brink of a collapse, supported by his
+son and the policeman.
+
+"Mr. Holson," cried Clausen, "this is terribly unfortunate, sir! How
+can we face the club members? Don't you worry, sir. We may be able to
+arrange a loan from the bank----"
+
+Mr. Holson waved his hand feebly and groaned.
+
+"Mr. Holson is a bit seedy," explained the constable. "I think he had
+better get back to bed--or, wait, there he goes--better lay him down
+here and fetch some water. He's going to faint."
+
+Clausen ran to get water, and when he returned they were carrying his
+employer back to bed. They did not take him into his own bedroom,
+however, but into Clausen's, which was the nearest at the top of the
+stairs. They laid him on Clausen's bed, and Clausen bathed his brow and
+hands.
+
+Holson's son sank into a chair and stared vacantly around. Clausen was
+the only person besides the policeman who kept his head.
+
+"It is not surprising that Mr. Holson, poor man, takes it like this,"
+he said sympathetically. "Two thousand pounds gone! I hope you have got
+the burglars, constable. Have you found a clue? How many burglars were
+there? It is a wonder they did not kill us in our sleep. It must have
+been men who knew we took the money from the bank yesterday----"
+
+"Oh, that's all right, Mr. Clausen," said the policeman. "We've got the
+best of clues. We've got the burglars--two of them."
+
+"Is that so? Ah, that is smart! Caught in the act, I hope. And the
+money--did they have time to dispose of it, or have you recovered it
+too?"
+
+The policeman was paying attention to Mr. Holson, so that he did not
+answer then. The philanthropist was showing signs of recovery and had
+opened his eyes, then tried to sit up.
+
+"Be careful, sir," cautioned Clausen. "Take it easy. Everything is all
+right. The constable says the burglars have been caught. Did you say
+you had recovered the money, constable?"
+
+"That's a bit that puzzles my mate and me," replied the policeman
+thoughtfully as he wiped the inside of his helmet with his
+handkerchief. "We've got the burglars all right. The money wasn't taken
+by them, sir, because me and my mate got them before they opened the
+escritoire. And yet, when Mr. Holson took the box out just now, most of
+the money was gone----"
+
+"They must have hid it before you came on the scene," cried Clausen.
+
+"We were on the scene practically all night," said the constable.
+"You didn't know, Mr. Clausen, that Mr. Holson informed our station
+yesterday about the money being here. He asked us to keep watch during
+the night. There are bad characters around the district, and me and my
+mate were on special duty. With Mr. Holson's consent we fixed a trap
+last night. You didn't know about it, because you were out until late
+in the evening----"
+
+"A trap!" cried Clausen. "What was the trap?"
+
+"We laid down an alarm bell that rang in Mr. Holson's bedroom the
+moment the burglars stepped over the window-sill of the study. In this
+way he was to know if, and when, any burglars came. In the meantime
+we were to keep watch from outside--you know, patrolling about in our
+rubbered boots. The idea was that the bell would bring Mr. Holson down
+with his son, and we would have the thief, or thieves, back and front.
+Well, the bell rang, but nobody came down. Did you hear the bell, Mr.
+Clausen?"
+
+"No," replied Clausen, lying coolly. "I did not hear any bell."
+
+"That's funny, for Mr. Holson and his son say the same thing, yet me
+and my mate heard it from the lane at the back of the house. And the
+housekeeper says she did not hear it either. We had a lot of trouble to
+get Mr. Holson and his son awake, and the housekeeper too. They've all
+got headaches and--it's funny."
+
+He put his helmet on carefully, looking from one to the other.
+Frederick Clausen stood motionless, the dripping sponge in his ice-cold
+hand.
+
+The policeman's eye wandered round the room, resting finally on the
+fat, black cat sleeping on the dressing-gown on the chair.
+
+"Everybody seems to sleep well in this house," he grinned. "Even the
+cat. And a cat is generally scared of us when we enter a house. This
+one is unconcerned----"
+
+He stepped to the chair and laid his hand on the animal, stroking it
+gently.
+
+"Look here," he said. "This cat has its nose stuck into the pocket of
+the gown----"
+
+His laugh ceased suddenly. With a jerk he lifted the cat from its soft
+bed. It hung dangling in his grip, limp and unconscious. A faint, not
+unpleasant odour drifted through the room.
+
+Next moment the policeman dropped the cat and plunged his hand into
+the pocket of the gown, bringing forth the handkerchief and the small
+phial, the cork of which stuck awry from the neck.
+
+He turned his eyes on Frederick Clausen; and Frederick Clausen knew
+that, in spite of all his precautions, in spite of legends to the
+contrary, the black cat had brought, not luck, but evidence against him
+which was at once undeniable and convicting.
+
+It was a matter of detail from the suspicion to the search of the room,
+the finding of the stolen money, and then the charge. After that, the
+cell.
+
+
+
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE SIXTH CELL
+
+
+"And _now_," said the Governor as he took a sip of the whisky and
+soda that was near his elbow, "we will continue our examination of
+criminals, and their personal strengths and weaknesses, by going on to
+the next story, if you will permit."
+
+"Go on," said the visitor.
+
+"Before I do so," said the Governor, "might I invite you to make
+yourself more at ease? You have your overcoat on, and these gloves you
+are wearing----"
+
+"The overcoat may be discarded, but not the gloves," smiled the
+visitor, who pulled off his coat with a quick movement that surprised
+the Governor by its rapidity. "I can shoot quite as well with my gloves
+as with bare hands. And I notice that your desk is of highly polished
+mahogany."
+
+"I was thinking of your personal comfort, I assure you," returned the
+Governor. "As for any finger-prints, a man of your courage would not
+allow a small matter like that to stop him----"
+
+"Your diagnosis is right in that instance. If I thought it worth
+while to take off my gloves I would do so. I don't. Come, the night
+is passing and you seem to want to talk for some time. Why mention my
+gloves?"
+
+"The sight of kid gloves reminds me of the case of Daniel Callow,
+whose story I am about to give you."
+
+The Governor slipped a throat tablet into his mouth.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The case of Daniel Callow (he said) leaves me in a quandary. Ought he
+to go into the Intellectual section or into the Intelligent grade?
+Perhaps you will aid me to determine.
+
+Consider Daniel Callow just in the act of closing the heavy door of
+the bank safe and switching out his electric torch. He put the torch
+into his pocket. After listening for a moment, he lifted the handbag in
+which he had packed the loot he had just stolen and stepped towards the
+door. He was wearing kid gloves. On his feet were goloshes drawn over
+his shoes. He opened the door and looked out. There was no one about.
+He closed the door behind him softly. Next moment he was walking away
+with his loot.
+
+It had been easy. It had been simple. It had been without a hitch. He
+boarded a bus and went home.
+
+As he entered the semi-detached, bijou, suburban residence of which he
+was tenant, the dining-room clock struck eight. Daniel Callow smiled to
+himself. He was home on the stroke of the hour, as he had been for a
+week. He heard the maid setting his supper in the dining-room. She came
+out as he closed the hall wardrobe in which he had put his bag and
+overcoat.
+
+"Did you clean the aerial, Annie?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, sir. I've got it as bright as a new wire, but I didn't have time
+to wind it up."
+
+"I'll do that after supper. Have the rose-trees come?"
+
+"Yes, sir. I laid 'em out on the plot where you dug the holes for 'em."
+
+"That was right. I think you can go now, Annie. I won't require you any
+more to-night."
+
+He heard her go out by the back door while he was at supper. When he
+had finished eating his meal he rose and pulled on a pair of heavy
+boots. He went out to the garden and wound up his aerial. He took out
+the bag of notes and silver, extracted a handful or so of the latter
+currency, and deposited the bag in one of the holes in the rose-plot.
+On the top of the bag he planted a rose, stamping the bush well down.
+He planted others also. This work had to be done before darkness, but
+it did not occupy him more than ten minutes. After this he returned to
+the house, took off his garden boots, pulled on a pair of slippers, and
+lifted his head-phones. The time signal was just being broadcast.
+
+Now, of the three types of criminals, we may take it that the lowest
+are those who become law-breakers because it is their instinct. The
+next above them are those who, while not making a habit of crime,
+side-step once or so. Then there are those who are among the
+Intellectuals, the professionals. In this class are those who have
+never been caught. Daniel Callow was trying to graduate from the second
+to the top class in one step.
+
+When a man belongs to a fast set, and spends his money as if his annual
+income was a month's salary, he is heading for one of two places--the
+Bankruptcy Court or the debtors' prison. A bank clerk cannot live like
+a landed proprietor with immense wealth; but it was "the thing" in the
+set to which Daniel Callow and his wife belonged that responsibility
+should come after pleasure.
+
+Callow had married his wife, Irene, because she belonged to the set.
+She never knew what salary he received at the bank. She never asked.
+The night-club life was what brought them together. It held them
+together. During the day Daniel was at his counter at the bank. During
+the night he and Irene were generally at banker with a count. In their
+club, counts were common and honourables were not even remarked on.
+Debts were usual; but there was this difference. The debts of the
+counts and the honourables were paid when pressure was applied. They
+had means. Daniel Callow had none.
+
+It was because he saw the Bankruptcy Court or the debtors' prison in
+front of him that Daniel Callow had thought out his scheme. For him it
+was simple. To an ordinary burglar it would have been daring.
+
+There was no man in the bank whose efficiency was greater. He had
+also earned a reputation for punctuality that was a criterion of the
+establishment. Every morning he was at his place before the other
+clerks, even before the manager. The keys of the safe were deposited
+every evening by the manager at the local police station. Daniel
+called for them every morning, and had the books and ledgers out on
+the desks by the stroke of the hour. What was easier than to take a
+wax impression of the keys as he handled them? There was only one that
+mattered, and it Daniel had left in the safe door. This was part of his
+plan.
+
+Sitting with his head-phones on, by his fire, Daniel Callow smiled as
+he thought of the reputation he had earned. How was the manager to know
+that he had earned it with a purpose in view? He had been early every
+morning so that his great idea might come to fruition.
+
+The main part of the plan, however, was that which dealt with covering
+his trail. He had advised Irene to pay a visit to some friends of their
+circle who had rented a house at the coast. Irene never asked anything
+about money so long as Daniel provided it. She did not bother about
+finance. You can find her type easily enough. The midnight set don't
+trouble about the next morning. They have no next mornings. So, from
+the whirl of the West End dance-club, Irene went off to another kind of
+whirl at the seaside. Daniel stayed at home and went to the bank as
+usual.
+
+During Irene's absence he came home every night just in time for
+supper. He dined at the club about six. He reached home about eight.
+The maid then went off duty--the plan on which he and Irene had agreed.
+Every morning Daniel went to the bank at his usual hour, or, if
+anything, slightly earlier. He had that wax impression of the key to
+get. He got it. After that the remainder of his idea was simple.
+
+He was under no disillusionment as to what would happen when the
+burglary was discovered. He knew that detectives would be called in.
+He knew that there would be an inquiry. There might even be a search.
+Callow was no professional thief. He did not attempt to run off with
+the swag. He had nowhere to run to, for that matter. He knew no "fence"
+who would hide it. He wanted no accomplice. Alone in the house, he had
+thought of the rose-bed in the garden. Even if detectives came to his
+house? He would sit tight and watch his roses grow. Ah, there was a
+brain for you!
+
+Theoretically he was right. The first desire of the ordinary criminal
+is to escape, to flee from the scene of his crime, and to hide his
+proceeds in a place some distance from where he himself lurks.
+
+Daniel Callow reversed both these ordinary rules, which are so well
+known to the police. He not only kept his loot in his garden, he went a
+step farther. He discovered the burglary for the benefit of the staff
+next morning.
+
+When the manager arrived, he was told how the keys of the safe were
+found in the door, how the safe had been rifled, how several thousands
+of pounds had been taken, how Daniel Callow had sent for the police at
+once. The manager complimented Daniel, whose story was backed by the
+cleaners.
+
+The police took down statements, examined the safe door, the keys,
+the door knobs, the floor, the windows. They did not find a clue. The
+deficiency in cash was made up by hurried loans from other branches of
+the bank, so that the public might never guess a theft had taken place.
+The staff was sworn to secrecy.
+
+In the afternoon, every member of the staff was called in turn into the
+manager's room. When Daniel Callow was sent for, he entered without
+fear.
+
+Next to the manager sat an elderly man, who was introduced as Detective
+Morat. Daniel told himself that he had never seen anyone more unlike
+a detective. Here was no rat-faced, keen sleuth. Morat had a big
+reputation, but he confessed, after hearing Daniel's story, that the
+whole thing was a mystery. Daniel had expected to be put through a
+cross-examination. Morat did not bother with any cross-examination. He
+merely sat smiling, his big face beaming with kindliness.
+
+When he left the bank that night, Daniel Callow did not go straight
+home, but called at the night-club. He had a hand or two at cards,
+listened to the latest stories of the set, indulged in a few dances,
+and then went his way. The maid was waiting for him, though it was long
+past his usual time of arrival.
+
+"A gentleman has been here for you twice," she announced.
+
+"What was his name?"
+
+"He wouldn't give any."
+
+"What was he like?"
+
+"Looked like a policeman to me. He asked when you came home last night,
+and when you usually came."
+
+"You told him, didn't you?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"That's right. Sorry I'm late, Annie. You may go."
+
+When the maid was gone, Daniel Callow sat down and began to think. Was
+this part of a game the police were playing? Did they suspect him?
+This was the beginning of the period he had anticipated, the period
+of suspicion and investigation. Probably every other member of the
+staff was undergoing the same thing. He went over his acts, and came
+to the confident conclusion that he had nothing to fear. If the police
+suspected him, why did they not come and search his house? Even if they
+did----? He could wait his time. The money was safe enough under his
+rose-tree.
+
+The following morning, as he stood behind the counter of the bank,
+he saw the thick form of Detective Morat enter and go through to the
+manager's office. In a little while Daniel was summoned to the inner
+office. He went without a tremor.
+
+"Mr. Callow," said the manager, "we want you to tell us again just how
+you came to discover that a burglary had been committed. Detective
+Morat is not quite sure of one or two points. He is correcting the
+statements of the staff which were made yesterday."
+
+Daniel told them once more, word for word. He had his evidence all
+ready for them. The cleaners could back him up. Detective Morat sat
+smiling as he listened.
+
+"What time did you get home that night?" he asked.
+
+"Eight o'clock exactly."
+
+"Did you stay in all evening? Didn't you go up to your club?"
+
+"I stayed in. I was listening to the broadcast."
+
+Morat smiled again and rose to his feet.
+
+"I've an idea the cleaners must know the man who did the job," he
+said. "By the way, Mr. Callow, that was a fine programme we had on the
+wireless that night. I've got a one-valve set at home, and I heard Lord
+Halford's speech from the London studio as clear as a bell. Scientific
+stuff. Good, wasn't it?"
+
+"You must be mistaken," replied Daniel Callow coldly. "There was no
+such speech the evening you refer to."
+
+Detective Morat looked disappointed.
+
+"Maybe it was the previous night," he murmured. "All right, Mr. Callow.
+We won't trouble you again."
+
+Daniel went back to his counter, and his eyes glimmered as he took his
+stand.
+
+"The fool!" he muttered. "Calls himself a detective, and tries such
+a clumsy one! He wanted to see if I was really listening-in. Oh, and
+that's what they call a first-class detective!"
+
+He went home later than usual that evening, for it was the maid's night
+off and he would have found no meal ready for him. He dined and supped
+in the West End.
+
+When he arrived home, a strange sense of uneasiness swept over him.
+This sense struck him as soon as he switched on the hall light. He was
+suddenly seized with the suspicion that the house had been entered.
+
+He went into the dining-room. All was in order. He went through every
+room in the house. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed, yet he
+knew someone had been there. He could have sworn this, though he could
+not have proved it. He examined every cupboard, looked at the carpets,
+watched for the slightest disarrangement of the beds. He saw no sign of
+strange hands, yet every cupboard, every carpet, every bed shrieked a
+warning at him.
+
+Was this needless fear? Was it super-nervousness? Daniel Callow was
+too blasé to be afraid, too confident to be nervous. He experienced no
+pricks of conscience. He had planned the theft too carefully to leave a
+clue, but his home had been searched. Who had done this? There was only
+one answer. Morat!
+
+He hurried out to the garden. The rose-plot was undisturbed, the tall
+rose-bush which he had planted over the loot was there as he had placed
+it in the centre of the flower-bed. It was surrounded by the other
+roses.
+
+The light from his small drawing-room flooded this limited area
+and threw his shadow across the tiny dark lawn. He was in the act
+of stretching out his hand towards the rose-bush when he drew back
+quickly. Did he hear a sound from the fence at the bottom of the garden?
+
+He stood still, watching. The sound was not repeated. He lit a
+cigarette, and walked slowly up towards the pole he had erected for his
+aerial, pretending to tinker with the pulley by which he could lower
+the wire. In reality he was watching the fence. All was quiet. He went
+indoors.
+
+He lit the gas fire of the drawing-room, and sat down with his
+head-phones on his knee. He did not draw the curtains. If anyone was
+watching him from the garden fence, that person would have a full
+view. Daniel did not wish to hinder the spy. He would give him plenty
+of rope, but nothing to report.
+
+All the same, as he put the head-phones on he was not listening to
+the musical programme. He was thinking hard. Were the police after
+him? Morat had shown his suspicions when he made the clumsy remark
+about the speech. Morat was behind the search that had been made of
+the house: for that they had waited until the maid was out. Well, he
+was proof against their lumbering methods. The maid could prove that
+the rose-trees were on order several days before they arrived. The
+maid could prove that she had been instructed to clean the aerial. He
+himself had proved that he spent the evening listening-in. There was
+not a clue left at the bank pointing in his direction. The manager had
+placed entire reliance on him in every way.
+
+It had become a game of patience. Daniel knew that the police often
+adopted a wearing-down method of tactics when they were suspicious and
+longed for evidence. He was proof against that also. He would attend to
+his roses and wear down all suspicion. It was a game at which two could
+play. All he had to do was to be more upright in his actions than ever,
+more diligent in business than he had ever been. There was plenty of
+time. His roses would grow.
+
+The wireless programme had just concluded when a knock sounded on the
+front door, and the bell rang sharply. Daniel Callow did not hesitate,
+though his instinct told him who was on the other side of the door. He
+opened it without a fear. A man stood facing him.
+
+"I think you know me, Mr. Daniel Callow?"
+
+"Oh, you are Detective Morat, aren't you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+The two eyed each other steadily. Morat smiled and stroked his smooth,
+plump jaw.
+
+"May I have a word with you, Mr. Callow--about the burglary?"
+
+"Certainly. Come inside."
+
+Question and answer had come without hesitation, one after the other;
+both men appeared to be on the best of terms. They went into the
+drawing-room. Daniel Callow was perfectly cool. Not a flutter showed as
+he offered a chair to his visitor.
+
+"Sorry my wife is not at home just now, Mr. Morat. You find me
+handicapped somewhat."
+
+"It doesn't matter. I came to see _you_."
+
+Morat sat down, smiling still as he looked kindly towards Callow. His
+fat fingers fiddled with his hat, which he held on his knees. He looked
+into the fire thoughtfully.
+
+"Well?" asked Daniel quietly.
+
+Morat asked him one or two questions--trivial questions about the
+routine of work at the bank--and pondered the answers so long that
+his silence became an irritant. The ticking of the clock on the
+mantel-piece sounded very loud. The hissing of the gas fire became
+like the noise of escaping steam from a locomotive. It took Daniel
+Callow all the restraint of which he was capable to endure the menacing
+silence between the slow questions. He felt like shouting at Morat to
+get on with it; but he held himself in check. This was the wearing-down
+process in action, he thought. All right, let Morat try it. And then,
+suddenly, before he was aware, the detective's tactics changed. He
+leaned forward and pointed a stubby forefinger straight at Callow.
+
+"We are on the track of a suspect!"
+
+"Who?" asked Daniel, without blinking.
+
+"You!"
+
+It was like the report of a pistol. But Daniel Callow met the
+accusation with the coolness of a dueller.
+
+"I know that. You searched my house to-night."
+
+Detective Morat withdrew his finger and sank back in his chair.
+
+"I had two men on that job," he said.
+
+"I knew it the moment I entered."
+
+"You've planted that money somewhere!"
+
+"If you think so, find it."
+
+"I'll find it."
+
+They looked at each other curiously. The smile had gone off Morat's
+face, but a smile had come on that of Daniel Callow. He knew where he
+was now. The gage had been thrown down.
+
+"You are a smart young man, Callow. You have worked well at the bank.
+The manager upholds you. He wouldn't listen to my suggestions. Yes,
+you're smart. But you'll make a mistake. I've met your kind before. And
+I've beaten them."
+
+"Is it part of a detective's job to insult people in their own homes?"
+asked Callow quietly.
+
+"It is a detective's job to get evidence."
+
+"By these methods?"
+
+"By the methods he thinks fit the occasion. Are you personally opposed
+to my methods?"
+
+"Intensely so."
+
+"Then you know your remedy."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Start a law case against me, claiming damages for what I have said."
+
+"I'll think about that."
+
+"But you won't do it."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"You daren't."
+
+"You think so?"
+
+"Positively."
+
+"Why?"
+
+Detective Morat leaned forward again and looked into Daniel Callow's
+face.
+
+"I'll tell you. Because you are in a bad hole, Callow. You have been
+spending money too freely at your midnight clubs--you and your wife.
+You are in the hands of moneylenders. You are living above your income.
+You are in debt all round."
+
+"Has that anything to do with you?"
+
+"It has."
+
+"In what way?"
+
+"In this way. You are in a hole for want of money. Your wife doesn't
+even know your salary----"
+
+"You leave her out of it! How do you know she doesn't know my income?"
+
+"My men have asked her."
+
+"What?"
+
+"One of my men has seen her within the last twenty-four hours. He
+presented a bill on behalf of a firm, and asked for payment. She told
+him to give it to you. He asked her if she was sure it would be paid.
+She said you always paid. She does not know that you have unpaid bills
+in your pocket now, bills you cannot hope to pay on your income. I have
+not told your employers this--yet."
+
+Daniel Callow shrugged his shoulders, but he was uncomfortable.
+He knew what would happen if his manager found out that he was so
+overwhelmingly in debt.
+
+"Will you pay this bill if I present it to you?" asked Morat
+remorselessly, laying an envelope in Callow's lap.
+
+"I can't."
+
+"I knew that. And before you could start an action against me I could
+have you declared bankrupt. You know what that means."
+
+"It means I would lose my job, but your bills would not be paid. I
+don't see that would be any gain to you."
+
+"It might. It would give me a chance to complete the evidence I seek."
+
+"If you are so sure I stole the money, why don't you arrest me, or
+detain me?"
+
+"Because I want to produce the money as evidence, and I want you to
+tell me where you have deposited it. If I had you arrested or detained
+you would close your mouth. I haven't anything solid enough to go to a
+jury."
+
+"It will take you a hundred years to prove I am the burglar."
+
+"Not so long, I think."
+
+"Well, I have had enough of your insults. I do not care to endure it
+any longer. If you have finished, you can go. And don't forget, I'll
+report this to the bank to-morrow morning and ask for protection from
+your uncouth methods."
+
+Morat rose and left.
+
+When he had gone, Daniel Callow smiled grimly to himself. He had met
+the famous detective, and he had beaten him in the battle of wits.
+Instead of Morat wearing him down, he had worn Morat down. Had the
+detective had anything like a clue, he would have arrested him, or
+detained him. His admissions proved that he was acting on nothing more
+than suspicion. Suspicion didn't get men arrested; and, if it did, it
+didn't get them convicted.
+
+What had brought Morat to the house at all? It was clear. He had come
+to make Callow commit himself by a stray word. He had come to test
+him by a deliberate accusation. This was the thing to guard against.
+Detectives often got their victims by a swift surprise. An unexpected
+slip, an unguarded remark, had sent many a man to prison. To refuse to
+be surprised into admission was the cue. So long as he remained cool,
+never being flurried or agitated, Daniel Callow believed he was safe.
+
+He saw his way, too, to cut the feet from Morat in the matter of the
+bill. He would go to a money-lender and borrow. The day would come,
+after the burglary had passed into the limbo of unsolved thefts, when
+he could pay back the money. If he was able to show that the bill had
+been paid, he need not fear Morat.
+
+He got the money and paid the bill next day, and he interviewed the
+manager, asking protection from Morat. In this he was successful. The
+manager promised that Morat's crude methods would be stopped. He was
+indignant that his smartest man should be so insulted. Daniel Callow
+came out of the manager's office feeling that he had scored again.
+
+There was only one item of the burglary that Callow had retained in
+his possession that would have given him away. He got rid of it that
+evening as he went home. This was the new key he had had made for the
+front door of the bank. He flung it into the Thames.
+
+Detective Morat came no longer to the bank. A week passed. Nobody was
+arrested. Nothing happened. The staff grew easier in their minds.
+Daniel Callow's wife returned from her holiday. They went to the
+night-club together, as of yore. They had their fun. They mixed with
+the members, old and new, all belonging to the set. Life resumed its
+care-free jollity.
+
+Daniel was proud of Irene. She was the life of the club. She was gay,
+irresponsible, beautiful. She went the pace more than ever. Men envied
+Daniel his wife. They did not know what she cost him.
+
+The one drawback to his new plunge into life was the number of
+bills and the call for money it occasioned. Daniel found that the
+moneylenders declined to let him have another advance. He had not
+mentioned to Irene that there had been a robbery at the bank. If she
+found this out he was always able to defend his lack of confidence
+by the fact that the staff had been sworn to keep the matter from
+the public. Nor did he tell her that the loot was buried under the
+rose-bush. He was waiting a favourable opportunity to lift the bag.
+He intended to circulate the notes in a way whereby they would not be
+traced to him. He could do this over on the Continent. A week-end trip
+was enough for this.
+
+He chose an evening for the job of lifting the bag--an evening when
+he would be alone. The maid was to be out. Irene, unable to be absent
+from the club, was going there alone, and he was to call for her
+later. He did not need to find excuses for not accompanying her. She
+asked for no reason so long as she was allowed to go the pace with the
+set.
+
+Darkness had just fallen when Daniel pulled on his garden boots. He was
+on his way to the back door when the bell of the front rang. He opened
+it, and faced Detective Morat.
+
+With Morat were two other men. Morat was smiling kindly, as usual, his
+hand smoothing his stout jaw.
+
+"I want a word with you, Mr. Callow."
+
+"Come inside. What do you want now?"
+
+Morat closed the door behind him and faced Daniel.
+
+"You are a good bluffer, Daniel Callow, but I see no reason to change
+my suspicions."
+
+"You mean about the bank robbery?"
+
+"That is what I mean."
+
+"Well? Have you come to insult me again? The manager promised----"
+
+"It's out of the manager's hands now, Callow. I have made a lot of
+inquiries, and I have gone over every yard of the case. I have come to
+the conclusion that the stolen money is here."
+
+"Find it!" scoffed Daniel Callow.
+
+They were bluffing each other. At least, that is what Daniel Callow
+thought; and his regard for this famous detective was very small. Had
+he not beaten him once?
+
+"I have a warrant authorising me to search the house. You raise no
+objection?"
+
+Daniel Callow's self-command was excellent.
+
+"I'm going out to attend to my rose-trees," he said with a smile. "Call
+me when you've finished. I'm getting tired of this inquisition, and the
+daylight is fading fast."
+
+He turned and went out to the garden, leaving Morat stroking his smooth
+jaw thoughtfully.
+
+Ten minutes later, when Daniel was loosening the earth round his
+bushes, Morat appeared. He looked at the rose-trees and at Callow. The
+latter was laughing to himself. He stepped off the rose-bed and struck
+the mud from his boots.
+
+"Found that money yet?" he asked sarcastically.
+
+Morat stroked his smooth jaw softly.
+
+"Daniel Callow, what would you give to keep your wife out of this?"
+
+The question struck Daniel in the weakest link of his armour.
+
+"You keep her name out of this!" he cried. "You've mentioned her
+before----"
+
+Morat plunged his hand into his pocket and thrust a five-pound note
+into Daniel Callow's face.
+
+"And I'll mention her again," he retorted. "What if your wife tendered
+this at the club you frequent? Don't you know that all the numbers of
+the missing notes are known? Do you want her charged with being in
+possession of stolen money?"
+
+Daniel Callow's jaw dropped. He staggered back, his legs weakened
+under him, and his face went white as paper.
+
+"Where did your wife get this note?" thundered Morat.
+
+"It's impossible!" cried Daniel. "She didn't know where I hid the
+money!"
+
+As soon as the words were out, torn from him unexpectedly, he realised
+what he had said. But it was too late. Detective Morat turned to the
+two men who came out of the doorway at his signal.
+
+"He'll confess now," he said quietly. "Take him indoors."
+
+And Daniel Callow did confess; but it was not until afterwards that he
+discovered that Morat had bluffed him to the end. The five-pound note
+had never been in Irene's hands. Morat had brought it with him to aid
+his test.
+
+
+
+
+             THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE SEVENTH CELL
+
+
+The visitor had taken a great interest in the story of Daniel Callow,
+and when the Governor finished he spoke quietly.
+
+"I would not advise you to put Daniel Callow among your Intellectuals."
+
+"Thank you. I think you are right in your judgment. He shall stay
+among the Intelligents. I have given you proof that certain men give
+themselves away under certain circumstances. I will now give you a case
+where Nature intervened and sent Robert Lyons to the seventh cell."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+But for a caprice of Nature (continued the Governor), Robert Lyons
+would now be facing the scaffold. As it is, he has been for some time
+in hospital, and it is extremely unlikely that he will ever go outside
+these walls, or, rather, the confines of the prison, so long as he
+lives. Such is the sentence for his evildoing that a judge and jury
+have passed on him.
+
+Lyons was a gamekeeper and odd-job man, and one day, when he was out in
+the woods, he rested his rifle in the fork of a tree and took careful
+aim at a piece of granite formed in the shape of a chair that stood out
+of the scrub five hundred yards across the valley. There was murder
+in his heart, but it was not the wild, irresponsible desire to slay,
+which is often associated with the taking of human life, that swayed
+him. The murder he contemplated was deliberate, cold, implacable.
+
+In studying Lyons we are studying a man who is in many ways different
+from most men. His design to kill was clever, original, worthy of an
+Intellectual. As a matter of fact, I have thought that if Lyons had
+been in another sphere of life he would have made his mark, for he
+possessed many of the traits of almost genius. After all, brains are no
+monopoly of wealth or high birth.
+
+Lyons pressed the trigger of his rifle, eased the weapon from his
+shoulder as soon as he had fired, took a pair of binoculars from his
+pocket, and focused them.
+
+Above the irregular top of the granite block that took the form of a
+natural chair--in the locality it was known as the "Wishing Chair,"
+owing to some legend--he had fastened a target of wood shaped to
+represent a man's head. With the aid of his binoculars he observed that
+his .303 bullet had passed through this head. The observation convinced
+him that the way to final accomplishment of his intention was clear.
+His intention was to put a bullet from his gun through the head of his
+employer, Professor Roche; and he was going to do it without his hand
+or finger being nearer the trigger than the width of the valley.
+
+You will perhaps agree (said the Governor, in parenthesis) that within
+recent years a change has taken place in the methods of criminals
+quite as much as in their motives. A generation ago murder was usually
+committed because of some grudge, some grievance, some desire for
+revenge, or hope of gain. The murdered persons were almost always aware
+of their enemy, or enemies, and of the cause of the antagonism. In
+these days the victim is less often aware of having an enemy. Within
+the last few years the victims have been the friends, the benefactors
+sometimes, of their slayers in more than fifty per cent. of the murders
+committed. Does this indicate that humanity is retrograding instead
+of progressing? No one can answer definitely. Some have said that
+war revives in man the savage impulse to slay. The question is more
+complicated than appears on the surface. Why did Robert Lyons wish to
+slay his employer?
+
+It has become an axiom that to find the culprit of any breakage of
+the law it is necessary to find the motive. The old Frenchman was not
+infallible when he said, "Find the woman." The police first seek for
+a motive, and then trace the person involved. It is all a matter of
+team-work, all a business of routine. It is a process of elimination.
+So much for the police and their methods. Let us get back to Lyons
+and his intention. Motive played a part, as usual, fear another,
+greed another, and at base these were, singly, small enough, but when
+combined they were everything.
+
+Professor Roche was one of the savants who are to be found in the
+backwaters of English life. London is the home of active men. The
+provinces are as often the home of thinking men. Professor Roche was
+one of the most retiring, yet one of the most learned, men in this
+country. He had travelled widely in pursuit of his science. He was
+an archæologist, naturalist, conchologist. It was he who presented
+to our best museums the collections that are most prized. He had
+been all over Europe and America at the invitation of private and
+public organisations, aiding them in appraising and displaying their
+treasures. And yet this man, who could have had many honours given him,
+desired none. He was content to live away from the hub of things, and
+his pleasure was in his work. His collections were envied by curators
+of museums, who often begged them on loan. These collections had been
+gathered from the four corners of the world. Time after time he had
+been approached, indeed tempted, to sell some of his collections, but
+he had always refused. It was because Robert Lyons had overheard such a
+conversation between the professor and the representative of a museum
+that he became aware of the chance of making something for himself
+without much effort.
+
+Lyons acted as gamekeeper and handyman on the small estate. His duty
+was, among other things, to keep poachers away, and allow the wild life
+of the land to live to its natural fullness, so that the professor
+might study the habits of the creatures living above, on, deep in the
+earth. He accompanied Professor Roche on many tours, for he knew the
+ways of hares, squirrels, field animals, as well as he knew the ways
+of birds. He knew them from the woodsman's point of view, while the
+professor knew them from the scientific angle. Squirrels came to feed
+out of his hand, rabbits did not budge when he passed, rooks looked
+down on him from their nests unafraid. It was to be expected that such
+a sanctuary for wild life would attract poachers bent on killing where
+killing was profitable as well as easy.
+
+One step leads to another. Lyons was the man who made the cases in
+which the professor's specimens were kept. It was he who, under the
+professor's directions, arranged the preserved butterflies of many
+countries, the humming-birds of the Amazon, the rare shells of the
+tropics, the eggs of a thousand wonderful species.
+
+At first the value of the exhibits loomed only faintly behind their
+beauty. The conversation he had overheard turned his thoughts from the
+beauty to the value. He lacked the scientific enthusiasm which is above
+the consideration of money, and gradually he began to compare himself,
+a humble gamekeeper, with the wealth which he handled. He ended by
+coveting.
+
+He took another step. The professor did not miss the humming-bird Lyons
+put into his pocket and sold in London on one of his occasional trips
+to town. He found it comparatively easy to sell when he had satisfied
+the dealer that Professor Roche had commissioned him to dispose of the
+rare curio. He named a price and stuck to it. The dealer saw this man
+knew values, and paid the price.
+
+Other specimens went the same way, to other dealers. It was easy to say
+that the professor was getting rid of a few specimens quietly in order
+to obtain ready money, but this could not go on indefinitely. Lyons was
+perfectly aware of this, but he was already involved and could not turn
+back.
+
+There was one shell in the professor's collection which had attracted
+the attention of Lyons more than anything else. It nestled in a bed of
+plush, and was about six inches long, pale ivory in colour, overlaid
+with wonderful mosaic markings, and had a slender, tapering spire. Its
+label gave its name as "Glory of Coram--very rare." Lyons took the
+trouble, when in London, to find out that there were not half a dozen
+such shells in the world's museums. It was valued at many hundreds of
+pounds. Might he not take this as a final toll? He took it.
+
+Crime is like a steep incline. The criminal starts slowly, gathering
+speed and daring as he descends. This speed and daring are largely
+generated by the momentum of descent. At a given distance down the
+slope, stoppage is impossible without danger of a crash. Robert Lyons
+had reached this distance.
+
+The dealer in London to whom he took the shell examined it for a long
+time. He asked questions. Had Lyons been more business-like he would
+have known that rare shells are not sold over counters without the
+buyer's protecting himself by negotiation and written statements. He
+listened to the dealer telling him that he must have a note from the
+professor authorising the sale.
+
+"Give me a note and I'll get his signature," he said. The dealer gave
+him a typewritten note--such a one as is generally kept for reference
+when curios change hands. Robert Lyons left the shop, and returned to
+his home that evening realising that he had thrown a net about his own
+feet.
+
+His position was now one of peril. He had stepped beyond the bounds
+of petty theft. He spent a considerable part of that night in his
+little cottage trying to forge the professor's signature. His hand was
+clumsy, and could not form the letters well. He knew his forgery would
+be detected at once. As he sat pondering the situation the great idea
+came to him. He would get the signature, and make it impossible for the
+professor ever to say that he had been forced to sign.
+
+Curiously enough, he never thought of returning the Glory of Coram to
+its case. In this he was like the majority of criminals, whose brains
+do not harbour a thought of retreat. They must go on, driven by some
+force of their own making against which they cannot strive. If he
+retreated, there would be inquiries, and his other thefts would come
+to light. The dealer would probably write to Professor Roche, for
+the Glory of Coram was a treasure not often put into the market. All
+this meant prison, humiliation, the brand of the broad arrow. By the
+unusually cunning plan that had come to him Robert Lyons saw that the
+only other way was to blot out the life of Professor Roche.
+
+This alternative may seem to rational people to be an enormity. Is it
+any more so than the decision of the murderer to kill the girl who
+expected to marry him, so that he might marry another? Or more heinous
+than the poisoning of an old woman to gain the few hundreds of pounds
+for which her life was insured? Lyons, like other criminals, did not
+balance his proposed crime by the material gain it would bring him. He
+balanced it by his own safety.
+
+After he had satisfied himself that his rifle was capable of carrying
+out his plan he threw it over his shoulder, crossed the valley, and
+took down the target, all bullet-marked, and trudged back to his
+cottage. He put his rifle in a cupboard and took out an older weapon,
+which he stacked in the porch. This was part of his plan also. He had
+bought the newer rifle in London some days previously, and had brought
+it home after dark. It was of different bore from his old piece, which
+everybody in the neighbourhood knew he possessed.
+
+He brought out some pieces of wood, and a saw and hammer and nails. He
+measured the pieces carefully, and was busy at the work of carpentry
+when he heard a footfall approaching. He looked up. Professor Roche was
+coming up the gravel path to his cottage.
+
+"I heard your gun go off over by the valley, Lyons," said the
+professor. "Shooting at anything?"
+
+"It's them poachers, sir," replied Lyons, with an upward glance from
+under his shaggy brows. "It wasn't my gun that went off. Here it is
+here, loaded up, but I never see the poachers or I'd fire."
+
+"Not at them, I hope, Lyons."
+
+"No, sir, above their heads, just to give 'em a fright. They've been
+poaching over by the Wishing Chair."
+
+"What are they after this time, birds or hares?"
+
+"Anything they can get, sir."
+
+"I'd have got the police to help you, Lyons, if you weren't against
+it----"
+
+"Never mind the police, sir. I can manage. When are we goin' over to
+continue the excavations?"
+
+"I was hoping to go to-day."
+
+"Make it to-morrow, sir. I'll spend the day clearin' out the poachers,
+and we won't be disturbed to-morrow."
+
+"All right, Lyons."
+
+The professor was looking dreamily at the pieces of wood which Lyons
+was fitting together carefully into a curious shape.
+
+"What's that you are making, Lyons?"
+
+"A cradle, sir."
+
+"A cradle?"
+
+"Yes, for my gun. The fore-end has warped through being laid on the
+damp ground, and that affects the barrel. I'm making a cradle so I can
+keep it off the ground when I'm resting, while I watch for poachers."
+
+The professor nodded and walked away slowly, his head bent and his
+hands behind his back. Lyons was well aware that his explanation
+had not been followed, for the professor was always thinking of his
+specimens and had little interest in anything else.
+
+When he had gone, Lyons bent over his task and worked fast. The cradle
+was finished by midday, and he went indoors to prepare his dinner. When
+dinner was ready he laid it on the table and piled a handful of nuts on
+a plate beside it. Then he stepped into his inner room and brought out
+a box two feet long by one foot high. He laid the box on the floor and
+shut his front door. When he sat down at the table he flicked open the
+lid of the box. A squirrel jumped out.
+
+"Hullo, Brownie," said Lyons. "I reckon I've starved you about enough
+for the job. Keep away from that plate of nuts."
+
+The squirrel had leaped to the table, but a blow from the hand of the
+gamekeeper sent it flying to the floor. It ran about the place, poking
+into corners, mounting the chairs, and always turning its little,
+sparkling eyes towards the table where the nuts were piled temptingly.
+
+Robert Lyons ate his dinner slowly, watching the squirrel all the time.
+Every time it came on the table he threw it off. When it jumped on his
+knee and poked its head upward towards his plate he allowed it to sniff
+the dinner; but when it tried to steal a morsel he threw it to the
+floor. This went on for quite a long time.
+
+After dinner, Lyons rose and put the remains of his dinner and the
+plate of nuts into a cupboard, taking one or two loose nuts in his
+hand. With these he tempted the squirrel repeatedly, making it believe
+that he was giving it one, and drawing away the prize when the animal
+ventured to seize it.
+
+There was something pathetic in the small eyes of the squirrel when
+this was repeated several times. At last Lyons changed his method of
+teasing the hungry thing. He tied a nut to a piece of string and let it
+hang from the table. Every time the squirrel dashed for it he drew it
+away. Finally he took the squirrel and put it into his capacious coat
+pocket, lifted his new gun and cradle, and went out, locking the door
+behind him.
+
+He walked straight down the valley until he came to a spot opposite the
+Wishing Chair. Near it was a large mound of earth which had been newly
+dug up. The professor had been making excavations in search of fossils,
+Lyons doing the digging while the savant searched.
+
+Robert Lyons went straight to the tree from which he had fired the
+shot in the morning. He fitted the cradle he had made into the fork,
+hammered it down with a few nails, laid his rifle in the cradle, and
+sighted it for the Wishing Chair.
+
+Next he took a nut from his pocket, and tied it with a piece of twine
+to the trigger of the gun so that it dangled in the desired position.
+He then brought the squirrel out, and let it see the nut and play with
+it; but when the little animal made any attempt to bite it, Lyons drew
+it out of reach. He held the squirrel in his hands all this time.
+
+After some time he descended the slope into the valley and climbed to
+the Wishing Chair. He sat down in the stone seat. Once more he brought
+the squirrel out of his pocket. But this time he did not tease it. He
+set it on the ground and let it go. As soon as it bounded off he ran
+after it. He knew where it was going.
+
+The squirrel led him back to the spot where he had left his rifle. When
+he arrived, the animal was seated on its haunches nibbling at a nut,
+and the loop which dangled from the trigger of the gun was empty. Lyons
+examined the rifle. The spring had been released. He tested the sights
+without touching the weapon. The aim was truly laid for the Wishing
+Chair.
+
+He took another nut from his pocket, offering it to the brown squirrel.
+It came timidly, but the gamekeeper did not tease any more. He let the
+squirrel take the nut and eat it, as he held it in the crook of his
+arm. When it was finished with the nut, he returned it to his pocket
+and went back home. He left the rifle in the cradle fastened to the
+tree-fork.
+
+It had taken Robert Lyons a week to train the squirrel to run across
+the valley from the Wishing Chair to the spot where the rifle was now
+placed; and he had accomplished the training by the method which is the
+first to break-in any animal--starvation. Who would ever suspect such a
+death-trap?
+
+Robert Lyons was up early next morning to meet his employer. The latter
+came down to the cottage soon after breakfast, and was pleased to see
+that the gamekeeper had every tool in readiness for their excavations.
+They proceeded to the site at once.
+
+Lyons did not talk as they marched ahead. The morning was dull, the sky
+was heaped with cumulus clouds, the wind was rising.
+
+"I'm afraid it isn't too promising for work, Lyons," said the professor
+as they descended into the valley. "If it rains, we can return and
+arrange some specimens indoors."
+
+"We'll see," replied Lyons, grimly smiling to himself. "This is the
+very weather for poachers."
+
+"Do you think they'll be about?"
+
+"Maybe. We'll see."
+
+They reached the Wishing Chair on the top of the hill, and Lyons threw
+down his tools. The professor sat down on the stone seat, as was his
+habit, and drew out a handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from his
+face. It had been a stiff climb up the slope.
+
+Lyons stepped behind the Wishing Chair, pretending to look at the
+landscape beyond; but his hands fumbled about his waist. In a moment he
+had uncoiled a length of thin rope, at the end of which was a running
+noose. Before the innocent professor was aware, the noose was thrown
+over his shoulders and the gamekeeper circled him twice, tying him to
+the stone seat. Professor Roche was a prisoner.
+
+He tried to rise, shouting to Lyons to loosen the rope, shouting
+indignant orders, but Lyons did not heed his employer's words. His face
+had become grim and dark, and his jaws were set as if clamped by iron
+braces.
+
+"If you howl, I'll gag you," he said viciously. "It's time we had a
+talk. You're going to sign this first."
+
+He shoved under the bewildered professor's nose the typewritten
+declaration which the dealer had given him.
+
+"What's all this? What's the meaning of this treatment, Lyons? I cannot
+see what is written on the paper----"
+
+"I'll read it to you."
+
+Robert Lyons read it, slowly and distinctly. It was to the effect that
+the Glory of Coram, being the property of Professor Roche, was being
+offered for sale by that person, who was willing to take a certain sum
+for it.
+
+In vain the professor protested that this was robbery with violence;
+the look in the grey eyes of the gamekeeper proved that both men were
+in a new situation just then. Their past knowledge of each other was
+gone for ever, and in its place was something terrible and menacing.
+The professor sat very still, staring across the valley, trying to
+convince himself that he was not dreaming. He found out soon enough.
+Lyons hit him savagely in the face.
+
+"Sign!" he cried.
+
+"I haven't a pen."
+
+"But I have. It is your own fountain one. I brought it on purpose."
+
+"I missed it a week ago," murmured the professor thoughtfully. "Is it
+only the Glory of Coram you wish, Lyons?"
+
+"Is there anything more you'd like to give me?" sneered Lyons. "I've
+had a few things out of the cases lately, but you haven't missed 'em."
+
+"You have been stealing my goods?"
+
+"And selling 'em, professor. When I sell the shell I'll have as much
+money as I need."
+
+"But if I sign this it is still possible that you will repent it. The
+money will be paid into my bank----"
+
+"It won't. It will be paid into my hand. I've made all that secure. It
+will be paid by to-night."
+
+"But you will be caught as soon as I give the alarm!"
+
+"You will not give an alarm."
+
+"No?"
+
+"You will be dead. They'll find you to-morrow, maybe. Who is to prove
+that poachers haven't been here to-day?"
+
+A shiver passed through the professor's frame. He raised his head and
+looked about for aid. All was bare, wild country, the nearest house
+being his own home, over two miles off. Up the valley the rising wind
+came steadily, increasing in volume every minute. The huge clouds above
+were driving from the southwest. That meant rain.
+
+"Do you intend to kill me?" he asked, after a pause. There was a hint
+of the scholar's curiosity in his question.
+
+"I do."
+
+"Might I ask how?"
+
+"Since it won't help you, I'll explain," said Lyons, "but you got to
+sign that slip first."
+
+The professor gravely took the pen and signed. His hand shook a little,
+and the paper fluttered on his knee, but his face was serene as he
+handed the sheet back to Lyons. The latter held the signature to the
+wind until it was dry, then pushed it into his inside pocket. With his
+eyes on Professor Roche, he brought the squirrel from his coat pocket
+and held it aloft.
+
+"This little fellow is going to kill you," he said. "He's the one who
+is going to clear away every clue. Ain't you, Brownie?"
+
+"This is very curious," said Professor Roche. "How is he going to do
+it?"
+
+"This way. Over the valley, in that clump of trees, is a rifle, loaded
+and laid straight for your head. It is five hundred yards away. The
+bullet in that rifle is a .303, which will kill at a much greater
+distance. Hanging from the trigger is a nut. This squirrel is going
+to snatch that nut. You won't have any pain, I assure you. I've had a
+target often enough where your head is."
+
+"Then you will hang," said the professor.
+
+"I won't. The rifle will be buried in the valley within an hour of it
+being fired. My own gun isn't a .303. Everybody in the house knows that
+you and I are working at these excavations. Our trail shows we came
+here. I have worked it all out."
+
+The wind was coming in gusts, so that Lyons, who was standing to
+leeward, had to bend forward to hear the professor's reply to his
+boast. To his surprise, the professor merely wrinkled his brows and
+bent his head. Lyons placed the squirrel on the ground ready to let him
+free. Professor Roche's voice spoke.
+
+"Have you laid the rifle true for me, Lyons?" he asked. "Are you sure?"
+
+"True and straight, as I have laid it every day for a week. You can't
+escape the bullet."
+
+He threw the squirrel from him with a savage laugh.
+
+"Say your prayers!" he cried. "Nothing can save you now!"
+
+The professor's eyes were on the disappearing squirrel, now bounding
+towards the clump of trees in which the gun-trap was hidden.
+
+"Lyons," he said, "I have no prayers to say, but since you bound me in
+this natural Wishing Chair I have been wishing--and thinking. I believe
+my wish will come true. Come nearer to me. The wind makes it difficult
+to talk."
+
+Lyons moved from the windward to the leeward side of the chair. He
+admired the gameness of the old professor.
+
+"What is it you want to say?" he asked. "Hurry! The rifle will go off
+any moment."
+
+"One of the things I have studied, Lyons, is the question of velocity.
+We have been having good weather of late----"
+
+"What are you talking about?" roared Lyons. "Gone mad, eh?"
+
+"Not quite, Lyons. Stand a little nearer and listen closely. I have had
+my wish. The wind is very strong. Hark!"
+
+From the clump of trees across the valley the crack of a rifle broke
+out, and a tiny puff of smoke arose swiftly. Robert Lyons jumped back
+from the Wishing Chair, but as he leapt something smote him in the
+chest and stretched him unconscious on the ground.
+
+Professor Roche was able to undo the fastenings that bound him, and
+he went for the police, who took Lyons to hospital. He has just been
+tried, and sentenced to imprisonment for life. It was indeed a wonder
+he was not killed by the bullet he intended for the professor.
+
+You see, the wind always takes a bullet off the target at five hundred
+yards' range. Three feet at that distance is an average wind allowance.
+
+Robert Lyons had forgotten the rising wind.
+
+
+
+
+             THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE EIGHTH CELL
+
+
+As the Governor finished his seventh story, the visitor shrugged his
+shoulders and glanced at the window, where the fog was swirling up
+against the glass.
+
+"I hope you do not find it too cold," said the Governor politely.
+"Shall I turn up the gas stove to its full capacity? It is rather a
+large stove, but we can regulate it----"
+
+"I find it warm enough, thank you," interrupted the visitor. "I was
+merely taking note that the fog is becoming denser than ever."
+
+"Naturally," agreed the Governor, "you are interested in the fog, for
+reasons we shall not discuss; and mention of fog reminds me that in my
+eighth cell is one who relied on just a similar density of atmosphere
+to escape from this very prison. He has just been sentenced to an
+additional term for that escapade."
+
+"Then you admit that it is possible to escape from your prison?"
+inquired the visitor quickly, eager to make a point.
+
+"It is possible to do almost anything, but every action has its
+consequences. We seldom escape the consequences after we have committed
+the act. If a prisoner behaves himself and gives the impression that
+he is willing to accept the punishment which the law has given him,
+we do not make his punishment more of a torture than we can help. In
+other words, we give prisoners some slight benefits, some privileges.
+These help to mould their characters. But Harry Sarlon, I am afraid,
+took advantage of the privileges given him. As there is an element of a
+certain kind of humour in his case I am sure you will be interested to
+hear of his case. The fog makes it definitely apposite."
+
+The Governor then proceeded:
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Harry Sarlon had broken out of prison quite easily. He stood bracing
+himself against the rough wall of the archway, knowing that he was
+being sought, knowing that the warders were on his trail.
+
+At his feet were a paint-pot and two brushes, the materials with which
+he had been working when he escaped. His convict dress was hidden by
+a loose smock which, though prison property, was a disguise for his
+prison clothes. In his right hand he held a heavy stone which he had
+picked up from the ground.
+
+The fog swirled past him, thick and heavy; so thick that he could not
+see objects a few yards away. It was because of the fog that he had
+escaped.
+
+The scrape of a foot on the ground sounded near his hiding-place. A
+man's form appeared in the strange gloom, woolly and indistinct. A
+lantern, blurred and ruddy-yellow, swung slowly to and fro.
+
+"Sarlon, you had better surrender if you are there! You can't get away!"
+
+The voice was a challenge, besides being an order. It was the voice of
+Warder Tully, the man of all his guards whom Sarlon hated and feared
+most.
+
+For just one moment Sarlon hesitated. He felt that the warder was in
+the act of sounding his whistle. He heard the barking of a dog some
+distance off. The lantern moved towards him. Then Sarlon leaped.
+
+The warder had no chance, for Sarlon was upon him like a panther. He
+bore Tully to the ground, hitting him with the stone. Tully was knocked
+unconscious and lay still.
+
+It is possible, with imagination, to appreciate the wild, passionate
+desire for freedom that urged the convict to attack. The discipline and
+strict regulations of a place of detention arouse, in some natures,
+a ferocity against restraint which at times becomes ungovernable.
+There are men in prisons who can never be trusted beyond the ordinary
+routine. But Sarlon had seen to it that he was not regarded as of that
+type. He had deliberately suppressed his rebellion in order to make his
+escape. Therefore it was all the harder for him to admit defeat when
+challenged at that moment. He was in the full flush of belief in his
+ability to escape from Mincester gaol.
+
+From the beginning of his term he had stifled his resentment, his
+hatred of prison and gaolers. He had done this to outwit them. This
+shows that he was a man of great self-control, yet he could not control
+his criminal leanings; a strange paradox. He could control himself in
+order to retaliate in time; there was something in him of the nature of
+the cat tribe. A tiger can lie still, waiting to catch its prey. Caged,
+it cannot keep passive.
+
+Burglar, crook, law-breaker, he had run the whole gamut of crime with
+the exception of the capital charge. And now that he had visited his
+vengeance on Warder Tully he was aware that he must run.
+
+By trade Sarlon was a house painter. He had attained to the position
+of a first-class convict because of his good behaviour. He had given
+no trouble at all, and had seemed to accept his punishment as the
+inevitable result of his lawless acts. As a result of this good
+behaviour and in an endeavour to reclaim him as a useful member of the
+community, he had been allowed to use his trade abilities. He had, in
+short, with another man, been put to the job of painting the windows
+of some outbuildings. This suited him very well. From the top of his
+ladder he had a view of the world beyond the prison. There is an old
+parish church, as you may have noticed, not very far off, on the
+steeple of which workmen were then engaged in repairs. The steeple was
+shored up by beams that slanted from the ground almost to the top; and,
+at stages, scaffolding framed the square tower in regular platforms.
+Sarlon knew that these workmen were engaged in tearing out the inside
+of the tower preparatory to re-buttressing it. This work was but one of
+the instances where local authorities were attempting to preserve the
+relics of England for future generations.
+
+Sarlon had seen this work, and the sight helped him to make his plans.
+Only one thing was needed to obscure his escape. That one thing was
+night--or fog. He could not escape during the night, so he hoped for
+fog. There is a saying that the Devil looks after his own. The fog came.
+
+The fog had swept down from the north suddenly, and, from the top of
+his ladder, Sarlon had watched it coming. This district is liable to
+get fogs at certain times of the year, as is well known. When the
+foremost fringe of the mist touched the prison wall and floated into
+the yard, the warders sounded the signal to stop work. Sarlon at first
+pretended not to hear; then, when he could keep up the pretence no
+longer without arousing suspicion, he acted as slowly as possible.
+
+He came down the ladder, leaving his paint-pot on a window-ledge. He
+had to go back for it. This time he left a brush on the window-sill. He
+had to climb again for the brush. He was playing for time. The warders
+urged him to hurry, all unsuspecting his motive.
+
+By this time all was indistinct and shadowy in the yard, and the fog
+was getting thicker every minute. When he descended the second time
+everything was in his favour. The yard was dense with mist. The fog
+had come quickly, as fogs generally come in marshy districts. Sarlon
+heard the other convicts being marshalled, though he could no longer
+see them. He saw a warder waiting for him at the foot of the ladder.
+With a quick movement he kicked the warder in the chest, sending him
+sprawling; then he took the ladder in his muscular hands, rushed across
+the yard with it, flung it against the wall and swarmed to the top.
+
+He was astride the wall when the warder he had knocked down appeared
+below him. Sarlon kicked the ladder away and heard the warder's cry of
+alarm as he fell. Sarlon jumped to the other side of the wall. He was
+outside the prison.
+
+His paint-pot, which was fastened to the top rung of the ladder by a
+hook, had fallen beside him. He picked it up as he started his flight.
+His paint-brushes were in his pocket. Why did Harry Sarlon take the
+paint-pot and his paint-brushes with him? All part of his scheme. If he
+met any civilians he could easily pretend that he was merely a painter
+on his way home. He threw away his prison cap. Who was to know that a
+convict had been using paints? By the time the circumstances of his
+flight were known to the public he reckoned he would be safe.
+
+He ran through the fog until he reached the canal, which was to be his
+guide-rope. It would lead him towards the centre of the city and the
+place where he wanted to hide. He waded into the cold, muddy water
+which reached to his waist, and as he waded he held his smock high so
+that it would not be soaked, for it was his disguise. Climbing back to
+the bank, he ran on until he reached the rear of the parish church. He
+scaled the wall of the cemetery and was crawling among the tombstones
+when he heard a sound and saw a lantern moving towards him. Someone was
+on his trail.
+
+Sarlon crouched behind a tombstone and waited. He saw the lantern
+pass in the fog and disappear. He wondered, in a moment of terrific
+concentration, if all his efforts were to be frustrated. The minutes
+passed. From somewhere to the right he heard another sound that set his
+teeth on edge. This was the baying of a hound.
+
+Sarlon knew where the dog was at that moment, and he knew the dog was
+on his track. Two dogs are kept in this prison, in a yard shut off from
+the sight of every inmate; but every prisoner knows that these dogs are
+kept should an escape be made. I ought to say the idea of the dogs was
+mine.
+
+Every day the dogs are exercised by the warders; and it was to throw
+the dogs off the scent that Sarlon had entered the canal. He argued
+that if he threw them off until he was deep in the city he would be
+safe. But, on the other hand, there was the fact that the very scent
+the dogs were following was his disguise. The dogs were following the
+smell of the paint which clung to his boots, his smock, his clothes.
+He dared not remain behind the tombstone, so he crept out and found the
+shelter of the archway. It was when he was here that the lantern came
+out of the mist again and the voice of Tully challenged him. There was
+nothing left for Sarlon except to surrender or attack. He clamoured for
+liberty; so he attacked. The dogs were not with Tully.
+
+Sarlon found some satisfaction in attacking Tully. The latter was the
+one warder on the staff who could not be bluffed or deceived. He was
+the warder who had tried to prevent Sarlon from escaping by the ladder.
+He had rushed out, before the dogs had been loosed, to search on his
+own. Finding that the dogs took the road to the canal, Tully had struck
+away from it.
+
+It was like Tully to argue that Sarlon had not crossed the canal and
+made for the open country, because Tully was the clearest-headed
+warder of the staff, the most relentless in pursuit as he was the
+most suspicious in his daily dealings with prisoners. No convict ever
+asked a favour, or made a request, which Tully did not suspect; he had
+acquired the habit of disbelieving every plea, every complaint! he was
+always on the alert to suspect excuses to evade rules. His duty became
+a sort of perpetual query mark. He was the most feared, as well as the
+most hated, warder.
+
+He was as remorseless as iron and as merciless as logic. If a prisoner
+went sick he treated it as a feigned ruse until he saw the man
+collapse. He even regarded the doctor's examinations of prisoners
+as too gentle and as erring on the side of leniency. He grudged the
+hospital diet which patients were given. To his mind a convict was
+no longer a man but a number--a number which still constantly strove
+to evade punishment. There was no pity in Tully. He was incapable of
+compassion. But he believed he was just. His duties were, to him,
+part of a large organisation for the protection of organised society.
+"Prisoners," he once said to a Commission which sat to gather evidence
+on crime and criminals, "are the weeds in God's garden. Prison is the
+refuse heap of that garden." He took his work seriously, as became a
+grave and unimaginative nature.
+
+Harry Sarlon in many ways justified Tully's words. His idea of freedom
+was to do as he liked--selfish to the core--without any sense of shame.
+His idea of law was that which restricted his raids on civilisation.
+But prison had shown him that to do as he liked he had to blind the
+law and hoodwink it when he could. To escape from prison was, to
+him, a duty to himself, any means justifying the end. To trick the
+authorities, to lie to them, to deceive them, was merely his way of
+"getting his own back." Rules and restrictions were a challenge to him.
+He had no sense of honour. He would have killed Tully with as little
+compunction as he would have told a lie or trod on a worm.
+
+A mutual mistrust and antagonism had always existed between the two
+when they came into contact. It was the clash of opposites.
+
+As he stood in the archway looking at the fallen man, Harry Sarlon,
+thinking he had killed Tully, was glad Tully was out of his way; but
+the baying of a dog came to his ears, and he knew that he must act
+quickly. It was only a matter of time before the dog, or dogs, found
+his trail again. Tully, he was aware, had taken a short cut ahead, and
+the dogs would come too. Quick as thought, Sarlon stripped off his
+smock and threw it beside his paint-pot and brushes. He had no use for
+these things now.
+
+He took off his prison clothes also and left them in a heap beside his
+smock. He stripped the uniform off the warder, who had been so battered
+by the stone that he had every appearance of being dead, and found to
+his delight that there was some money in the warder's pockets.
+
+He extinguished the lantern, clapped the warder's cap on his head, and,
+seizing the warder by the heels, dragged him into the cemetery over the
+heaps of earth. He knew where he was going and what he intended to do.
+
+From his ladder in the prison yard he had observed the deep excavations
+that had been made around the tower of the old church; deep holes had
+been dug for the shoring timbers, and much of the foundations of the
+building had been exposed. Into one of these excavations Sarlon threw
+the warder. He intended to bury the man, and he had already started
+with hands and feet to push earth into the trench when once more he
+heard the baying of the hound. He dared not finish his ghoulish work.
+The other warders were on his trail and were coming fast. Sarlon leaped
+to his feet, and ran towards the church tower.
+
+He had to go right round the tower before he found an entrance, and
+he gave a queer little laugh as he looked above the Gothic stone that
+frowned over the porch. It reminded him of the entrance to the prison
+he had just left; the stone was the same grey colour, the heavy doorway
+was the same design, the builders having evidently erected both from
+similar plans. It seemed funny to Sarlon that a church and a prison
+should be of the same construction--the one a sanctuary, the other a
+tomb to his hopes.
+
+He found himself in a wide, open space beyond the doorway, and knew
+that he was at the base of the tower. It took him some time to find the
+ladder leading aloft, and when he climbed up to the top he was aware
+that he was on the first scaffold. He walked carefully round the narrow
+platform on the outside of the square tower and came upon another
+ladder. It was the way to the second scaffold higher up. He climbed
+slowly and carefully, found the third scaffolding and mounted it also,
+to find a fourth. This brought him to the opening into the belfry. He
+crawled through the window and lay on the beams that were laid under
+the huge bell. Keeping his head out of the window he looked below,
+watching and listening.
+
+The indistinct, muffled voices of men came up to him. The fog was too
+thick for him to see anything. He lay still, listening, wondering if
+his pursuers would mount the scaffolding. Half an hour passed. The
+voices were no longer heard. His enemies had gone.
+
+Lying up there, Harry Sarlon began to take stock of his position and
+prospects. He guessed that it was now late in the evening. The workmen
+who were engaged on the tower had ceased work with the coming of
+the fog, so that he would be safe from their interference until the
+morning. But he did not intend to wait until the morning, for the fog
+might then be cleared off and that would make his escape all the more
+difficult. He must get away as soon as possible. The money he had taken
+from Tully's pockets supplied the means if only he could get to the
+railway station.
+
+"It's got to be done soon," he muttered. "If I stay here the town will
+be raised against me. They may have offered a reward by now for my
+capture, but I'll beat 'em with a little bluff."
+
+He descended slowly to the ground and walked out into the roadway. The
+fog was still very thick, so that it was almost impossible to see more
+than a yard or two, but while this was a benefit to Sarlon it was
+also a drawback. He did not know the town very well, and he realised
+the danger of losing his way. Adjusting his cap and dusting down his
+clothes he marched forward.
+
+People passed him like ghosts, silent and mysterious. He walked on
+until he observed the glimmering lights of shops. The smell of a
+cookshop's wares made him pause. He was hungry. He opened the door and
+stepped into the shop.
+
+It was a small place, such a one as is used by workmen; a few customers
+were seated at tables beyond the counter, and a stout man, in soiled
+apron and shirt-sleeves, was frying potatoes on a coke fire.
+
+Sarlon would have enjoyed nothing so much as to sit at a table and
+order a meal, but he dared not risk this, even if he was dressed in
+warder's uniform. He contented himself with buying several sandwiches,
+and the stout man leaned over the counter confidentially as he wrapped
+the food up.
+
+"Say, mate, is it true one of your fellows has got away in the fog? A
+policeman tipped me off not long ago, but no sane convict would ever
+come in here, now, would he, not if he was starvin', poor devil?"
+
+Sarlon was counting out the money for the sandwiches, and paid no
+attention to the man's talk; but the latter went on.
+
+"Of course, I know it's against the rules to talk, but the escape ain't
+official yet, or the town would know it. They haven't sent out the
+signal, because some of you warders are still looking for him. He ain't
+a desperate character, him that's got away, is he?"
+
+"How much for the sandwiches?" asked Sarlon quietly.
+
+"One and six, boss. Rotten night, ain't it? Rather you were doin' a
+search than me in this fog. Of course, I know it ain't official about
+that escaped convict, or they'd hev sent out the signal----"
+
+Sarlon picked up the parcel of food and swung out of the shop, glad
+to escape into the gloom of the street. He had felt the eyes of every
+customer on him while he stood at the counter. He trudged on, eating
+the sandwiches ravenously.
+
+He heard the tramcars moving slowly along the street. Flares were
+lit at the corners. At a crossing he stood to think matters out. He
+wanted to get to a railway station. The plan he had formed was a bold
+one. Originally he had hoped to make his way to one of his pals, but
+now that he had money he decided on a better plan. He knew the police
+would search his usual haunts for him. He saw that he would be safer
+at his home, where his relatives would hide him. He was not a Londoner
+by birth. If only he could get on board an express he would be safe.
+His warder's dress would carry him past the ticket-collector at the
+barrier; especially since the news of his escape was not yet officially
+broadcast he would be free from suspicion.
+
+He stopped a pedestrian and asked the way to the station. He was
+directed to follow the trams, then take certain turnings. The station
+was within an hour's walk at ordinary times.
+
+Sarlon strode along exultantly. His disguise had carried him through
+so far, and he had little fear for the next steps. He experienced a
+strange uplift as he walked. People shuffled past him, coughing and
+peering about them. Buses and traffic moved very slowly in the middle
+of the road, crawling furtively, with glaring headlights that came and
+went in ghostly procession. The lighted windows of the shops glimmered
+in the yellow fog.
+
+He had walked for well over an hour when he heard the shriek of a
+railway locomotive, followed by the bang of a fog signal. He knew he
+was near the railway station at last.
+
+He approached it cautiously and found the entrance, a dully lit tunnel
+in which people were moving about like gnomes of the night. He made
+his way towards the booking office and was almost at it when someone
+touched his arm. He turned to find a policeman at his elbow. The sight
+almost unnerved him.
+
+"What's the news, mate?"
+
+"The news?" stammered Sarlon; then, getting a grip on himself, he
+answered steadily enough: "There ain't any news."
+
+The policeman shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"I expect you had an idea that your man would come this way, but I
+give you my word he hasn't showed up, nor anybody like him. I've been
+on duty here for over an hour, keeping an eye on everybody. Some of
+our plain-clothes men are on the platform too, and we're watching the
+siding so that he won't get aboard a train."
+
+"Is that so?" said Sarlon.
+
+"You bet. The prison people telephoned to our station and we were sent
+out at once. By the way, do you know that you men are being called in?"
+
+"No, is that so?"
+
+"We have been told to notify any of you we meet to return to the
+prison. The Governor wants to interrogate every warder before he sends
+out an official call."
+
+The policeman rubbed his hands together and stamped his feet.
+
+"That runaway will get it in the neck when he is nabbed," he went on.
+"After what he did to one of your men."
+
+"What did he do?"
+
+"Haven't you heard? He nearly killed a warder named Tully--expect you
+know him----"
+
+"I know him."
+
+"I heard at the station just before I left. They found this warder
+in a trench over by the church. He had been battered badly. The dogs
+found him, led by the smell of paint. Tully must have found the escaped
+convict and been attacked. I don't know the particulars, but they say
+that the convict has crossed the canal. We've notified every barge
+owner and expect he'll come this way before the fog lifts."
+
+"Oh, I see."
+
+"So that's why the job is out of your hands now, mate. It's a police
+job, beyond your jurisdiction. The dogs have been called off and it's
+up to us."
+
+Sarlon passed his hand over his face thoughtfully. He was very cool,
+yet he was very alert.
+
+"What's you people's idea of his likely way of escape?"
+
+"Well, they've put us to watch the railway and sidings. He won't stay
+about this district if he can get away, and he can't get away by
+walking the streets. The inspector believes he'll get out of town,
+maybe make for a port. He could change his clothes somewhere----"
+
+"Well, I suppose it isn't any use me hanging about if we are called
+in," said Sarlon. "They'll think I'm lost if I don't report. So long."
+
+He turned on his heel and walked out into the fog once more. Once
+outside, he strode swiftly along the street, his brain active and
+searching for a way out. His disguise as a warder had saved him, or
+perhaps it was his nerve, but he had had a narrow shave. Had the
+policeman not spoken to him he would have bought a ticket and then he
+would have had to explain. He ground his teeth at the thought of having
+been balked; but he was thankful for the policeman's talk all the same.
+
+What was his position now? He dared not go back to the railway station.
+He dared not risk walking about, lest he meet other policemen. But he
+had to get away. He considered anxiously.
+
+"There is a workmen's train in the early hours that will take me to
+some station beyond the city," he muttered. "I'll go back to the church
+steeple and wait until it's about time to catch the workmen's train.
+There won't be any police at the station then. Anyway, I'll have a rest
+in the church steeple and think it out."
+
+With the thought of returning to this excellent hiding-place came
+another. How was he to get back? He had been walking in the fog so much
+that he had lost sense of direction. He stood still wondering which way
+to turn.
+
+Just then, as he pondered, there came a sound that sent a reassuring
+thrill through him. His luck was holding after all. A bell was booming
+out above and through the fog.
+
+"Evensong!" he exclaimed. "The church bell!"
+
+He could find his way to the church by the clanging of the parish
+bell. It was the only bell that rang during every day of the week, and
+he blessed the fog and the bell and the church as he plodded towards
+the sound, a voice calling to him to come and be hidden, ringing its
+message, its invitation to sanctuary indeed.
+
+As he walked, he thought out his plan. He would not go into the church
+while the people were there. He would slip round to the back and climb
+to the tower as soon as the congregation had settled to worship. Once
+there he could think out his next step without the harassing need to
+avoid people at every step.
+
+Gradually the sound of the bell drew nearer. He was walking down the
+side street towards the church now. He pictured the scene as it was
+on fogless days; but his reckoning sometimes was out, because he was
+not too well acquainted with the streets; but he was happy--grimly
+triumphant.
+
+The bell's notes began to dwindle. Its clang softened, its call faded.
+Harry Sarlon saw the dim outline of the stone porch silhouetted in the
+fog by a light beyond the Gothic structure.
+
+He waited some distance from the door until the bell was stilled. Then
+he walked forward, pushed the iron gate open, and passed into the porch
+and so through--as he thought--the square tower.
+
+But at that moment a lantern was swung behind him, its light flashed
+into his face.
+
+A man's voice, gruff and menacing, challenged him.
+
+"Hullo, there! We were told all you men had returned. I was just
+locking up the gate. What's this? Oh, I say----!"
+
+A hand pulled off Sarlon's cap and a pair of strong arms pinned his
+arms to his sides while the man shouted an alarm.
+
+"Help! Quick! I've got Sarlon!"
+
+Harry Sarlon did not struggle in the grasp that held him, nor did he
+make any attempt to escape. He felt suddenly sick at the trick the bell
+had played him.
+
+He was not in the porch of a parish church. What he had heard was the
+prison bell signalling officially to the wide world that a convict had
+escaped; and he had walked back to prison, guided there by the alarm.
+
+
+
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE NINTH CELL
+
+
+"I think," said the visitor, when the Governor had completed the
+eighth story, "that this man Sarlon made his mistake because he was
+unacquainted with the district near his prison."
+
+"Precisely--up to a point," admitted the Governor, who was about to add
+something else, when he was interrupted.
+
+"It is not a mistake _I_ shall make," remarked the visitor grimly. "And
+I frankly tell you that I am aware one of the Big Five of Scotland Yard
+has been interesting himself in my movements of late."
+
+"It is no secret that your capture has been much desired," returned the
+Governor. "It may not be fog that will lead to your undoing at last.
+It may not be a mistake on your part; but something, somewhere, will
+happen, I assure you, and you will be caught."
+
+"If it pleases you to think so, please continue in your error,"
+responded the visitor. "In the meantime, now that I have listened to
+your stories, may I press the question that I came here to put to you?
+Are you willing to act in either of the two ways I have suggested
+regarding the condemned man?"
+
+The Governor seemed lost in thought for a moment; but presently he
+lifted his head and smiled at the man who sat opposite.
+
+"We have still plenty of time to come to a decision on that matter, and
+your mention of the Big Five has interested me. Most people--that is,
+most people in the general public--are under the impression that the
+final details relating to the capture of criminals are in the hands
+of a Big Four whose headquarters are at Scotland Yard. Now, since you
+mention a Big Five, I take it that you are including that able officer,
+Detective Seed?"
+
+"I am. But----"
+
+"Ah, how curious! You know, our thoughts evidently run parallel
+on quite a number of lines. The fact is that Detective Seed was
+responsible for the occupant of my ninth cell being in my prison
+to-night. I do not know if you ever met, or heard of, a most notorious
+burglar named Sockem?"
+
+"You are not going to tell me that Sockem is in your prison!" sneered
+the visitor suddenly. "He is dead. I have seen his grave. He was
+drowned up the Thames."
+
+"That is where you are wrong, I assure you. He was not drowned at all.
+But he is dead all the same, and it is of the manner of his death that
+I would like to tell you. The man who occupies the ninth cell was a
+mere cipher in the story of Sockem's end, but he was an agent for a
+receiver of stolen property named Eckhardt, of whom I shall have a
+word or two to say very soon. Mackintosh is the name of this man in
+the ninth cell--a cautious man who came from Aberdeen, an elder of a
+Scottish church, an ex-soldier. Ah, well, he is insignificant, but he
+is in the ninth cell to-night, and to tell you how he came to be there
+I must tell you the truth of Sockem's final flutter in crime. There are
+points that will interest you, believe me."
+
+"It interests me to hear that Sockem was not drowned," remarked the
+visitor. "He was no ordinary man. Pray proceed, but don't make it too
+long."
+
+"I shall be as short as possible in my recital, but one must do justice
+to facts as well as to dead men, and I am a stickler for etiquette.
+Besides, I happen to know more about Sockem than most people, even
+his friends. To begin with, Sockem was not his name at all. But I am
+anticipating. Let us first set the stage for the drama."
+
+The Governor leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, as if to
+recall the story he was about to relate. Only the ticking of the clock
+sounded in the room.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+One must admit [so the Governor began, after a short space] that Jimmy
+Sockem had pluck. But a burglar cannot always work alone, and when Ben
+Foss, who had for a long time acted as his "scout," turned to honest
+ways, Jimmy had either to find another scout or work by himself. He
+tried to find a helper, and did not succeed. None that he employed on
+his raids on society was so pliable as Ben Foss. Then he tried working
+alone. That did not do either, for a second man is useful. You will
+admit the truth of this.
+
+So, then, one night Jimmy Sockem might have been seen (or, rather,
+might not have been seen) climbing a water-spout in the West End of
+London. There were two objects in his mind as he climbed. The first was
+to get certain jewellery in a flat. The second was to compel Ben Foss
+to give up honesty and return to lawlessness.
+
+So far as Ben Foss was concerned, there is no doubt that he wanted to
+be free of Sockem; but, not having the strength of will to defy Jimmy,
+he shrank from heroic measures. In a word, he was afraid of Sockem.
+
+With his finger-tips on the edge of the window-sill and his left hand
+grasping the drain-pipe, Jimmy paused for the final effort. He had
+climbed more than forty feet from the back garden of the block of
+flats. Someone was down below him. He could hear feet crunching the
+gravel path with hesitating steps; but the thin fog that rose from
+the earth was his protection, as ground mist has so often been the
+protection of London burglars ever since there was London, or fogs.
+
+From the street beyond the building he heard the rumble of the traffic,
+the roar of the buses, the hooting of motor-horns. He listened
+attentively, hanging, spread-eagled, against the wall like a gigantic
+beetle. The movements beneath him became blurred and indistinct, then
+gradually faded away. He was safe.
+
+From his pocket Jimmy Sockem took his favourite and only tool, and dug
+it into the mortar between the bricks. It was an extra-long horseshoe
+nail, made of steel, bright and polished, pointed and sharpened like
+a rapier. On this nail he rested his knee, then his right foot, and
+finally raised himself and swung over to the sill, on which he knelt.
+
+He withdrew the nail from the mortar and slid it up between the frame
+of the window and the catch. A sudden twist was all that was required.
+The window opened. Jimmy put his leg over the sill and stepped into the
+dark room, drawing the heavy curtains behind him.
+
+He crouched low as his quick ear detected a footstep outside the
+door. He heard the door open, a light was snapped on, and he saw a
+silver-haired, elderly man standing on the threshold. He faced Jimmy
+before the latter had time to hide behind the furniture.
+
+"The cat burglar! Put your hands up!"
+
+Jimmy did not answer the accusation. His eyes were glancing about the
+room. The elderly man was pointing a revolver towards him.
+
+"You disturbed an alarm when you opened the window," he said quietly.
+"Put your hands above your head. My man will tie you until----"
+
+It was then that Jimmy attacked. His gloved hands rose as if in
+obedience to the order, but as his right came up it caught, in its
+swing, a heavy bronze statuette from a small table and launched the
+missile with the accuracy of a practised thrower. The crack of the
+revolver and the crash of the bronze on the elderly man's head were
+simultaneous.
+
+Both men dropped to the floor; the attacker, because it was his usual
+stratagem, the other for quite a different reason.
+
+Then, swiftly, one leaped upright. It was Sockem. The man who had fired
+the revolver was down and out. A great, bleeding wound on his head
+showed where he had been struck.
+
+Jimmy crept over to where his victim lay and peered at him grimly.
+
+"Serve him right!" he muttered. He was under the impression that he had
+killed his man, but it did not trouble him--much.
+
+A sound behind him caused him to wheel. He found himself face to face
+with another man, but this individual did not, to him, constitute an
+enemy. It was Ben Foss.
+
+"That you, Ben? I done your boss in."
+
+"You've killed him, Jimmy! Why did you come?"
+
+"Anybody else around?"
+
+"No, there was just him and me. An' he was a decent sort."
+
+"I wrote you that I was comin', didn't I? You didn't have the window
+open. I had to bust the catch."
+
+"I didn't want you to come, Jimmy! I wrote back askin' you not to. I'm
+on the level now. He fixed the alarm a while ago----"
+
+"And I fixed him, see? Serve him right! You thought your letter would
+keep me away? What are you standing there shakin' like a jelly for?
+Let's take the jewellery and get off quick."
+
+"_We?_ You said _us_?"
+
+"Of course. You're comin' with me. We were pals before we went to
+Parkhurst, weren't we? We'll be partners again."
+
+"Jimmy, I was tryin' to run straight. I was his servant."
+
+"Huh! Birds like us can't turn over a new leaf. An' don't you try to
+double-cross me either. You know my name, see?"
+
+Unthinkingly Ben stooped and picked up the bronze, but a shout of
+derision from Jimmy made him drop it.
+
+"You've done it now, Ben! You've got to come!"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+He shrank back with a shudder as the other flung out a gloved hand and
+pointed to the bronze figure.
+
+"You've put your finger-prints on it! If you stay, the cops will arrest
+you!"
+
+Ben started at the words, and stretched out his hand for support.
+His fingers gripped the edge of a table, and a laugh burst from the
+mocking lips of the burglar.
+
+"An' now you've planted your whole hand on a polished surface! With
+bloodstains! Oh, Ben, ain't you giving them evidence to hang you?"
+
+"Stop that, Jimmy! I didn't do it!"
+
+"There's the evidence, Ben!"
+
+The two men presented a striking contrast in every particular. Jimmy
+Sockem was thin, small, dark-skinned, black-haired. The other was above
+medium height, stoutish, ruddy, bald. Jimmy was cool, alert, waspish.
+Ben was flurried, confused, lumbering.
+
+"They couldn't say it was me," he rumbled, staring from his hands to
+the table. "It wasn't me. I've run on the level since I came out of
+Parkhurst."
+
+"You've been there, and that's against you, Ben!"
+
+"It was you as did it."
+
+"I'm wearin' gloves. Them finger-prints say it was you!"
+
+"He was a decent boss. I wouldn't 'ave harmed him."
+
+"He's dead, Ben, and can't talk!"
+
+"It was Detective Seed as got me the job."
+
+"I've got a better one for you!"
+
+"I don't want to be your partner again."
+
+"But I came for you! I need a scout!"
+
+"I told Seed I'd run on the level. He said honesty was the best
+policy."
+
+"It don't pay! As my partner you'd be rich now!"
+
+"Seed knows I'm tryin' to run straight."
+
+"Seed couldn't stop your arrest!"
+
+"I could tell 'em it wasn't me as did this."
+
+"They wouldn't believe you! Your record's bad!"
+
+"But it's the truth that I didn't do it!"
+
+"You daren't say it was me!"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I'd kill you if you did! See?"
+
+Ben groaned. He knew that this little, dark-skinned man would carry out
+his threat. He was in a cleft stick, but he fought feebly at his last
+ditch, his heavy mind clinging to the central fact that was his only
+hope.
+
+"I didn't do it! I didn't do it! Supposin' you went away, I'd not
+mention your name!"
+
+"Then they'd hang you! Come on, get the swag and we'll be off."
+
+"No, no. They wouldn't hang me! I don't want to be your partner again!"
+
+"I need you. I'll make you come!"
+
+"You can't."
+
+"All right. Listen!"
+
+Footsteps were coming along the corridor outside the front door of the
+flat. The bell tinkled. Someone was seeking admittance.
+
+"That's settled it, Ben," whispered Jimmy in a hoarse voice. "That's a
+cop. I heard one down in the garden. He's come up here to get me. They
+know I usually go out by the front door."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"He's tryin' this door first. Then he'll go up to the flat above,
+maybe. All I have got to do is open that door and invite him in. I can
+say you killed your boss to collar the swag for yourself. My word's as
+good as yours. Your finger-prints! You'd swing, sure! They couldn't
+hang me, see?"
+
+"Jimmy!"
+
+"Get the stuff together quick and we can hop off. I'll wipe out the
+prints while you collect. Hurry! Or else----"
+
+"I'm beat!" groaned Ben. "I'll come, you fox!"
+
+Thus this smaller man of the two, the greater criminal, constituted
+himself the leader, the counsel, the judge of both. He triumphed in
+that he was able to make his very crimes of use to him. In other men
+their misdeeds would have been an anchor, a drag on their brains,
+clogging their thoughts and chaining them with unseen manacles. In him
+these considerations were absent. He was most dangerous when he was
+cornered.
+
+Who was this man? His real name was not English, though he was a native
+of Limehouse. He was the son of a Japanese waif who, after having been
+a housebreaker in Tokio, took to the sea because his own country sought
+to punish him for lawlessness. Before he had been a housebreaker this
+father had been a fireman. The change from the one profession to the
+other is not so strange as it might appear. The Japanese fire brigades
+are famed for their acrobatic skill. They can climb to dizzy heights,
+bearing ladders on their shoulders; they can leap from one point to
+another with a daring that can only be acquired after long practice.
+This man had become a burglar owing to the temptation offered after the
+Tokio earthquake some years ago.
+
+He joined the _Gorotsuki_, the thieves' brotherhood. This organisation
+gave endless trouble to the authorities of Tokio and Yokohama and other
+cities. These men disdained to use gloves, jemmies, or flashlamps. They
+depended on their swift action and their daring. Their movements were
+like lightning. Many of these men ultimately came to England. Jimmy
+Sockem's father was among them.
+
+When this individual came to England he mated with a woman of the
+East End. When they presented the world with a son they added another
+criminal to the population. This son, who inherited peculiarities
+from both parents, in fact owed them nothing socially valuable save
+life. He seemed to duplicate his father in everything--certainly in
+wickedness. He lived about the docks, he climbed rigging, he stole from
+seamen as well as from his own companions. None could compete with him
+in ability. His inventiveness was as great as his sense of honesty
+was deficient. He could swarm up water-pipes like a monkey, and he
+challenged the seamen of sailing-ships to go to the top of the masts
+before he was in his teens. Fortunately--or unfortunately--he was never
+caught, or he might have been sent to Borstal.
+
+In this youth a psychologist would have observed the meeting of the
+Orient and the Occident. He had never been to Japan, yet he was more
+Japanese than English in habit. Once or twice he went voyages in
+sailing-ships to the European countries, but he objected to the sea
+because he was confined to shipboard. He ultimately declined any offer
+to leave London. He became the first "cat" burglar.
+
+His mind was a moral chaos. In this he resembled his father, who died
+in a brawl; and he revered his father's memory with Japanese tenacity.
+His father had found no refuge in his own land, and had never adapted
+himself to the point of view of the West, being incapable of such
+adjustment. He had objected to all law because it was a restraint. The
+only law he bowed to was the law of the jungle. The result was that his
+son, Jimmy, was not so much his son as he was a cub.
+
+Strangely enough, the West that was in Jimmy Sockem aided him to
+outrage its ideas of conduct. The English strain in him struggled
+vaguely in his youth to assert itself above the abnormalities of the
+old _inkyo_ tradition, but it was smothered because the latter were the
+stronger. The mind-substances of his parents could not blend in him.
+They warred.
+
+Because of his mixed blood he became the object of indiscriminate
+charity administered by emotional people who visited Limehouse. He was
+invited to the West End houses, and there exhibited as an example of
+race blending. As a boy he did not object to this; he was rather proud
+of it. But as he grew he saw the gulf between the East End and the West
+End. He could not reason things which, to him, were unreasonable. He
+flung a bridge across the gulf with Eastern fixity of purpose. As a
+burglar he might take what he could never otherwise handle. He left the
+shipyards and became a night marauder. The boy had become a man.
+
+The name which his father handed down to him was lost in the tempest
+of his activities. That name was Sok-Emm; but, with that remarkable
+facility which the East End possesses for making a nick-name proclaim
+a man's character, his companions had extracted its foreign meaning
+and had endowed it with a grim, local significance. Sok-Emm to them
+was nothing. Sockem was everything. The word preserved his pitiless
+savagery. His career was marked with episodes of jungle ferocity.
+Physically he was an engine of destruction. Mentally he was cunning as
+a leopard. He had been guilty of maiming, and was suspected of murder.
+But he had brought into human life that quality of elusiveness, that
+protective resemblance to surroundings, which makes it difficult to
+tell where the forest ends and the tiger begins. Both physically and
+mentally he had the characteristics of a chameleon. In a word, he was
+a monster.
+
+With all his cleverness, however, he had been caught. Ben Foss had
+been his partner, the man who acted as scout on big jobs. It was Foss
+who hung about mansions, hotels, shops, when a burglary was planned.
+It was Foss who collected the information necessary before the blow
+was struck. When all was ready, Sockem struck the blow. But on their
+previous expedition he had struck too quickly. Both he and Foss had
+made a mistake. They had been captured and sent to prison.
+
+Foss, because he was not so dangerous as Sockem, had been given a
+shorter term, but the grind of prison life had wrought changes in both.
+Foss had been shaken to the roots of his pliable nature. He had emerged
+from his confinement with his nerve broken, a scared man. His mentality
+could take punishment up to a certain limit before it collapsed. The
+sentence exceeded this limit. Repentance had come through fear.
+
+On Jimmy Sockem the prison life had had another effect. He had gone
+to his cell snarling. He came out silent. His spell, which would have
+broken ordinary men, hardened him. While still enduring the punishment
+society had inflicted on him, he planned future crimes against society.
+He did this out of a twisted idea that clamoured for revenge.
+
+Foss was clay when he went to prison. Like some clay subjected to
+pressure, he at first rebelled. The clay became brick. The limit of
+resistance to the pressure was reached and passed. The brick broke into
+fragments of rubble.
+
+Sockem endured the pressure without breaking. He was like the
+one-celled animals called protozoa. He became flint.
+
+Having fixed his purpose, he sought the old partnership when he
+re-entered the world. He wanted to lose no time in carrying out his war
+against organised order. But Ben Foss had shrunk from his old habits;
+he had obtained a post as manservant to a wealthy connoisseur of
+_objets d'art_, a bachelor and a philanthropist. To steal from this man
+became doubly attractive to Sockem.
+
+It is not every burglar who can be a "cat." It is not every "cat"
+who can be a burglar. Sockem could be both--and more. He could be a
+murderer with the same lack of compunction as he could be a thief. The
+one idea which dominated his acts supplied at once the excuse and the
+reason for his cold ruthlessness.
+
+At first he had suspected Foss of taking the position in the flat so
+that he could steal its treasures easily, but the truth was now clear.
+Foss was no longer his partner; he was a danger unless he was involved.
+Fear of prison had to be overcome by fear of something else. To save
+himself, he had to make Foss a criminal once more.
+
+He stood watching Ben as the latter moved about the room, collecting
+what valuables were worth taking and handing them to Sockem. The latter
+was as cool as ice. The door-bell tinkled once more. Sockem smiled, and
+stepped over to a gramophone, selected a record, and set the instrument
+going.
+
+"Hurry!" he whispered. "That will blind him for a minute."
+
+He wiped the bloodstained bronze with his handkerchief and took the
+marks off the polished table.
+
+To Foss the whole affair seemed a kind of dream. He moved as he
+was ordered, doing as he was bid without protest. He had once more
+surrendered what remained of his personality into the hands of his
+master in crime; he had again become the jackal to the lion. Fear had
+driven him towards crime as it had driven him away from it.
+
+They left the light burning and the gramophone playing. The door bell
+was ringing as they slid over the window-sill. Everything had been done
+swiftly, deftly, as experts work. Sockem had provided for emergencies.
+Half way down the drain-pipe they swung across a branch pipe that
+brought them to the roof of a smaller building. From this they landed
+into a side-lane.
+
+They were gone some way along the main road, through the thick fog,
+when Foss found his tongue.
+
+"Where are we going? The cops will come to the old place."
+
+"I've found a new one."
+
+They walked out of the fog into Waterloo Station. Something of the old
+thrill of bravado stirred in Foss's blood as they passed close to the
+platform policeman. He experienced the old elation, or a hint of it, as
+they mingled with the theatre crowds on their way home. Who could trace
+them in the surge of hurrying figures? Who would pick up the trail
+which the fog had covered?
+
+At the booking office, Sockem bought a ticket for Foss and handed it to
+him. Foss saw the name of a riverside station on the slip of cardboard.
+
+"Jimmy, why are we goin' there?" he asked in surprise. He had expected
+a ticket for Southampton.
+
+"You'll see," replied Jimmy grimly.
+
+They journeyed with other passengers, and emerged at their destination
+in a heavy drizzle. The fog had given way to rain. The drizzle gave way
+to heavy torrents as they trudged along a country road. In an hour they
+had struck off the road into a lane. A few minutes brought them to the
+bank of the river.
+
+In spite of the questions that Foss constantly asked, Sockem did not
+answer. His mind was filled with one object. He began to search among
+the bushes by the bank. At last he found what he wanted. It was a rope
+hitched to a sapling. He unhitched the rope and began to haul it in. A
+dinghy came out of the misty rain and bumped against the bank.
+
+"Get in, Ben."
+
+Drenched and sodden, Foss obeyed and sat down in the stern. Sockem took
+the oars and pulled out into the stream. Practised rower as he was, he
+made no noise with the oars as he pulled against the tide. The rain
+was coming down in torrents when he ceased rowing and turned to peer
+through the thick atmosphere.
+
+"Here we are!" he announced triumphantly. "Our place!"
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"A house-boat. Hold on to the stage. Bill Hemsey ought to be here."
+
+In another moment they were alongside the dark river dwelling. They
+landed on the floating stage, and Sockem tied the boat to a rail, then
+led the way inside, opening the door with confidence. He knew his way.
+
+"Bill Hemsey hasn't got back yet," he said. "He is coming--ought to
+have been here now. He was getting stuff on his own. I put him up to a
+job."
+
+Hemsey was one of a small gang who kept more or less close company with
+Sockem--a snatch-thief who posed as a sportsman.
+
+"Ain't this safe?" Sockem cried, as he lit a lamp in the centre of the
+apartment. "It's one of them boat-houses used in summer, but left to
+itself during the winter. Wasn't it a good idea?"
+
+"It was, if it's safe."
+
+"Nobody comes, I tell you. I've watched this place for weeks. It's
+derelict. I boarded up the windows so's the light won't show. Hemsey
+is coming to-night, too. And Mackintosh, who gathers the stuff for
+Eckhardt, the fence, is due to-morrow. We're safe as houses. You can't
+tell me how to cover our tracks. Look!"
+
+He pointed to a ring in the floor at their feet.
+
+"My safe! The river hides our loot."
+
+He bent and pulled at the ring. One of the floorboards came away. On
+its under side a large screw hook had been fixed, and from this hook a
+thin rope hung down into the black depths. Sockem hauled at the rope. A
+sack, dripping with water, came into view.
+
+"Put the stuff in the sack," he said, grinning.
+
+They deposited the goods they had brought into the canvas sack, where
+other valuables were already placed, and Sockem lowered it again and
+slammed the floorboard. There was a flush of pride on his face as he
+stood up.
+
+"And supposin' the cops come here, what would they find?" he demanded.
+"All they could give us is a week or two for breaking into the boat. We
+could say we came for shelter. Who'd think that thousands of pounds'
+worth of stuff was swinging in the bilge below our feet? Most of these
+craft collect water in winter."
+
+He laughed and slapped Foss on the shoulder.
+
+"And Bill Hemsey is coming with more to-night. He ought to have been
+here now. You know Bill, don't you?"
+
+"I remember him," said Foss. "What's he after?"
+
+"Money. Ready money. He's getting the rents of a certain party. The
+money and what we've got will make the biggest haul we've made yet. The
+money will take us abroad. What are you looking so dismal about?"
+
+"Seed told me honesty was the best policy," mumbled Foss hesitatingly.
+"I gave him my word----"
+
+"That don't matter, Ben. You've joined me now. And I want you to start
+work to-morrow. Bill will bring us news."
+
+"What do you want me for?"
+
+"Same as you did before. Scouting. There's a village less than a mile
+off. You'll fetch us grub until the coast is clear."
+
+"But if I'm caught?"
+
+"Then Bill or I will go. If you're caught we'll know the cops are
+about."
+
+The truth was out, and the shock of it drilled through Foss.
+Alternately he had been swayed between fears of capture and the
+possibility of escape. Now he saw that he was being made use of. He was
+the shield, the protection, the bait, the foil. A sick smile passed
+over his face.
+
+"You needn't get caught unless you're careless," said Sockem, as he
+wrung the water from his coat. "And we'll be rich now. I'll tell you
+why I came to the flat. They said you had reformed."
+
+"Who said it? I promised Seed----"
+
+"Oh, Hemsey told me. And I needed you as a scout. You know my ways,
+and I know yours. See? And Mackintosh, the agent for the fence, is
+due to-morrow to make a deal. He's a Scot, is Mackintosh. Works for
+Eckhardt, the big fence. We'll get away maybe to-morrow night. You'll
+get your share."
+
+"How much?"
+
+"We'll see what Mackintosh gives us for the stuff."
+
+"And after that?"
+
+"He is arranging a passage to Cherbourg for me. You, too, can come.
+We'll get a ship for America there. There's enough in that sack to keep
+us for years. You couldn't make that amount in a lifetime by honesty,
+see?"
+
+There was a scanty store of provisions, which had been brought by
+Sockem, in the house-boat, and they ate a cold, frugal supper in
+silence. Then they retired for the night. The only bedding available
+was a couple of old mattresses which had been left by the owner of the
+house-boat. There were no blankets or coverings, but to men who had
+been in prison this was not a great hardship.
+
+Sockem occupied a small room on one side of the alleyway; Foss had
+one opposite. The lamp was extinguished. Only the beating of the rain
+on the roof above their heads and the swish of the river broke the
+stillness of the night.
+
+But, if Sockem slept well, the reverse was true of Foss. He lay
+tossing on his mattress, tormented and restless. The silence and the
+darkness brought fears that grew big and fantastic. He wanted to go
+back. He remembered the vow he had made to the detective who had
+obtained the job for him. He remembered the kindnesses of his late
+employer. He remembered the security with which he had gone to bed in
+the flat--security because he was not being hunted, because he was not
+opposing the law, but was protected by it.
+
+The hours passed slowly. The rain increased. It fell with relentless
+monotony, lashing on the house-boat and streaming down the windows. The
+structure swayed with the fury of the rising wind. The tide cradled
+it violently. Dawn broke grey and dull. And there was no sign of
+Mackintosh, or of Bill Hemsey.
+
+Sockem was in the kitchen when Foss rose and joined him.
+
+"Can't think what's keeping Bill Hemsey," growled Sockem. "He promised
+to be here. Anyway, Mackintosh will come. Bill, too, after the rain."
+
+They broke up some chairs for firewood and started a fire in the stove.
+The atmosphere was cold and clammy. The roof leaked.
+
+"We ain't got any grub, Ben. Our supper was the last I had. You'll have
+to go out and get something. Bill was to bring some eats. He's got a
+girl. That's where he was going after his stunt. Girls are the devil.
+Well, you've got to go."
+
+Foss moved to the landing-stage sullenly, with the intention of looking
+for the boat they had moored the previous night. It was not there. He
+looked across the tumbling river. Over by the opposite bank, fifty
+yards down, the boat was caught by a fallen tree. It had been swept
+away by the rising river, which during the night had reached flood
+point. The water was overflowing the banks, and swirling down in a
+heavy, brown billowy mass. The house-boat was tugging at the chains
+that moored it. They were marooned.
+
+"We can't get any grub, Jimmy. We're too far from the banks."
+
+Something like dismay came into Jimmy Sockem's eyes.
+
+"I broke down the shore gangway," he muttered. "It spanned a dozen
+yards from the bank."
+
+"We're twice that distance now, Jimmy."
+
+"Can you swim?"
+
+"No. Can you?"
+
+"No."
+
+A silence fell on them, broken at last by Sockem.
+
+"It means we'll wait here until the fence comes. He'll find the boat
+and bring it along."
+
+They went back to the sitting-room, where two aged cane chairs
+remained. These Sockem broke up and burned in the stove. They picked
+the last crumbs off the supper-plates. Sockem took his horseshoe nail
+from his pocket and began to sharpen it on a small hone. He hummed a
+tune as he worked. The rain became heavier than ever.
+
+By midday the river had risen still more. Not a sign of anything living
+appeared along the streaming banks. Drip, drip, drip; slash, slash,
+slash; rumble, rumble, rumble--the first from the leaking roof, the
+second from the whipping rain, the third from the rising river--these
+were the only sounds that came to the two men in the house-boat; these,
+and the constant honing of his large steel nail, which Jimmy Sockem
+kept up until the weapon shone like a knife-blade.
+
+No receiver of stolen property came that day. They went to their
+mattresses hungry, cold, miserable. They no longer spoke to each other.
+The rain increased. The wind rose to the strength of a gale. When they
+woke the next morning the waters were crested with small breakers. The
+rain was worse than ever. The roof leaked everywhere.
+
+The second day passed as the first, the third came as the second. They
+looked out and saw, not a river, but a real flood. The water had spread
+into the adjoining meadows, and had formed a huge lake, which was ever
+increasing. Their boat had been driven away in the spate. In the midst
+of this desolation the house-boat floated, dragging at its foundations,
+its stage under water. The two men were helpless.
+
+That day Sockem fished up the sack of loot and went over the valuables
+like a miser counting his hoard. Foss, who watched him in silence, saw
+the water ooze in under the floorboards. The truth struck him like a
+blow. The rising river was driving them from their shelter.
+
+The afternoon made this definite; both of them saw it. Foss had reached
+the limit of his endurance. Sockem was now tigerish and unapproachable.
+Cowed and afraid though he was, Foss spoke his thoughts.
+
+"Seed said honesty was the best policy. It is true."
+
+"It is a lie," thundered Sockem. "Is not this sack proof I am right? I
+can break any law I wish to. We are rich."
+
+"We are poor. We are starving."
+
+"That is your fault. I have supplied the loot that makes us rich. You
+must supply the food to keep us till the floods go down. I have been
+thinking. You have to be driven. I shall drive you."
+
+"How?"
+
+"You are the scout. Why don't you scout? You must be forced. Listen. I
+am going to make a raft from the timber of this house. On that raft you
+will pole your way to the village and bring back food."
+
+"I daren't. I should be drowned."
+
+"If you don't go I shall kill you."
+
+His face assumed the horrible cunning peculiar to his nature, and he
+stretched out his hand for the shining, dagger-like nail which lay on
+the table.
+
+"Why don't you go yourself?" cried Foss in desperation.
+
+"Because I must not. Seed knows I climbed to the flat that night I
+killed your boss. It was he who came to the door. I heard him in the
+garden as I climbed. He has been on my heels for days. You can go for
+food. You must. Or else----"
+
+He shrugged his shoulders and turned to the work he had indicated.
+He worked with savage ferocity while Foss watched him, shivering and
+biting his lip. He was scared. He saw Sockem, by prodigious efforts,
+and with the aid of a hammer taken from the kitchen, beat down a large
+section of the wall. It fell across the flooded staging, and lay ready
+to be launched.
+
+"That's my job finished," announced Sockem. "It is up to you. Go--or
+say your prayers."
+
+He laughed wolfishly and went to his room, banging the door and bolting
+it.
+
+Foss was alone with his thoughts. His thoughts chilled and roasted him
+alternately. It was death to go and death to remain. Dusk had fallen.
+Away in the distance he saw the twinkling lights of the village. The
+rain had slackened, but the river rushed wildly on its course.
+
+An hour passed. The darkness deepened. Foss stirred. An idea had come
+to him. He crept towards the room in which Sockem had locked himself
+and listened at the keyhole. From the room came regular breathing.
+Sockem was sleeping, tired out with his labour.
+
+Foss went back to the raft. His idea was to take his chance with the
+floods. He repented having given in to Sockem. Why should he not try to
+save himself and leave this savage to his fate?
+
+He had laid hold of the raft when a glimmer of light pierced the
+darkness far down the river. He looked, and saw it become bigger. It
+was a light from a boat. Already he heard the "chug-chug" of a motor.
+Someone was coming up in face of the racing tide--evidently rescuers
+out to aid river-dwellers caught in the storm.
+
+Here was a chance indeed! He could escape from the terror that
+was Sockem. He would go to Seed and explain all. He would ask for
+protection against Sockem's vengeance. Seed knew he had tried to run
+straight. Honesty was the best policy. If a man was honest he need
+never have these fears and despairs that had gripped him and terrorised
+him since Sockem had come back for him.
+
+The boat was now almost level with the house-boat. It would pass
+without seeing him. With a cry he thought of a way out.
+
+He ran to the kitchen and took the lantern, lighting it hurriedly. Then
+he came back to the stage, waving it to and fro. But the waters drove
+him in again, lashing against his legs. He dared not shout lest he
+wakened Sockem. A voice came over the floods.
+
+"Keep steady! Give us a chance to get you!"
+
+Ah, the light must be steady! Foss dashed back to the kitchen. On the
+table was the long, steel nail, Sockem's one tool. He picked up the
+hammer and ran out to the staging again. Muffling the head of the nail
+in his handkerchief, he drove it into the wooden wall. It sank through,
+met an obstruction half way, but a blow fixed it securely. He hung the
+flickering lantern on the nail and waited.
+
+The boat came towards him. Its motor chugged so loudly he was afraid
+Sockem would hear. Out of the darkness the boat glided, and a man
+sprang on to the submerged staging.
+
+"Hullo! Floods held you prisoner--Foss!"
+
+The man who had spoken was Detective Seed.
+
+He took hold of Foss's shaking frame and looked into his scared eyes.
+
+"Steady up, Foss! You're all right with us! Have you found Sockem?"
+
+Ben gulped hard, but his tongue could not utter words. His hand jerked
+towards the room behind him.
+
+"All right, Foss, you've had a hard time, but we're the river police,"
+said Seed quickly. "Lucky Sockem didn't kill you. I suppose he's
+barricaded himself in. By the way, your boss told me you had gone after
+the burglar----"
+
+"Ain't he dead?"
+
+"No, but he got a bad rap on the head. He's recovering all right. He
+knows you're straight. Well, we've caught Sockem's receiver of goods,
+Mackintosh. We got him as we were coming up. He's confessed that Sockem
+was here, but we'd have passed you but for your lantern. I knew Sockem
+had a nest on the river. Don't worry. We've got him now."
+
+He drew a revolver and approached the door of the room, and at his
+heels went two men from the motor-boat. They burst the lock open. One
+man switched on a flashlamp.
+
+"Get up, Jimmy Sockem! I'm arresting you for burglary----_Ah!_"
+
+Seed moved forward suddenly, and looked at the prone figure in the
+narrow bunk.
+
+"Look!" he cried, pointing to the wall against which Sockem's head
+rested.
+
+The long, shining horseshoe nail which had been driven through
+the wooden partition had caught Jimmy Sockem as he slept, and had
+penetrated to his brain.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Governor bent forward as he finished his story and tapped the edge
+of his desk with his forefinger.
+
+"So you see that Jimmy Sockem was not drowned. He was buried in the
+East End, and I don't doubt that you have seen his grave. As he had no
+relatives, the police paid for his funeral, after an inquest had been
+held very quietly. The verdict was 'accidental death.' And Ben Foss
+went back to his job. He has never again been tempted, or bullied,
+back to lawless ways. As for Mackintosh, the agent for Eckhardt, the
+receiver of stolen goods, I think I have already informed you that he
+is just now occupying the ninth cell below us."
+
+The visitor remained silent for some time, thinking over what he had
+heard.
+
+"I suppose I ought to be thankful to you," he remarked, "for telling me
+the real nature of the famous 'cat's' end. The story current in certain
+circles is that he was drowned in his bunk during the flood. But there
+is one point which your narrative leaves undetermined."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Why was it that Bill Hemsey did not come to the house-boat when he was
+expected?"
+
+"Ah," smiled the Governor, "that is still to be explained, and in
+order to elucidate that matter I now propose to give you the story of
+the occupant of the tenth cell, who is none other than Bill Hemsey
+himself."
+
+
+
+
+              THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE TENTH CELL
+
+
+I am living in hopes (said the Governor) that one day--though I may
+not see it (at this the visitor slightly inclined his head and laid
+his hand on his revolver)--criminals will realise that crime does not
+pay. For the time being, however, the difficulty is that whenever one
+man is taken and sent to prison another seems to step into his place.
+Thus crime appears to be continuous, though it could be proved by
+analytical discussion that it is not so. However that may be, it was
+evident to those whose duty it is to observe such things that Eckhardt,
+the receiver of stolen property, must find a crook to take the place of
+Mackintosh.
+
+Up to this point, mark you, Eckhardt was merely under suspicion. The
+law could not lay its hands on him for lack of evidence--that is,
+evidence that would produce a conviction in a court of law. There was
+plenty of suspicion against Eckhardt, all the same, but suspicion is
+not evidence. But it was noticed that Eckhardt did find somebody else
+to do odd jobs for him, jobs that never brought him into conflict with
+the police, but were again suspicious.
+
+This man was a young member of an East End company of loafers and
+hangers-on. His name was Tommy Conn. He openly boasted of being
+a burglar, but he took care that boasting was all that could be
+said about it. After he became friendly with Eckhardt he ceased to
+boast--itself a circumstance worth noting.
+
+Conn will interest us after we have dealt with Bill Hemsey, for Conn
+occupied, in some ways, the same position in relation to Eckhardt as
+Bill Hemsey did in regard to Jimmy Sockem. That is to say, both were
+minor crooks who worked under the directions and suggestions of their
+leaders.
+
+It was Jimmy Sockem who had put Hemsey up to the idea of taking the
+rent money of old Luke Kohl, the Jew who owned property in the lower
+reaches of the Thames. And so, on the evening that he was expected to
+reach the house-boat, we find Bill Hemsey on his business of annexing
+these rents.
+
+Bill was not high up in the scale of criminal cunning, but he was high
+enough to know that he could lift the money belonging to Kohl if he
+worked properly. As a matter of fact, he found the actual theft easier
+than he had imagined it would be. He went to Kohl's house prepared for
+some sort of opposition, and he found none.
+
+I think you will remember that Jimmy Sockem, during his talk with Ben
+Foss on the house-boat, grumbled because Bill Hemsey had said he was
+going to see his girl that same evening. The truth was that Bill needed
+his girl's help to get away with the swag, but she did not know it;
+or, rather, one ought to say that Bill needed the help of his girl's
+father, but neither did the father know it. They were not the sort of
+people who would have aided him had they known.
+
+All these things come out at trials, and the trial of Hemsey resulted
+in him losing more than his liberty, much as he prized that.
+
+Here, then, we have Bill in possession of the bag of money, and
+standing in the small back shop of Kohl, listening intently for sounds
+from above. No sounds came. Bill had entered the shop by the back door
+when Kohl was upstairs at tea. He had found the bag on the top of the
+safe. He opened it to make sure that the money was there. It was all
+there in notes and silver. Bill sighed with delight.
+
+He snapped the catch and was on the point of leaving the shop when he
+thought he heard a step on the stairs. He braced himself, prepared for
+a struggle. But it was a false alarm. Nobody came downstairs. Hemsey
+did not wait. He took a firm grip on the handle and walked out by the
+door which he had forced in order to enter.
+
+He went over the yard wall, and turned towards the main thoroughfare
+feeling that he wanted to laugh. It had been so simple that he could
+hardly believe it. Yet there was the money in the black handbag, the
+small canister of pepper which he had intended to shoot towards Kohl's
+eyes was in his pocket, unused, and not a soul had observed his way
+of entry. He had left no finger-prints on the door or anywhere about.
+He still wore the leather gloves he had drawn on his hands before he
+committed the crime. And he was nearly two hundred pounds richer than
+he had been a few minutes previously.
+
+It all proved, he told himself, how easy things could be done if one
+took the trouble to lay the scheme beforehand. In this case he had
+certainly been very careful. With care comes success, in crime as in
+respectability. Honesty and lawlessness both require consideration.
+
+Bill Hemsey had known about how old Kohl collected his rents for some
+time, though Bill did not belong to the district. There had been more
+than one attempt by the roughs of the riverside streets to waylay
+old Kohl and grab his money-bag, but these attempts had always been
+frustrated because old Kohl, if he was feeble and rich, was also
+decidedly suspicious. He knew that the bad men of the Thames wharves
+were anxious to purloin his money in the dark corners through which he
+had to pass when he collected the rents; but those who had tried to
+snatch his bag found it was fastened by a light, strong, steel chain to
+his waist. Thus a thief who wanted the bag and its contents must take
+Luke Kohl also; and no thief wanted his screaming accuser to accompany
+the loot.
+
+Besides the chain, Luke Kohl had another means of protection. This was
+a police whistle, and on the occasions when he had been molested he
+had sounded his whistle while the would-be robbers tugged at the bag.
+They had been captured before they had run the length of a street, for
+the police were generally in the vicinity, thanks to Kohl's anxious
+requests for their services.
+
+These were difficulties which Bill Hemsey had to overcome before he
+could possess the rent money of Luke Kohl, but Bill had found a way to
+beat the opposition. If Kohl was crafty, Bill was more crafty. He found
+the weak link in Kohl's armour. That link was Rachel, the old man's
+daughter.
+
+Rachel lived with her parents in rooms above their small bric-à-brac
+shop. She was neither beautiful nor the reverse. She was "homely,"
+getting on in years for a maiden. She met Bill Hemsey at a local
+dance-hall. It was not an accidental meeting so far as Bill was
+concerned, for he had come to the hall with the distinct intention of
+becoming acquainted with Rachel. He met her several times afterwards,
+he spent money taking her to the cinemas, to local music-halls, to
+various places where cheap amusement was to be found up West. He walked
+out with her two evenings a week for a month, and by that time he
+had wormed his way into her affections and knew the whole routine of
+her father's business, even down to where he placed his bag with the
+rent money when he brought it home. The bag was placed on the top of
+the safe in the back shop while Kohl locked the front door and went
+upstairs to tea; after tea the bag was put, with the till, into the
+safe.
+
+The taking of the bag was Bill's supreme crime. It was to be his final
+one. Working with Sockem, his business was to lift the ready money,
+take it up the river, and in return he was to get a share of Sockem's
+loot. This trading of stolen goods is done quite often, helping to
+baffle the police and making the real source of a robbery difficult to
+trace.
+
+As for Rachel, she was not the girl to whom Sockem referred. Rachel
+was merely a pawn in Bill's game. Indeed, her friendship with Bill had
+been a little troublesome to him. She presumed more than he intended,
+and she had asked him on more than one occasion to come home and meet
+her parents. These invitations had always been side-tracked by Bill,
+who had no desire to step into what might be a trap for himself; he did
+not want to meet Luke Kohl, who might then be able to identify him at
+a crucial moment--for instance, when the pepper was being thrown into
+his eyes. So that Rachel might be well out of the way, Bill had written
+to her asking her to meet him at a point up West, and he had seen her
+start for the rendezvous. Exit Rachel from Bill's life.
+
+As he walked along, Bill felt confident, and had not any anxiety.
+Nobody had seen him take the bag, nobody could accuse him of entering
+by the back door, not a soul knew that he was a petty thief and
+had been one for years. Between his "jobs" in crime he conducted a
+perfunctory street-corner business of bookmaking, a cloak for his
+other activities and a means of getting the information to enable
+him to carry them out. It was as a book-maker that his friends knew
+him; even Rene Toler, his real girl, whom he intended to marry almost
+immediately, regarded him as a sporting person. It was to her rooms
+that Bill Hemsey was now making his way.
+
+He left the main thoroughfare and took to side streets, past one of
+the blocks of flats which Luke Kohl owned, the flats the rents of
+which were in the bag he carried. Tall dismal buildings, these were
+situated near the riverside, and let out in mean dwellings of single,
+double, and triple rooms. They were peopled by the casual workers of
+the docks, labourers of the river, the families who hung on to life by
+short spells of work sandwiched between periods of unemployment. It was
+because of this unreliability of income that Kohl collected his rents
+regularly, never allowing arrears to accumulate.
+
+From the streets behind the river were many dark, narrow passages,
+sombre and badly lit by scattered street lamps. In front of the houses
+was the river front, a narrow flagged pathway. No railing or fence was
+erected by the river's edge, and here and there lonely barges from
+Gravesend and Tilbury squatted on the sticky mud that was squelchy as a
+quagmire when the tide was out. This ooze, three feet deep, was covered
+at full tide with sufficient water to float the barges and the boats of
+the water-men up to the wall of the river front.
+
+During the daytime the "esplanade," as it was called by courtesy,
+was the rendezvous of loiterers and bargemen. By night the place was
+deserted save for an occasional boat that crossed the river as an
+unofficial ferry, since the nearest bridge was a considerable distance
+away. It was Rene's father who worked this spasmodic ferry.
+
+Rene did not stay with her father. She worked in a laundry on the same
+side of the river as Bill had rooms, and she had given Bill proof of
+being able to look after his wants in the future by doing his washing
+and pressing his suits in her spare time. Pretty, hard-working, and
+capable, she was as straight as a fiddle-string, and Bill knew that she
+would make an ideal wife. She had no silly ideas of romance about her.
+Her one strong point was her profound common sense. It was because he
+was fond of her that Bill had made the raid on Luke Kohl's money; this,
+he told himself, was to be his last excursion into crime.
+
+As she opened the door in answer to his knock, he was met by a rush of
+hot atmosphere from the apartment.
+
+"Hullo," said Rene. "You're early."
+
+"Better early than late," replied Bill, grinning. "What you busy at?
+Same old stuff, hey?"
+
+He sat down on a chair and looked at the heap of washed clothes on
+the table at which she had been ironing. His reception had not been
+as cordial as he had hoped, but Rene was never demonstrative. Bill
+chuckled to think that he had now enough money to set the two of them
+up comfortably.
+
+"Give us a kiss, Rene," he said.
+
+He rose and advanced towards her, but she waved him aside and returned
+to her ironing table.
+
+"What's the matter, Rene?"
+
+She turned on him quickly.
+
+"There isn't anything the matter with _me_," she flashed.
+
+Her tone startled him for a moment, but he quickly dismissed his fears.
+She could not possibly know that he had money in the bag and that he
+had stolen it.
+
+"Well, don't be funny," he grumbled, watching her all the time. "I told
+you I was coming over home with you to-night. I want to talk things
+over with your dad. Ain't you glad to see me? I've got an appointment,
+but I'll be back late."
+
+"What things are you going to talk over?"
+
+"About you and me. I was thinking we might get married soon."
+
+"You said that a while ago."
+
+"I know I did. But I hadn't the money."
+
+"Have you got it now?"
+
+He smiled. This was his great secret, the winning card he held up his
+sleeve.
+
+"More'n you think, Rene. I'll show you what I've got all in good time.
+And your dad too. Did you ask him to bring his boat over for us, same
+as I said to you?"
+
+"I told him."
+
+"Well, stop working and let's go."
+
+"There's plenty of time yet. Besides, I've got these things to iron,
+and the suit you left me has to be pressed. I promised I'd do it by
+to-night."
+
+He gazed at her cunningly.
+
+"How long will it take you?"
+
+"I'll be finished in an hour."
+
+"Mind if I stay here to watch you?"
+
+"Please yourself."
+
+"What's the matter with you, Rene? I come here to give you a pleasant
+surprise and you're hardly civil."
+
+"If you found that I'd been flirting with other men you'd be mad too."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+He began to see the reason for her coldness. But before he could say
+anything she glanced at him from the hot iron her eye was following.
+
+"You needn't deny it. You were seen."
+
+"Who saw me?"
+
+"I did."
+
+"You're jealous, Rene, and there's nothing to worry about; honest,
+there ain't. I give you my word."
+
+She was ironing determinedly, her lips straight and tight.
+
+"It was only a business affair," he began.
+
+"Business?" she scoffed.
+
+"I'm telling you, Rene. It was business. A man has to be friendly with
+them that bring money to him."
+
+"Has he to take them to the theatres?"
+
+"It's good for business----"
+
+"Or to dances?"
+
+"It's good for----"
+
+"Or buy them chocolates?"
+
+"Aw, you needn't be jealous. There was nothing in it."
+
+"Funny way of doing a betting business," she answered bitingly.
+
+"Rene," he began, but stopped; for to make her understand he was bound
+to tell everything, and he dared not tell everything. The crime was his
+one secret which he must keep to himself, even if it was to be his last.
+
+"It ain't the first time," she added. "You've been with her lots of
+times."
+
+"I won't again, Rene."
+
+"How do I know you're speaking the truth?"
+
+"I give my oath on it. It was only business."
+
+"What would you say if I started gadding about with men?"
+
+He had not seen it this way, and the idea struck him forcibly, for he
+was fond of Rene in his way.
+
+"What would you do?" she demanded.
+
+"You wouldn't do that, Rene?"
+
+"What if I did? Ain't I got the right to go to the cinema with a boy,
+if you go with a girl?"
+
+He did not answer, but the look in his face was dour and ominous. She
+suddenly became afraid of him.
+
+"It was only business," he muttered. "Just business."
+
+He was standing at her elbow as she laid out his suit for the ironing
+process. There was something menacing in his attitude. Man-like, he did
+not understand her mental injury nor appreciate her point of view; his
+environment had never taught him that women had any right to question,
+yet he longed in a dull way to probe the suspicion her words had
+raised. She seemed to sense this, for she spoke quietly without looking
+at him.
+
+"I didn't do it," she said simply. He breathed deeply, as if relieved.
+
+"How long will you be at this job?"
+
+"A bit yet."
+
+"What about a drink of something?"
+
+"I can't leave this. There's time enough before dad comes. You can go
+out for a drink. Come back in half an hour."
+
+She glanced at the clock as she spoke.
+
+"All right," he said, as he picked up his cap and kicked the leather
+bag under his chair. "I'll bring a bottle back for your dad. He can
+take it home with him."
+
+"Didn't you say he was to meet us by the esplanade? He won't come up
+here----"
+
+"Well, I'll give it him in the boat."
+
+He clumped downstairs with something of his usual complacency gone
+from him. He had never been suspicious of Rene before. He was angry
+that she should want to know the reason he had been friendly with
+Rachel Kohl; and he dared not tell that. Even if he was forced to tell
+something of the truth, he had to hide his crime, for then Rene would
+tell her father, and her father would deny him the use of the boat.
+Bill Hemsey needed the boat that night. He could not chance taking a
+bus, or be seen walking in the streets with the bag. Kohl would have
+discovered the theft by this time and would have told the police. The
+police would be on the watch, and the only way to evade them was to
+get down to the dark esplanade and cross the river by boat. He would
+destroy the bag when he got to his rooms.
+
+In fifteen minutes he returned to Rene's room, hugging three bottles
+of stout. He pushed the door open with his foot and entered. He heard
+voices. A young man about his own age was in the room.
+
+"All right," he was saying, "I don't need to see you home if that's the
+case."
+
+Bill Hemsey blundered in and placed the bottles on the tables. The
+stranger said he would be going. He went out, and Rene lifted from the
+table the coat she had been pressing. Bill wheeled as the door closed.
+
+"Who was that?" he demanded.
+
+"Jim Harlek. He lives next door to dad----"
+
+"So that's why you asked me to go out and fetch a drink? You expected
+him here and thought I was better out of the way. He slunk off when he
+saw me. He came here to see you home----"
+
+He shouted his accusations at her, giving her no chance to answer him.
+For the moment he was seeing red. All his suspicions were returned,
+flaming high. He saw it all. He had been duped, misled, deceived. He
+seized her shoulder in a fierce grip.
+
+"So it's Jim Harlek! He came to see you home. Don't deny it. Up here in
+your room. That's why you said I was early. You expected him. You sent
+me out so's you could warn him I was here. Tit for tat, hey? That's
+because you were jealous. Thought you'd pay me out----"
+
+"Bill, you're hurting me!"
+
+"Hurting you! I'll hurt you more. Mine was business. You can't say that
+about Jim Harlek. And you said you hadn't done anything like that----"
+
+"Let go!" she cried, wriggling from him; but he pursued her, anger
+raging and flushing his face.
+
+"I'll teach you," he cried. "Playing that trick on me."
+
+"What about the trick you played on me? What about Rachel Kohl? What
+about the theatres and the dances and the letters you wrote her?"
+
+"That was business, I tell you."
+
+"I don't believe it."
+
+"Maybe you'll say that Jim Harlek came here on business? I'll find out
+about you and him. I'll teach you----"
+
+"Let go! Let go!"
+
+She struggled to free herself from his grasp, and the more she
+struggled the more he raged at her. The very resistance she made seemed
+to his inflamed brain to be proof that she was guilty of deception.
+And because he was then incapable of reason he kept up a torrent of
+accusation, a cataract of threats and insinuations, the words pouring
+from him as he shook her. He beat down the opposition she had at first
+shown. He silenced her by the ferocity of his wrath; and then he flung
+her into a chair.
+
+"From now on," he cried, wagging a finger at her, "you ain't going out
+of my sight. You get your things on and come home. We'll see what your
+dad has to say when I tell him. You women all need to be broken in.
+I'll break you in. Come on, get on your hat."
+
+She sat white and trembling, but there was a gleam in her eyes that he
+had never seen before.
+
+"Get on your hat," he thundered.
+
+She obeyed him, biting her lip. A change had come over her. She no
+longer tried to answer him. She put on her hat and coat while he packed
+the suit she had pressed. They went downstairs, he carrying his bag and
+his suit in a parcel. He was still muttering to himself.
+
+At the street corner she was about to walk towards the main
+thoroughfare, but he growled at her:
+
+"Not that way. You're going down to the river."
+
+"But----"
+
+"Shut up and don't answer. I know your game. You'll do as I say, or
+I'll make you. Think I don't know what I'm doing? I don't want any
+talk. It's me that's seeing you home, not Jim."
+
+"If you let me explain----"
+
+"I don't want explanations. Not yet, I don't. That's enough. Not
+another word."
+
+He saw what she was after, did Bill. Once out on the main street, where
+the traffic was, he would not be able to handle her. He knew that he
+must keep the mastery.
+
+"If you cross me again I'll give you worse than I gave you up in your
+room," he growled grimly. "I ain't finished with you yet, Rene. You've
+got to know that I'm boss. See?"
+
+She gave a queer little laugh at that; a laugh that stung Bill more
+than any accusations or defiance. It spoke to him of contempt, it was a
+sneer, a ridicule that cut him to the quick. He dropped his parcel and
+struck her, sending her staggering against the wall.
+
+"That'll learn you," he said, glowering at her. "I'll break you in, I
+will. Come on, or I'll give you more."
+
+She stood leaning against the wall, panting and holding her cheek. In
+her eyes there was a swift gleam that died as he looked at her. She
+was at his mercy, and she knew it as well as he.
+
+"Come on," he ordered.
+
+She obeyed without a word of protest.
+
+He kept beside her as they turned down a side street, glancing at her
+now and then from under his brows, knowing by her silence that he had
+conquered.
+
+Down through dark, narrow passages he marched towards the river bank.
+There were few lamps now and the mist from the river thickened the
+gloom. Bill welcomed the mist and the darkness. It hid them from
+prying eyes and thus made his escape with the stolen loot easier. Rain
+came--heavy rain.
+
+Once the shadowy form of a policeman appeared across the street, and
+Bill feared that Rene would seek his protection; but she marched on
+without taking notice of the policeman if she saw him.
+
+Soon they were in the black regions of the river. The cold damp from
+the water came to them in a murky breath. All was silent and black, and
+wet. The rain was steaming now.
+
+Bill's eyes tried to pierce the thick atmosphere. He was looking for
+the boat and the light that would be fixed at her stern. He moved
+across the flagged front of the esplanade, peering intently. And just
+then he felt a pair of hands on his back. He was pushed forward. He
+could not help himself. He uttered a loud shout--and then stepped into
+space.
+
+His bag and parcel flew from his hands as he fell, crashing against
+the stones and following him downward. He dropped straight into the
+three feet deep ooze that held him as he floundered. He felt himself
+sinking as he struggled. The more he struggled the more he sank. The
+sticky mud hindered his movements; and as he at last found bottom there
+came to his ears the voice of Rene Toler tauntingly:
+
+"If you'd let me explain, Bill Hemsey, you'd have known that Jim Harlek
+came with a message from dad to say he couldn't come in the boat
+because the tide ain't full yet. I've had enough of you and your lies!
+You and your business meetings with Rachel Kohl! You forgot to take her
+love-letter out of your pocket when you gave me your suit to press, so
+you can go back to your Rachel Kohl, and don't ever come near me or
+I'll give you in charge."
+
+And then, as she moved away, a little compassion perhaps stirred her.
+She called again.
+
+"But I'll send a cop down to get you out of your mess in the mud. And
+if you want to know, I was out with somebody. It was Tommy Conn."
+
+That was the last Bill Hemsey heard of Rene that night; but she kept
+her word. Five minutes later a policeman strolled down to see if it was
+really true a man had fallen over the "esplanade" into the mud.
+
+He flashed his lantern on Bill Hemsey, still fighting his way ashore;
+and the blaze of the lantern showed a burst bag and numerous notes
+lying about the quagmire.
+
+Of course this led to inquiry; and inquiry led to a charge; and a
+charge led to the Old Bailey.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Governor paused.
+
+His visitor smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"And the Old Bailey led to the tenth cell?" he said.
+
+The Governor nodded, stroking his chin.
+
+"Bill Hemsey didn't have much of a chance with the jury," he said
+dreamily. "Not so much as even the police expected he would have.
+Eckhardt, apparently, promised that he would pay for a defence. But he
+didn't. Neither he nor Tommy Conn took much interest in Bill Hemsey."
+
+"How was that?"
+
+"In order to understand the full circumstances," replied the Governor,
+"you ought to know the story of the next cell's occupant."
+
+
+
+
+            THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE ELEVENTH CELL
+
+
+"At any rate," said the visitor to the Governor, "there can be no doubt
+as to the category in which you will place Bill Hemsey. He does not
+appear to have much hope of getting higher than the Illiterates."
+
+"I agree with you. Hemsey belongs to the grade you have mentioned. His
+place is fixed for the remainder of his term. His case--so far as his
+trial is concerned--reminds me of the biblical injunction not to put
+our trust in princes. Eckhardt was certainly one of the chiefs of the
+profession he had chosen. He was known among the criminal fraternity as
+the Prince of Receivers, though how he came to the title I have never
+been able to find out exactly. It may have been because he was rich,
+and appeared to be above the law."
+
+The Governor cleared his throat and folded his arms on his chest as he
+bent a thoughtful gaze on the carpet.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Among the acquaintances of Tommy Conn (he began) was one who was,
+to some degree, a man who was his rival in crime. This man's name
+was Billiter. The two were rivals, although they worked by different
+methods. Conn was a burglar who lifted goods without opening safes;
+Billiter was an expert at safe-opening. These different methods
+originated in the early training of the men. Conn had never learned a
+trade. Billiter had been an engineer and mechanic before he became a
+burglar. Each believed his method the safest.
+
+Let us take the case of Conn first, and see where it led him, and how
+he came to forget, not only Bill Hemsey, but even Rene Toler, within a
+week of Hemsey's arrest.
+
+Tommy Conn was a burglar who possessed resource and was capable of
+quick decision. He often said that the last lap on a job was the only
+one that counted. Eckhardt, the receiver, had the knowledge of a
+connoisseur. Combine these qualities, and you have the most dangerous
+union at war with the law.
+
+Conn entered a large house one night--a house in Park Lane--on what was
+perhaps the biggest job in his career. He stood in the large gallery
+listening for a sound that might betray his presence to the owners of
+the valuables he had come to steal. All was quiet save for the distant
+and indistinct movement that told him he had timed his visit well.
+
+All was dark in the gallery, but a yellow line showed at the bottom of
+the door. Conn stepped over on tiptoe and turned the key in the lock.
+Thus he put a barricade between himself and anyone who might try to
+enter.
+
+He was not afraid. He was careful. In the cases lined under the massive
+pictures on the walls were the valuables he had come to steal. He set
+to work at once. The family who possessed the goods were at dinner.
+
+Only once or twice did he use his flashlight, and then he used it to
+make sure that he was taking what he had been instructed to take. From
+under his coat he produced a small cotton sack half filled with down.
+Into this sack he deposited the loot, one article at a time, gently and
+with care.
+
+It was easy to insert his jemmy under the lids of the cases and give a
+slight upward wrench to the locks. While he did so he covered the locks
+with a soft scarf, to deaden the sound of splintering wood. This was
+child's play to Conn. Not a single lock gave more than a faint groan
+when he gave the twist needed.
+
+There were valuables of all kinds--jewels, gold, pearls, ivory and
+onyx, diamonds and rubies. Most of them were set in exquisite form,
+paired and graduated in small antiques. There were tiny statuettes,
+treasures from the four corners of the world, all of which had been
+gathered by past generations and had been handed down as heirlooms;
+treasures that were too precious for public museums to buy.
+
+Tommy Conn did not need his flashlight to direct his hand towards the
+best of these valuables. The sparkle of the gems guided him. He went
+through every case, taking the best; then he stepped towards the door
+again, unlocked it, and tiptoed to the window.
+
+He was on the first floor of the house, not a great distance from the
+garden. He went out as he had entered, took care to close the window
+after him as he hung on to the gutter-pipe that was within easy reach,
+and slid down to the ground. He landed on the gravel path and stepped
+on the lawn. Across this he sped, and leaped for the top of the wall
+that separated the grounds from a side-street. He had to wait a few
+moments before the road was clear; a policeman was strolling down
+towards the main thoroughfare. When the policeman was gone, Tommy Conn
+clambered over without making a noise. He walked round the corner into
+the main road and approached a small two-seater car that was drawn up
+by the gutter.
+
+The lights of this car streamed down the road. The general traffic was
+streaming past it. The policeman who had come down the side-street was
+standing not far off. Tommy Conn walked up to the car from the rear,
+lifted the luggage grid and deposited his bag of loot in the space
+underneath, tipped the loafer who had been watching it for him, and
+took his seat.
+
+It was not a new car, but it was a swift one, powerful and capable of
+tremendous energy. As he was about to start he saw the policeman's eye
+on the car, taking in its proportions. Tommy signalled to the policeman.
+
+"I was told there was a garage up that street," he said, "but I can't
+find one. Can you tell me where I may get a supply of petrol? I must
+get to Oxford to-night."
+
+"There's a garage at the top of that street, sir," answered the
+policeman, "but it's a long way up. A nearer one is straight ahead, ten
+minutes' walk from here."
+
+"Thanks, I'll go that way. Good night."
+
+"Good night, sir."
+
+Tommy operated the self-starter, and the car slid forward. He felt the
+policeman's eyes on his number-plate at the back of the car. That did
+not worry him. The number-plate had been changed before he started on
+his job, and the number he showed would take a great deal of tracing.
+He forged his way among the moving vehicles and put on a little speed.
+The garage to which he had been directed flared at him as he passed it.
+He swept up the first turning beyond it, dodged into Oxford Street,
+came down through Piccadilly Circus, and headed south. He was bound for
+Southampton.
+
+Why did Tommy speak to the policeman? He did it because he had learned
+by bitter experience that to take the bull by the horns is safer,
+if bolder, than to let the bull take you. The burglary he had just
+committed had been done as many of his burglaries had been done--on
+commission. He regarded himself as an efficient burglar, just as
+a man might regard himself as an efficient plumber, or tailor, or
+stockbroker. He worked for clients. In Conn's case, the client for whom
+he worked most was Eckhardt. He was working for Eckhardt now, driving
+Eckhardt's car, going to the rendezvous on which they had agreed. When
+he reached the place he would receive his fee, hand over the car to
+another of Eckhardt's servants, have the number-plate changed, and
+depart. All clues had been covered, all suspicion could be met, all
+inquiries answered.
+
+It was one of the biggest hauls he had ever made. The idea had been
+Eckhardt's, the planning of the theft had been Eckhardt's, the loot
+would be Eckhardt's--Tommy Conn's percentage was his fee. In this Conn
+was cunning. He did the work and let Eckhardt dispose of the proceeds.
+Eckhardt was able to do this because he was a dealer in valuable
+antiques, with a reputation in America and Europe. It is true that
+his reputation was shady, but he was always careful in his deals, and
+he knew that in antiques there are always collectors whose love of
+possession overtops every other consideration. Watch a salesroom during
+an auction of famous treasures and the truth of this will become very
+apparent.
+
+At first Tommy Conn had protested to Eckhardt that the risk of breaking
+into Lord Calcott's private gallery was too great. It was known in
+burglarious circles that a policeman was constantly near the house, day
+and night. The mansion had become a kind of point duty, because Lord
+Calcott had great influence in political quarters and it was expected
+that at his death he would leave many of his valuables to the nation.
+
+To all Conn's objections Eckhardt had a reply. The greatest risk was
+in getting away with the loot. Late at night, when the occupants of
+the house were asleep, burglar alarms would be working. The obvious
+thing to do was to get the goods when the alarms were not fixed up for
+the night. The best time to attack the house was when the family were
+elsewhere. Dinner! That was the time.
+
+How to get away swiftly? Eckhardt had a car. He offered to lend it to
+Conn. The latter had been in the car often enough, and he knew how
+to handle it. A burglar in a car was sufficiently uncommon to escape
+remark. A burglar who had a car such as Eckhardt's might laugh at any
+pursuing taxicab. To disguise the car the number only need be changed,
+for it was of a popular make, seen daily in the West End.
+
+For the job Conn was to receive three thousand pounds in notes. These
+were to be handed over to him at Southampton, on board a small petrol
+yacht-fishing-boat which Eckhardt had hired for the purpose of escape.
+This vessel was of the type often let out to amateur yachtsmen at
+south coast resorts. In reality, they are converted fishing-craft, but
+they have the appearance of stodgy private yachts of heavy beam, and
+look worth twice their actual value. Eckhardt was taking one of these
+vessels over the Channel to a French port; from there he could get a
+ship to America.
+
+The United States was Eckhardt's ultimate destination, because he could
+get a big price for his loot in that country. He intended to get a big
+price. He had tapped his market already. He had secured an offer for
+most of the stolen pieces. Receivers of stolen property have their own
+markets.
+
+The master stroke of all Eckhardt's arrangements was that by which
+he was able to give Tommy Conn minute instructions and descriptions
+of the articles he was to extract. Eckhardt had paid a visit to Lord
+Calcott, pretending to act on behalf of a "client" who was prepared to
+offer a large sum for a certain medallion. Lord Calcott had politely
+declined to sell, valuing his collection as he valued the names of his
+ancestors who had brought it under one roof; but, seeing that Eckhardt
+knew his business, he permitted him to view the collection for a few
+moments. Eckhardt peered into every case, complimented the peer on his
+possessions, and left. He had seen enough. A month later he called on
+Tommy Conn, and the crime was discussed.
+
+As he drove the small, powerful car through South London on his way to
+Southampton, Tommy Conn was under no misapprehension as to the value
+of the jewels hidden under the luggage grid behind him. He was able to
+appraise and judge such things. He estimated that he was carrying loot
+worth at least a hundred thousand pounds.
+
+A lesser man might have been tempted to make the error of keeping
+the whole for himself, considering that he was being paid but a
+small fraction of the value of his burglary. Conn knew better than
+be tempted. For a lone burglar to sell the jewels would be suicidal.
+Burglars cannot approach principals in such deals. On the other hand,
+to have taken the gems from their settings, to have dug them out of the
+gold, and to have melted down the glittering statuettes and ornaments,
+would have been to reduce the value to vanishing-point. The truth was
+that only one receiver in London was able to take the risk, or had
+the facilities to make it worth while assuming the responsibility, of
+disposing of them. That receiver was Eckhardt, the dealer in antiques,
+who knew every avenue by which treasures could be sold, as he knew the
+worth of every piece he saw. After all, thought Tommy Conn, the main
+risk was on the shoulders of Eckhardt. When Eckhardt had paid him his
+three thousand, the deal was closed so far as he was concerned. He was
+safe, too, for Eckhardt dared not give him away. Their partnership
+covered too many transactions for one of them to point the finger of
+accusation at the other.
+
+Conn kept the car at an easy pace, taking a circuitous route--the
+one which had been mapped out by him when he had detailed his plans
+to Eckhardt. He went through Bromley, swerved into Croydon, speeded
+through Sutton, and passed Epsom at twenty miles an hour. It was just
+nine o'clock when he swung up Dorking main street and headed for the
+ridge known as the Hog's Back. As far as possible he had avoided the
+towns, and had not put on headlights when he was in the country. He
+reckoned that, by putting on speed, he would be in Southampton shortly
+after midnight.
+
+He was over the Hog's Back and well on his way when he saw, glimmering
+faintly in the distance, the lights of an inn. He knew the inn. It
+was one used by those discriminating motorists who prefer quiet and
+good cooking rather than bustle and feeble imitation of West End
+restaurants. He was beginning to feel hungry, and wondered if he might
+stop at the inn for a meal. The matter was decided for him as he was
+sliding down a slope with his foot on the brake. From immediately
+behind him a loud report filled his ears, and almost deafened him for
+an instant.
+
+Tommy Conn's nerves were strong, but for an infinitesimal period of
+time fear shook him. Presently he smiled. It was not a gun he had
+heard. He was not being held up. The report had been one of his tyres
+bursting. He jammed the brakes on, and came to a standstill.
+
+When he dismounted, and looked at the rear tyre which had exploded, he
+bit his lip. This was no ordinary puncture. The tyre had been cut by a
+piece of broken bottle and was embedded in the cover. He pulled it out
+and looked at it curiously.
+
+Taking a lamp, he walked back, flashing his light on the ground. Forty
+yards from his car he saw a broad band of jagged pieces of glass.
+Someone had deliberately laid down broken bottle-glass in the path of
+motorists.
+
+Luckily, the inn was not far off. He decided to go there and see if he
+could get someone to fix on his spare wheel while he had some supper.
+He mounted his seat, and rode to the inn on three tyres and a rim,
+taking the car into a wide yard behind the square building.
+
+There was no mechanic on the staff capable of fitting his spare wheel,
+so he had to tackle the job himself. To save time, he ordered a meal to
+be ready for him in the dining-room. He was jacking up his car when the
+landlord came out, carrying a lantern.
+
+"This will help you, sir," he said, putting the lantern down so that
+the light fell on the number-plate, which he scanned. "I dassay you'll
+be surprised if I said a friend expects to get you here."
+
+Tommy Conn gripped the jack tightly, but kept his head down and his
+back to the landlord.
+
+"Expects me? Someone expects me?"
+
+"That's so, sir. I suppose he'll be back for you by the time you've
+finished supper."
+
+There was geniality in the man's tone, but Conn was in no mood to
+appreciate geniality. He turned with a snarl.
+
+"I suppose it was you that laid a trap of broken beer-bottles on the
+hill?" he cried. "I'd have passed your beastly inn but for my tyre
+going phut!"
+
+"Beer-bottles, sir? Why, that would be the gentleman who came to look
+for you. He was anxious to find you, he was. I'll send a lad up to
+clear the glass off the road at once. That's dangerous, sir, that is."
+
+He bustled into the house, and Conn heard him giving directions. Tommy
+Conn was no coward, but the landlord's words set his heart leaping. Who
+had laid the line of broken beer-bottles on the road? It had been done
+with a definite intention. Through his mind there flashed the thought
+of the policeman who had stood near his car just after the burglary.
+The policeman had seen the number beside the rear lamp. There was time
+for them to find out about the burglary and wire outlying stations. Was
+it possible----?
+
+His thoughts were disturbed by the return of the landlord. The man was
+frowning.
+
+"Who was this gentleman who was looking for me?" demanded Tommy Conn.
+"What was he like?"
+
+"Why, I couldn't tell you that, sir, seeing as he kept inside his car
+while he spoke to me. He druv up and asked if you had called here."
+
+"How do you know it was me he wanted?"
+
+"Why, sir, he told me the number of your car!"
+
+"What was his name?"
+
+"He didn't give one, sir. Just said it was urgent for him to see you;
+and then he asked for half a dozen bottles of beer. He said he'd make
+sure of gettin' you, if you hadn't come this length by that time."
+
+"What time was that?"
+
+"Barely half an hour ago. He said you would be on the road somewhere.
+He asked me to keep you if he patrolled the road towards Winchester."
+
+"Asked you to keep me, did he?"
+
+"That he did."
+
+"And you intend to do it?"
+
+"Well, sir, he said he'd come back to see if you'd arrived. I fancy
+he laid them broken beer-bottles up there to puncture your tyres. He
+laughed funny when he bought the beer-bottles, sayin' as how they would
+make sure you called here. His joke, maybe; but if other motorists find
+it out I'll get into trouble, sure as fate. You can't blame me for the
+burst tyre, sir, can you?"
+
+"Oh, no. Is my supper ready?"
+
+The landlord bustled off to inquire. Tommy Conn crouched beside the
+wheel, thinking hard. There was only one explanation. The policeman
+in London had noted the number of his car. The burglary had been
+discovered. The telephone wires had been working. It was the police,
+beyond a doubt, who were after him. Who but a policeman would use the
+word "patrolled"? It was a local detective who had been sent out to
+intercept him. The landlord had been asked to "keep" him. That was a
+localism for "detain." And the broken beer-bottles on the road--that
+was a mean trick to stop him, a dodge to block his path.
+
+"They haven't got me yet," muttered Conn between his teeth.
+
+He worked feverishly, unscrewing the nuts and bolts. He had the spare
+wheel almost fitted when the landlord came back again.
+
+"Your supper's ready, sir. Just come upstairs for a wash first.
+Bathroom is first to the right on the landing."
+
+"All right."
+
+"Can I give you a hand?"
+
+"No. Leave me alone. I can manage."
+
+The landlord went indoors--hesitatingly, as it seemed to Tommy Conn.
+The latter had made up his mind. He would give them the slip yet. His
+car was a fast one. He knew the main roads. The route had been well
+planned.
+
+When the wheel was fixed he pushed the car out to the front of the inn,
+mounted the seat, and started. He did not look back, though he heard
+the landlord calling something after him. The answer Tommy Conn gave to
+the shout was to give the car more speed. He whirled out to the main
+road and let her go. Speed limits had no terrors for him now.
+
+He had not covered a mile when he was aware that another car was
+rushing towards him. There were no headlights on his approaching car,
+but the lamps gleamed brightly--too brightly. Conn glanced at his
+speedometer. He was going at thirty miles per hour. He opened up, and
+saw the indicator move to thirty-five, then forty, then fifty. More
+than that he dared not venture on the dark road, which was not wide.
+
+As the two cars came near each other Tommy Conn saw a head pushed out
+of the window behind the driver. He smiled to himself. It was a hired
+car of the taxicab type--just the kind of car the police used. He had a
+glimpse of a white face and waving arms thrust out from the window. A
+voice roared something at him. He did not heed. In a flash and a roar
+he was past and away.
+
+He sat grimly at the wheel for several miles. He whirled past cottages
+by the roadside. He saw a policeman's lamp in the middle of the road
+ahead. This was one of the famous spots where the police had a trap. He
+took no notice of the warning winking of the policeman's flashlamp. He
+hurled his car at the darkness. The policeman leaped aside just in time.
+
+Through more than one village he swept, reducing his speed only
+at corners. When he was on the stretch he let the car go at her
+utmost--faster than an express train. Once he was compelled to stop
+altogether. He had reached a level crossing, and the gates were against
+him. He sat in the panting car grinding his teeth. Minute after minute
+passed. He rose and looked back. A car was coming on his heels. He
+recognised the lamps as those of the car he had already passed. The
+driver had turned and was chasing him.
+
+The desperate resolve to charge the gates of the level crossing was
+in Conn's mind when he heard the rumble of a train. It came sweeping
+round the bend and roared between the gates. Conn glanced behind once
+more. The pursuing car was within a hundred yards of him. He pressed
+his hand on his hooter, to stir the signalman in the box above him. The
+signalman looked out, saw him, waved his hand, and nodded. A moment
+later the level-crossing gates began to move. Conn's car was moving as
+soon as the gates.
+
+He had bumped over the railroad track and was gathering speed when he
+heard a voice shouting to him. The cry came indistinctly above the
+running of his engine:
+
+"Stop! Conn! Stop!"
+
+Tommy did not even turn his head. Was it likely that he would allow
+himself to be arrested when there was still a chance of escape?
+
+The two-seater bounded forward into the night. Only once did Tommy
+Conn glance behind. He saw the car still pursuing him, but he was
+gaining ground slowly. He had underestimated the going power of the
+taxicab behind. It hung on to his trail doggedly, its hooter constantly
+sounding a call to him to stop.
+
+Tommy Conn realised that he must do more than run away from his
+pursuer. The lights of Winchester were in the distance, but he dared
+not fly through the town. For all he knew there might be other cars
+there ready to block his path, or to take up the chase. He resolved to
+skirt the city, keeping to the open roads. His task now became one not
+only of straight running flight. He had to employ cunning as well as
+fleetness.
+
+First he put on as much speed as the car was capable of. This had to
+be done carefully, for the night was dark. He was constantly switching
+his lights on and off. He turned up side-roads which were strange to
+him. He took chances that no ordinary driver would have taken. He had
+to take them. There was no alternative save the arrest that was on his
+heels.
+
+In one of these side-roads he was almost shaken out of his seat. The
+car bumped over large rocks, over mounds of earth. A flash of his
+headlights told him that he had run into a new road; about him were
+heaps of stones, barrels containing tar, and mounds of gravel. He
+glanced over his shoulder--cautiously this time. The car was still
+pursuing, but it was some distance away. Now was the time for a final
+act. Tommy Conn drew his car into the hedge, switched out the lights,
+and dismounted.
+
+He went round and put out the tail-light. He stopped his engine. The
+darkness around him was intense. His car was almost hidden by a high
+line of bushes. He gritted his teeth and ran towards a pile of stones
+and rubble.
+
+There was murder in Tommy Conn's brain at that moment. It was his only
+chance of getting a fresh start. He had but one thought, and that was
+to escape arrest. If only he could gain Eckhardt's yacht at Southampton
+he would be free. Eckhardt and he were going over to France together.
+The idea had been that Conn would return to London as soon as he
+received his fee; now he saw that he must do something which would keep
+him away from London. He did not mind that. With three thousand pounds
+he could get along in a foreign country.
+
+Besides, it was either his freedom or--this arrest, this pursuing fate
+that was driving him to desperation. The police had always been his
+foes. He did not hesitate.
+
+He rolled a barrel of tar into the centre of the roadway. He lifted
+large blocks of stones, intended to line the edge of the footpath, and
+dragged them over also. He threw boulders beside them. Already he had
+piled a heap beside the barrel when he heard the hum of the car. It was
+turning into the new roadway.
+
+Tommy Conn ran back to the cover of his hedge. He crouched there while
+the pursuing car came up the road at thirty miles an hour. He heard the
+driver loosen up to a greater speed. Then he heard the shock.
+
+It was like the explosion of a bomb. What damage was done Conn could
+not guess. He did not care. He heard the crash, listened to the
+splintering of glass and wood, the sudden scream of bursting metal,
+heard the report of the engine, and saw a tongue of flame shoot up into
+the air. Simultaneously with the explosion, flames burst out around the
+doomed vehicle.
+
+Tommy Conn was in the seat of his own car by this time. He was gone by
+the time the tumult died down. Looking back, he saw a figure outlined
+against the furnace; then he turned his head, grinning to himself. He
+had checked his pursuers decisively. He did not look back any more.
+
+Less than an hour later he drove steadily, and well within the
+speed limit, into Southampton. Dawn was coming. He had changed the
+number-plate of his car again, and now it bore the proper registration.
+He garaged the car in town, giving the name of Eckhardt for the
+receipt, took his sack of loot from its hiding-place, and walked
+towards the docks.
+
+Had the car belonged to him, Tommy Conn would have plunged it into
+the sea, or sunk it in a river, so that all traces of it would have
+been lost. In garaging it he was not risking himself. His brain was
+one divided into two compartments. In one he thought of what he was
+receiving; in the other of what he was giving. He had agreed to accept
+his fee for the burglary. The risk of the chase was not included in the
+bargain, therefore the risk lay with Eckhardt. It was up to Eckhardt to
+instruct the man he had engaged for the return journey how to get the
+car back to London. Since Conn was delivering the goods as promised, he
+had carried out his part of the agreement. Eckhardt never gave anything
+for nothing. Why should he?
+
+He found the boat lying near the steps of one of the docks, as he had
+expected, and he went on board. A seaman was swabbing the deck. He
+saluted Conn.
+
+"You're the gentleman from London we're waiting for, I suppose," he
+said. "I'm ready to move as soon as Mr. Eckhardt gets the clearance
+papers."
+
+"He can get them as quick as he likes for me," replied Conn with a
+smile. "I'm dog-tired. Show me where I can sleep."
+
+He was given a small, poky cabin, along one side of which was a berth.
+He shut the door, put his sack on a table, and turned in at once.
+
+He woke with the sunlight streaming through the porthole. He was
+conscious that he was not alone. A man was standing by his bunk.
+
+"Sorry to wake you, but I came to inquire about the garaging of Mr.
+Eckhardt's car."
+
+"All right, I know. What time is it? Nearly midday. I'll give you the
+receipt for the car. You're the one to take it back to London for
+Eckhardt, aren't you?"
+
+The man took the receipt, and was looking at it as Conn climbed to the
+floor, stifling a yawn.
+
+"I'll give you a tip, mate," Conn said suddenly. "Be careful on the
+return. I had a rough trip down, but I beat 'em."
+
+"Beat who?"
+
+"The cops. Oh, I'm not going back to London for a bit, I tell you.
+They laid broken beer-bottles on the road to stop me. One tyre was
+punctured, but I put on the spare wheel and got away. Then they chased
+me, so I built a pile of rock in the middle of the road, and their car
+charged it and blew up. We'd better get away. Isn't this boat moving
+yet?"
+
+"What's all the stuff in the sack?" asked the other.
+
+"That's the loot for Eckhardt----"
+
+Tommy Conn stopped and peered into the face of the stranger. Something
+in the man's eyes glimmered.
+
+"What's it got to do with you?" he challenged.
+
+"A lot. I am a police officer."
+
+Conn gasped, and fell back a pace.
+
+"Where's Eckhardt?" he cried. "Has he squealed?"
+
+"No, Eckhardt didn't squeal. But what you've just told me links things
+up."
+
+"Links what up?"
+
+"A few things that puzzled me. Last night I called here to request
+Eckhardt to come to the police station. We knew he had hired this boat.
+Instead of calling, he went ashore and hired a car to go inland. And
+then, when we found his own car garaged this morning----"
+
+"He's bolted! Saved his own skin!"
+
+"Well, he tried to save yours, evidently. The driver of the car
+Eckhardt hired tells me it was Eckhardt who strewed the broken bottles
+on the road."
+
+"What's this?" demanded Conn hoarsely.
+
+"The driver of the car has made a statement. He says Eckhardt was
+chasing his own car, trying to stop it from coming down. He must have
+been frightened by the request to call at the police station. He kept
+following his own car until they ran into the obstruction. Luckily the
+driver wasn't hurt, but Eckhardt was inside the vehicle and hadn't a
+chance. He was killed. As you've stated that you drove that car, you'll
+be charged with the affair. Your name is Cohen, isn't it?"
+
+"My name is Conn," gasped that individual. "I didn't guess--tell me,
+what were you charging Eckhardt with?"
+
+"We weren't charging him with anything," replied the officer. "We
+merely wanted him to sign the clearance papers to let this boat sail.
+Hold out your wrists. I advise you not to say anything until I have
+gone through this sack and examined the contents."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"And that," said the Governor, "was the reason Tommy Conn and Eckhardt
+were unable to help in the defence of Bill Hemsey, as it was also the
+reason for the sudden and desirable termination of the rivalry between
+Conn and his friend Billiter, the clever criminal who boasted that he
+always erected a perfect defence. Each, as I have said, was of the
+opinion that his own particular method was the best. Alas, is there
+ever a best in crime?"
+
+"Billiter seems to have proved it," said the visitor with a smile.
+
+"And yet," replied the Governor, "there is an answer to your theory
+even there. The answer will be found in the twelfth cell in the row.
+I have Joseph Billiter under lock and key at this moment, and I shall
+tell you at once how he arrived at that position."
+
+
+
+
+             THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE TWELFTH CELL
+
+
+I have already decided (continued the Governor), and I think you will
+agree with me, that Conn's place is among the Intelligents. But I am
+going to put Joseph Billiter into the class above that. He is certainly
+one of the Intellectuals. I have more than one reason for coming to
+this decision.
+
+Joseph Billiter was a student at one time at a public school. He was
+intended by his parents for one of the professions, but his whole
+inclinations were in the direction of engineering and mechanics. He
+went to one of the big universities, took honours in his examinations,
+and then came to London to seek a career. He became a teacher in a
+school demonstrating the sciences. At one of his lectures he stated
+that it was possible to defy any apparatus that civilisation had ever
+erected, or could erect, to protect itself against criminals.
+
+That lecture was widely quoted and commented upon. The result was that
+one of the biggest firms of safe-makers in the country offered to stake
+a certain sum of money that it was impossible to enter one of their
+safes within a given space of time. Frankly, I believe the offer was
+made in order to calm the unrest that had been caused in financial
+circles by Billiter's declaration. It was felt that his remarks might
+tempt the criminal fraternity to increase their activities, and,
+in any case, it was stated over more than one conference-table that
+Billiter had been most indiscreet in telling openly what had been
+feared privately. Really the blame, perhaps, ought to have been put on
+the newspapers who gave prominence to his challenge; but these things
+are so complicated, and their threads run under and about so many
+interests, that it is difficult to trace blame, or to define what a man
+may or may not declare.
+
+Briefly, then, it was admitted in inner circles that if what Joseph
+Billiter had said was true, it would be a bad thing for the safe-making
+industry; and, on the other hand, the safe-makers would not sit down
+to such a challenge, which meant loss of business and lack of faith
+in their wares. You observe how commerce is delicately balanced, and
+how even a lecture may cause a flutter in finance! At this stage the
+newspaper which had given most prominence to the lecture conceived
+the idea of staging a test. It was a great idea that came to the news
+editor of the journal in question. He was not a rich man.
+
+The safe-makers were approached. Joseph Billiter was approached. The
+test was arranged, but there was one condition imposed by all the
+clients of the safe-makers. These clients included firms on the Stock
+Exchange, jewellers in the West End, even banks in the city. They
+combined in protesting against the test unless it was made in secret.
+After many discussions this was agreed to. And all the readers of the
+newspaper ever heard of the affair, in spite of their optimism and
+their hope of seeing photographs of the scientist at work as a burglar,
+was a small paragraph which stated that the test had taken place and
+that its results were "satisfactory."
+
+The truth was that its results were satisfactory to only one of the
+parties. That one was Joseph Billiter. He had cut through the strongest
+safe made as if it were cheese.
+
+How had he done this? you may ask. Simply enough. It is a scientific
+fact that any safe made by heat can be destroyed by a greater heat. And
+after he had bored his way into that safe he gave the small company
+another lecture, in which he made one admission. It was to the effect
+that the only place that was burglar-proof was a specially built bank
+vault, and then it beat the average burglar because it had several
+doors and an outside gate, and to get through these required time.
+In reality, it was time that beat the criminal, not the actual vault
+itself.
+
+Now, the safe-breaker is certainly the most efficient of all criminals.
+One cannot be a safe-breaker unless one possesses patience, ingenuity,
+knowledge. Billiter demonstrated several methods. He used a powerful
+electric drill, operating it by tapping the cable in the building and
+showing how a modern burglar could thus add insult to injury if he knew
+his business. Then he used an oxy-acetylene burner. These burners give
+an intensity of heat of 3,000 degrees Centigrade--sufficient to cut
+through the hardest steel as if it were butter. The drawback to this
+method is the transportation of the oxygen and acetylene cylinders
+needed.
+
+There was, again, the dynamite and nitro-glycerine method which he
+showed, and he gave the spectators much information that was new even
+to the police, representatives of whom were also present. He showed
+how, by boiling several sticks of dynamite for a certain time, the
+"grease," as it is called in the profession, is prepared. This "grease"
+is actually the stuff used so that there will not be too much noise. It
+can be carried to the scene of operation in a bottle, and, after a hole
+is drilled in the safe, it is filled with this "grease," covered with
+soap, and a fuse is inserted.
+
+Joseph Billiter's demonstrations were very conclusive, and proved what
+the police have known for many years, namely, that the safe-breaker is
+the very top-notch man of crime. But success went to his head. He was
+still young, and he was very conceited, while he was very able. We do
+not know exactly what incident proved the downfall of Billiter. I fancy
+it was a woman, or women. It may have been wine, but that was not his
+failing originally. I seem to remember that he got tied up with a fast
+set up West, a set that frequented night-clubs and cabaret dancers'
+haunts. At any rate, he was discharged from his post. He did not get
+another.
+
+For a time he disappeared from this country. It was said that he went
+to America; but one thing is certain; when he was next heard of he had
+turned crook. It is more than likely that he adopted this profession
+when he was abroad, for he felt very bitter at his discharge, and
+constantly declared that if Society would not give him the opportunity
+to live he would have his revenge--a sort of Bolshevik theory of
+injustice and injury turned to rebellion.
+
+There were several safes burgled in and around London that caused
+the police to suspect a master craftsman such as he could be. He was
+shadowed, watched, suspected, but he was never caught red-handed. He
+always had an alibi, always a perfect defence. But everything pointed
+to suspicion of him. He married a girl who lived with crooks long
+before he became a criminal--that is, lived among them and knew their
+ways and their works. She was one of his assets.
+
+Carney, the detective whose duty it was to investigate these
+burglaries, was convinced that they were the work of Billiter and no
+other. This belief almost became an obsession. He tried time after time
+to catch Billiter. He had him questioned; he questioned the people who
+supported his alibis; he kept on his trail; but he was always defeated.
+Billiter never seemed to make a mistake.
+
+One evening Billiter went out on what he anticipated would be one of
+his best raids. It was a jeweller's shop within a hundred yards of
+Charing Cross. To see how he worked, let us observe him coming up from
+the cellar where the safe of his firm was kept.
+
+The job had been done, and Joseph Billiter crept up the stone steps.
+The goods he had stolen were in his pockets and in the special belt
+strapped round his waist. He had placed over a hundred gold watches in
+this belt, in little compartments, every one worth a considerable sum,
+for he never took cheap goods. In his pockets were pearls, pendants,
+rings, brooches, necklaces. Taking him as he stood he was, at that
+moment, worth a few thousands of pounds sterling.
+
+He closed the trap-door gently, and, stooping low, crossed the shop
+floor and made his way upstairs to the next storey. All was dark here.
+The single light which cast a dim glow through the shop on the ground
+floor had been his one danger, for from the street it was just possible
+that an inquiring policeman might peer through the slit in the iron
+shutter at exactly the moment Joseph was to be seen. Yet, even then, he
+would not have identified Billiter; but he would have raised an alarm.
+This passage from the cellar trap-door to the stairs leading aloft was
+the one risk Billiter faced.
+
+As will be understood, the opening of the safe was not, to such an
+expert craftsman as himself, a real risk. He had made no noise, and he
+wore rubber gloves, which were thin and did not hamper his fingers
+as ordinary gloves might. There was also another advantage of rubber
+gloves. Some of the owners of safes had lately taken to leaving live
+electric wires in positions so that a burglar might be tempted to grasp
+them, and get shocks that would throw him into a state of panic. It
+would not, of course, kill him; but to a man like Billiter all these
+things were child's play. He knew how to evade such traps as well as
+the best.
+
+Having negotiated the space between the cellar and the staircase,
+Billiter had still much farther to go. He never rushed. Standing in
+the darkness that enveloped the upper showroom and the offices of the
+firm, he listened intently. From the Strand came the distinct hum of
+taxicabs and the occasional scream of their hooters. The buses were
+thundering past. In a short time the streets would be crammed with the
+crowds coming from the theatres, and, by joining these crowds, Billiter
+had planned to make his escape without observation. For the present
+he was not merely listening to the traffic. He was anxious to hear if
+the policeman on the beat had seen him as he crossed the ground floor
+downstairs.
+
+He thought he had heard a footstep under the back window. He tiptoed
+over to the window-sill and peered down obliquely. Yes, there was
+someone underneath. Had the policeman been watching? He prepared for
+flight.
+
+Billiter was not afraid that he had been recognised, for he still wore
+the mask he had donned when he entered the premises. Nor was he afraid
+of being caught. His entrance had been by a way that was anything but
+direct. An ordinary burglar would have come into the shop by the back
+door, or by the side window. A very daring one might have bored his
+way through the wall from the premises next door, which were under
+repair at the time. But Joseph Billiter was not an ordinary burglar,
+even if he was a daring one. He had come to the store by a circuitous
+route, and he was making his exit the same way--a route that proved his
+superiority over usual methods.
+
+It was because he had entered in this round-about fashion that he did
+not fear capture. A policeman, seeing an intruder, would go to the back
+door; he would call a colleague or two, and they would block likely
+exits before they entered to search. But by that time Billiter would be
+gone, without leaving a single clue for them to follow.
+
+He moved back from the window and noiselessly opened a door that led
+to the top floor. He closed the door after him, locking it with one of
+his skeleton keys. He went up the narrow staircase without a sound. He
+was now in the workshop of the store, a small apartment in which were
+several benches, polishing wheels, and racks littered with the repair
+jobs of the firm. This room was really an attic, with one dormer window
+leading to the tiles. Billiter had left the dormer window open when he
+entered. He now made his exit by it, and pulled it down slowly as he
+lay with his feet braced against the coping-stone.
+
+He crawled for some distance along the coping on his hands and knees
+until he reached a flat roof, in the middle of which a square glass
+studio was built. He was now two doors away from the jewellery shop.
+Once more his long skeleton key went to work in the lock of the door.
+He slipped into the studio, once more locking the door behind him.
+
+He knew quite well where he was; he had studied every yard of the
+way he had travelled. He was just about to leave the studio by going
+downstairs when he stopped and drew back. Someone was coming up.
+
+He retreated behind a large piece of furniture and pulled a small
+revolver from his pocket. He had never used his gun on any of his
+burglarious expeditions, but he always carried it, nevertheless. He did
+not want to kill; but a gun was always handy to intimidate, to menace,
+to scare. He told himself that all he needed to do was to put the fear
+of death into whomsoever was coming up to the room, manœuvre towards
+the door, and dash out, locking it from the outside. It was a simple
+enough plan; such a one had served him previously. As he crouched
+behind the furniture the opposite door of the studio opened, there was
+a faint "click," and the room was flooded with light.
+
+"Put out that light!"
+
+Billiter's order whipped across the apartment like the crack of a whip.
+By the door stood a man in his shirt-sleeves, his hands wet, as if he
+had been washing them. Billiter slid from behind the piece of furniture.
+
+He knew the room quite well. He saw around the shelves were several
+bottles and jars; pictures were hung on the walls, large and small
+photographs. From the centre of the ceiling a large, powerful arc lamp
+was suspended, but this was not the light that was illuminating the
+studio. The arc lamp was controlled by a hanging pear-switch, the other
+by a switch on the wall next the door.
+
+The man in the shirt-sleeves was standing on the threshold, startled
+and hesitating. The sight of a masked burglar had, for the moment,
+unnerved him.
+
+"Put out that light!"
+
+This time Billiter's revolver was raised. The man obeyed instinctively,
+without a word; and as the light was extinguished another bored a small
+circle through the darkness and fell on the figure by the door. This
+second light came from an electric torch which Billiter held in his
+left hand.
+
+"What are you doing here?" demanded the man at the door. "This
+studio----"
+
+"Cut that out! Step over here and I won't harm you!"
+
+Billiter jerked his torch in the direction he wished the man to walk;
+but just then the other seemed to overcome his surprise and fright.
+He stooped, and raised the first thing that came to his hand and
+threw it with all his force at the gleaming torch. What he threw was
+inoffensive enough. It was a cushion taken from a chair near the door;
+but it caught Billiter full in the face, making him drop his torch and
+bringing an oath to his lips.
+
+"Don't move!" he cried swiftly. "If you make a step I'll shoot!"
+
+The warning halted the man by the door. He did not see, in the gloom,
+that his missile had torn the mask from Billiter's face just then; but
+he saw it a moment later, when Billiter stooped to regain his torch,
+the light of which, as he lifted it, suddenly flashed across his
+features.
+
+"Stand away from that door!" roared Billiter harshly.
+
+As he spoke he threw the torchlight full on the man once more, jerking
+it commandingly. He did not want to shoot, angry though he was. He knew
+the consequences of shooting, and he shrank from murder; besides, the
+noise of the shot might disturb others. Billiter was playing his game
+of bluff, of menace, confidently. He saw, by the changing expression on
+the man's face, that his mind was a prey to swift and changing emotions
+and ideas. But Billiter held the winning hand. If it came to a fight,
+he could always shoot; but he would shoot only to frighten.
+
+The man moved hesitatingly from the doorway. Billiter took a step
+towards it. It was like a game of draughts, each man taking a step,
+cat-like, watching his opponent, the one gliding towards the interior
+of the apartment, the other towards the exit.
+
+Suddenly the man seemed to lose his nerve, and ran forward to hide
+behind the heavy piece of furniture which was placed, easel-like, under
+the hanging arc lamp, and was covered by a dust sheet. Billiter knew
+then that he had won. The man was scared stiff. But a scared man may
+be dangerous, and as Billiter threw his torchlight on the spot he saw
+the man's hand go up as if to reach the pear-switch. Billiter aimed and
+fired at the hand.
+
+There was a smash of glass, a cry as one of the bottles on a distant
+shelf crashed down, and then a blinding flash filled the room. The
+glare made Billiter's eyes sting. He could no longer see things, but he
+dashed for the door, switching out his torch. He reached the door and
+closed it at his heels, and turned the key in the lock. Then he stood
+blinking in the darkness of the landing.
+
+"Some of his blinking chemicals," he muttered. "I hit his hand too.
+That will be a lesson to him not to try tricks. One thing, he never saw
+me properly, so he can't identify me."
+
+He went down the stairs, confident still, his eyes a little misty, but
+they soon cleared and he was able to see normally. He no longer feared
+pursuit, since he had locked the door behind him. He reached the ground
+floor, put his mask in his pocket, and went out.
+
+A few minutes later he was in the Strand, one of the crowd that was
+moving along. He was safe. All he had to do now was to present an alibi
+with which to face the police.
+
+He knew they would make inquiries. He knew Carney would come to see
+him, as he always came. The same old things would be said, the same old
+questions asked and answered. He had begun to laugh at the suspicions
+the police had of him. He had grown used to being suspected. But
+suspicion is one thing and evidence is another. He never gave them
+evidence.
+
+In this case he had worked with his usual caution and luck. He
+reflected, as he walked along, that he had just fired the shot in
+time. The intruder had hoped to throw his big light on him; perhaps he
+had intended to attack as soon as the studio was lit up. The shot had
+prevented this, as it had also prevented any chance of his own identity
+being discovered.
+
+It had taken Billiter some time to work out this burglary. First he had
+observed the position of the store. He had never dreamed of entering it
+by its own doorways. He had observed the premises on either side. One
+was a small teashop of the kind that provides light suppers and quick
+lunches. It remained open until after the theatres closed, so that
+entrance could not possibly be made that way.
+
+Billiter found his means on the other side of the store. Next door
+to the jeweller's was a sweet-shop, with offices above. Next the
+sweet-shop was an outfitter's, occupying two floors. The third floor
+was used as a photographic studio--one of the kind where passport
+portraits are turned out in a hurry. Because this studio was erected on
+a flat roof Billiter chose it as his line of advance.
+
+He had visited the place to get information, as he pretended, about
+prices; but as he held the assistant in conversation his eyes were on
+the flat roof beyond the glass studio. He found out when the premises
+closed at night. Then he made his raid.
+
+The appearance of the photographer just when Billiter was making his
+escape was but one of the incidents that could not have been foreseen,
+a risk that had always to be taken; and it was because he was aware
+of such unexpected possibilities that Billiter carried his revolver.
+Without it he would have no advantage over an antagonist--a fatal
+condition for one whose great problem was always escape.
+
+Billiter did not loiter in the Strand. He mounted a bus at Aldwych and
+rode on the top eastwards. Just beyond the limits of the City proper
+he got off, and hurried to the destination where he desired to dispose
+of his loot--the house of a receiver of stolen property. A price was
+offered and accepted, and Billiter received the hard cash he wanted.
+He knew that in a few hours the jewellery would be dissected, the gold
+would be in the melting-pot, and all traces would have vanished.
+
+Having thus dealt with the proceeds of the robbery, the next step
+was to provide an alibi with which to face the police, and especially
+Carney, the man-hunter whom Billiter hated (and perhaps feared a little
+too) more than any other. You see, Carney, if not brilliant, was
+dogged. He had looked up Billiter's career, and knew his descent, step
+by step. That descent was curious, for not only had Billiter adopted
+the manner of criminals; he had adopted the speech of the ordinary East
+End crook, whose mentality he despised and whose habits he loathed.
+Indeed, it appeared that he was not only at war with Society, but was
+also annoyed at his own failings and weaknesses.
+
+In the present instance he had taken Carney into his calculations as
+usual, and had made provision for the detective's moves. He found
+everything set as he anticipated when he reached home, which he entered
+just before midnight. His wife was preparing a late supper, and in the
+mean sitting-room were several acquaintances. They greeted his arrival
+with eagerness.
+
+"Everything all right?" asked his wife, a heavy-featured woman who had
+once been pretty.
+
+"Yes. What was the show like?"
+
+"Fair. We're newly home. Supper's ready."
+
+As they ate the meal, Billiter handed money to each. It was their pay,
+for they worked to his plans, ready to swear an alibi when asked.
+
+When his guests had gone, Billiter hid his tools and most of the money
+under the floorboards. His wife watched him curiously.
+
+"Sure everything's right, Joe?"
+
+"What's frightening you?"
+
+"Carney. The last time he was here he said he'd get you. He said you'd
+make a mistake some time."
+
+"Aw, Carney couldn't get me, nor anybody else, with the defence I've
+raised. Ain't we able to put forward plenty of witnesses? He wasn't
+on duty last night. I know his hours. Give me that half-ticket of the
+show."
+
+She handed over the torn portion of the entrance ticket to the theatre,
+which she had retained. He put it into his waistcoat pocket.
+
+"Ain't that proof?" he grinned. "Carney can't get over that. I'm going
+to bed. If he comes at all, he won't come before morning."
+
+His knowledge of police routine was sound; they had just finished
+breakfast, and Billiter was reading a newspaper, when a knock sounded
+on the door. Joseph glanced at his wife knowingly.
+
+"Let him in. I'll bet it's Carney."
+
+It was Carney, and with him was another man in plain clothes. They
+entered quietly, and Carney sat down on a chair facing Billiter.
+
+"There was a burglary in the Strand last night," he announced quietly.
+
+"I was just beginning to read about it in the paper," answered
+Billiter, glowering. "Go on, get the questions over. I know you've
+come to try to pin it on me."
+
+"It looks like your work, Billiter."
+
+"Aw, you've said that before about other things. It makes me tired. I
+suppose the cop on the beat saw a man, and you jumped to it that it was
+me, same as you have done before? And then I've to show you that it
+couldn't have been me. You've got a down on me, Carney, that's what."
+
+"The burglar last night got away with a lot of stuff," went on
+Carney, taking no notice of the indignation of Billiter. "He entered
+a jewellery store by crawling along the roof. As for the policeman on
+the beat, he didn't see anybody. But the burglar got clear away after
+shooting at a man who tried to stop him."
+
+"Humph!"
+
+Billiter was as cool as usual. He suppressed a smile. He had asked the
+question about the policeman on the beat as a feeler; he wanted to make
+sure if he had really been seen, or if he himself had guessed right in
+regard to the figure under the window in the yard. The answer relieved
+him immensely. He now knew that the figure under the window must have
+been that of the worker coming up to the studio.
+
+He folded the newspaper on his knees and faced Carney.
+
+"Well? Spit it out. You've been after me long enough."
+
+"I've always hoped to get you--you and your friends."
+
+"Keep on hoping, then."
+
+It was a jeer, but they knew each other well enough to dispense with
+formalities. The duel had begun again.
+
+Carney was a big man, heavy and rotund--a contrast to Billiter, who was
+wiry and agile. The detective seemed too deliberate for Billiter. He
+was on edge to get Carney away; he wanted to hurry the examination.
+
+"Have you come to prove that I did it?" he demanded.
+
+"Can you prove that you didn't?"
+
+"You bet. I'll give you an alibi that'll satisfy any magistrate."
+
+"In that case you will be able to tell me where you were between the
+hours of nine and eleven last evening. I'd like a statement."
+
+He made a motion to the plain-clothes man beside him, and the latter
+prepared to write in his note-book. Billiter felt amused. He had
+seen the same performance on previous occasions. It was always the
+same--questions and answers, then inquiries to prove the statements,
+and after that nothing happened. This time Billiter did not wait for
+the questions. He brought the torn theatre ticket from his waistcoat
+pocket and threw it on the table.
+
+"That'll tell you where I was."
+
+Carney looked at the ticket, examining it thoughtfully.
+
+"You were at this theatre?"
+
+"That's what I'm telling you. Some friends were with me. I'll give you
+their names, if you like."
+
+"We'll take them down right away."
+
+The plain-clothes man wrote the names and addresses down as Billiter
+gave them. The latter's wife stood behind the writer, biting her lip
+as she watched his pencil glide across the paper. Carney looked up and
+caught her eye.
+
+"Were you with your husband at the theatre?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," she snapped.
+
+Carney rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then turned to his colleague.
+
+"Better go along to these people right away and take their statements
+and signatures. Mrs. Billiter will go with you to direct you. And
+notify them to come to the station before midday."
+
+"Going to question them there?" snarled Billiter bitterly. "Maybe
+you'll want their finger-prints too. You officials give me a pain."
+
+He pulled out his pipe and began to fill it from a tobacco-jar held
+between his knees. His wife and the plain-clothes officer departed
+as he was striking a match. The first puff of smoke had just escaped
+Billiter's lips when Carney rose to his feet.
+
+"And now," he said, "I think you'd better be coming along."
+
+"Where to?"
+
+"The station."
+
+"Same old routine, Carney. I know all about it. I go there, and you
+write out a long rigmarole, and I sign. And then I walk out until the
+next time you get a hunch----"
+
+"Not this time, Billiter. You won't walk out this time."
+
+Billiter threw his match down with a gesture of protest.
+
+"You can't detain me," he cried. "You haven't got a charge, and I've
+given you a perfect alibi."
+
+"The alibi doesn't work on this occasion, Billiter. It is too perfect.
+Listen to me. The photographer's assistant who came back to the studio
+to develop some prints has given us a statement. The burglar tried
+to keep the studio in darkness so as to escape, but as he was making
+for the door he passed the screen usually used for portraits, and the
+assistant reached for the hanging switch that controls the camera."
+
+"Well?" cried Billiter.
+
+"The result was that a flashlight picture of the room was taken, and we
+have a portrait of the burglar with his mask down about his neck. Here
+it is."
+
+He threw on the table a large print, in which Joseph Billiter was shown
+in the very act of firing his revolver.
+
+"As for the alibi your friends helped you to make up," went on Carney,
+"I expected that defence, as usual, from you, but I'll rope them in on
+a charge of making false declarations. Now will you come quietly?"
+
+"I'll come," said Billiter hoarsely. "You've got me at last, Carney."
+
+And Carney marched him off.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Governor paused, and glanced at his visitor.
+
+"I daresay," he remarked, "you have noticed how events of importance
+sometimes have a way of treading on each other's heels, so to speak.
+It was while he was making arrangements at the police station for the
+disposal of Joseph Billiter that Carney came into touch with the last
+case that interested the celebrated Dr. Caffyn, criminologist and
+pathologist. It was he who had so often advanced his theory of a cure
+for murder----"
+
+"A cure?" interrupted the visitor.
+
+"That is what Dr. Caffyn called it. A case had just cropped up that
+enabled him to apply his tests finally in front of Carney, who, as
+you know, was opposed to theories. It was a curious case, and baffled
+investigators greatly."
+
+"Did Dr. Caffyn find a cure?" asked the visitor scornfully.
+
+"The best way to answer that question is to show you how Dr. Caffyn
+arrived at the answer; and this I intend to do right away."
+
+
+
+
+           THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE THIRTEENTH CELL
+
+
+Having refreshed himself from the glass at his elbow, the Governor
+then began the story of the occupant of the thirteenth cell, while his
+visitor, beyond a glance at the clock, made no attempt to interrupt.
+The fact was that the visitor found this eccentric prison official very
+entertaining.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There is no doubt (said the Governor) that, of all crimes, murder is
+at once the most interesting and the most repellent. On the average we
+have about one hundred and fifty every year in Britain, and, though
+this may seem a large number, it is small compared with the record of
+some American cities--Chicago, for instance--where the average is about
+one per day. We are also in the happier position, if you will allow
+me to say so--I speak from the point of view of a representative of
+the law--of having a much smaller number of murders unsolved. Indeed,
+there are very few in Britain that have not been brought home to the
+culprits----
+
+"I could name a few," cried the visitor triumphantly. "Since the year
+1912 there has been a growing list of undiscovered killers, and most of
+them were killers of women. Take the case, in 1919, of Mrs. Ridgley,
+of Hitchin; of Miss Nellie Rault, at Bedford, a few months later; of
+Nurse Shore in a Hastings train the following year; of Mrs. Buxton,
+at Chelsea, shortly afterwards; of Henrietta Weightman, at Bushey, in
+1921; of Miss Lawn, at Cambridge, and Violet Mansfield, at Farnham,
+both the same year; and there are others--Mrs. Luard, at Sevenoaks;
+Emily Dimmock at Camden Town, Lily Templeton at Brixton, a child named
+Bailes at the Elephant and Castle, the boy Willie Starchfield. There's
+a list to go on with."
+
+I realise (replied the Governor) that you have taken great interest in
+those crimes to have them so glibly on your tongue, but it may be that
+there were exceptional circumstances at work in those instances which
+you do not take into account. I do not claim that the police, and the
+law, are always flawless and that they are without failure. But what
+have you proved? That out of, say one hundred and fifty, one person
+has succeeded in escaping. I think you have even here over-estimated
+the chances of escape, slender though they are on your own showing;
+but if I were to give you proof of this I might incur the penalty of
+infringing the Act which binds Governors, as well as the humblest of
+prison staffs, to secrecy in certain matters. I am not saying that such
+an Act is good, or that it is bad. I am a servant and carry out my
+orders.
+
+As for those who have escaped, I could mention a dozen for your one
+of those who, by all the laws of chance and calculation, ought to
+have escaped, but did not. The man Bennett, who murdered his wife on
+Yarmouth sands a score or so years ago, was convicted because of a
+gold chain which he gave away to a girl in a moment of forgetfulness.
+Bodart, the Frenchman, who murdered a widow, was discovered because of
+the grease spot on his clothes, the dripping of a candle. The finding
+of a few brads was the cause of the conviction of a boot repairer named
+Lafargue, who murdered Madame du Bois. The famous Professor Webster
+was sent to the scaffold because he forgot that, while he might burn
+to ashes the body of his victim, Dr. Parkman, the latter's false teeth
+were made of a composition that resisted fire. Wainwright made a
+similar mistake when he tried to destroy traces of a murder by covering
+the body with chloride of lime, which preserves and does not destroy.
+The man who shot Mrs. Breaks at Blackpool had filed off the maker's
+name from the outside plate of the revolver, but did not know that the
+name was also printed on the backbone inside. A child's claim to the
+ownership of a toy lantern was the cause of Fowler being hanged for the
+Muswell Hill crime. In Buckinghamshire a cobweb on a man's shoulder
+took him to the condemned cell.
+
+And what shall we say of those would-be assassins who, though they have
+thought out their schemes, have either erred at the crucial moment, or
+have been caught by a simple, unforeseen circumstance? I could tell
+you of cases wherein it might seem that the intended victims have a
+charm against violent deaths. The present King of Spain, who has come
+to London quite often, has a private collection of relics of incidents
+where he was saved from the assassin's murderous intent. Many monarchs
+have likewise escaped. Only recently we have had the most prominent man
+of Italy telling his friends, after an attempt on his life, that it was
+useless for enemies to try to kill him. What a faith!
+
+All this, of course, leads us back to the primary question: Why do men
+commit murder? It was this question that Dr. Caffyn had considered for
+many years. As a matter of fact, Dr. Caffyn was writing a treatise on
+the subject when the ringing of his telephone bell interrupted his
+labours. Detective Carney was at the other end of the wire, telling him
+that a murder had been committed.
+
+Dr. Caffyn was a man of method, not one to be easily thrown from his
+well-trained habits; and he was training his only son, Dick, to walk in
+his own footsteps. Both father and son were fine specimens of men; both
+were surgeons, both were pathologists, but the son was sufficiently
+independent not to accept every theory put forward by the parent
+without himself being convinced of its accuracy.
+
+It was because he wished to put his theories to the test in front of
+his son that Dr. Caffyn was regretful that Richard was not present when
+the telephone message informed him of this new case.
+
+The first thing that Dr. Caffyn did after having received the message
+was to sit down again at his desk and add a few sentences to the
+treatise he was writing. The sentences seemed to be singularly
+appropriate. Here are the sentences which the doctor wrote on that
+occasion:
+
+"The answer to the question, why a man commits a murder, is to be found
+in the state of the man's mind. To understand this mental state we must
+analyse the mind's material counterpart--the brain. The problem becomes
+pathological. The lower forms of life are governed by instinct and
+rude emotion where self-control is practically absent. Self-control is
+gained by education."
+
+There Dr. Caffyn stopped. He then pressed an electric button on his
+desk and waited. The door of his study opened, and his man appeared on
+the threshold.
+
+"Jones, has Mr. Richard arrived yet?"
+
+"No, sir," replied the man, "but he is expected any minute for dinner."
+
+"I shall not be able to see him at dinner," said Dr. Caffyn, "but when
+he comes tell him that I hope to join him at the theatre. I am leaving
+a ticket for him in case I do not come back. There has been a murder
+and I am called away. You needn't wait up for us. We shall have supper
+in town. See that we are awakened early to-morrow, and that his things
+are packed. He is going to lecture at college to-morrow."
+
+The man bowed and withdrew.
+
+Dr. Caffyn fingered his watch-chain absently, his brows contracted. He
+had hoped to work much longer at the manuscript in development of his
+views on murder and the question of capital punishment. But he had to
+go where duty called, and in a few minutes he was walking rapidly along
+the street.
+
+Let me here point out that Dr. Caffyn had held for many years the
+position of perhaps the most famous pathologist in London. His
+knowledge was so great that he was retained by the authorities to aid
+them with his evidence. He had for years been on practically every kind
+of murder case as soon as the police. He had been called to examine
+murderers as well as their victims. At the trials his voice was the
+voice of authority. He was as steeped in the science of psychology in
+relation to crime as he was steeped in the pathological knowledge of
+it. To those who advocated the abolition of the death sentence Dr.
+Caffyn was an opponent whose scientific reasoning could not be answered.
+
+He was thinking of his manuscript when he reached the block of flats
+where this latest murder had been committed. It was a fashionable
+district, such as are becoming more and more common in London--blocks
+of flats with silent lifts to every floor and stairs carpeted with
+rich material. A policeman at the door saluted as Dr. Caffyn presented
+himself. He directed Dr. Caffyn to the flat where he was expected.
+
+The victim was a woman. She lay on her settee, her head thrown back and
+her rounded arms stretched limply over the upholstery. She had been a
+very pretty girl; was, indeed, still beautiful even in death. Her age
+was about twenty-five or twenty-six. A bullet had caught her square in
+the forehead.
+
+The weapon from which the bullet had been fired was in the hands of
+Carney, who stood on the other side of the settee. He was examining the
+revolver, which was one of service pattern.
+
+Dr. Caffyn returned the greeting of Detective Carney with a curt nod.
+He was more interested in the dead woman than in the weapon with which
+she had been killed. A few drops of red stained her golden shaded
+semi-evening gown, turning the colour of the fabric to a strange and
+fascinating hue. Beyond a smear of blood half hidden by her wealth of
+bobbed hair there was nothing to mar her beauty. She had bled inwardly
+and had died at once.
+
+"We thought it was suicide at first, sir," said Carney, "but the
+finding of this revolver on the rug and a man's glove puts that out of
+court. It's murder."
+
+Dr. Caffyn nodded and slipped his sensitive fingers along the wrist of
+the dead woman. It was merely a formal matter. Her pulse had stopped
+when the bullet cut short her young life.
+
+"She has been dead for about an hour," said the doctor quietly. "Yes,
+it is murder. The shot was fired from the chair on the other side of
+the fireplace."
+
+There were no signs of a struggle, no agonising contortions of the
+victim's features. Her eyes were open, almost wide. The blue pupils
+were slightly turned upward, and seemed to express mild surprise. There
+was a hint of a smile on the well-moulded features. Her lips were
+parted, showing heavy traces of lipstick. Her teeth were white and
+dazzling. There were rings on her fingers. On her feet were a pair of
+small, green slippers, half buried in a thick woollen rug in front of
+the gas fire, which was burning.
+
+There she lay, retaining her attractiveness, her pose suggesting the
+audacity and daring which even death could not subdue.
+
+"Who was she?" asked Dr. Caffyn.
+
+"An actress--a chorus girl. Gladys Crieff," replied Carney. "She lived
+in this flat with a maid. She was due at the theatre this evening. It
+was the maid who gave the alarm."
+
+Carney gave his replies shortly because he did not want the specialist
+to begin theorising. He wanted to get on with the hunt for the
+criminal. He distrusted the intricacies of psychology and the
+conclusions of pathology. He got his men by team work, by inquiry, by
+elimination; which was the recognised method of the police.
+
+"It is a _crime passionnel_, some love affair that has ended
+disastrously, I suspect," said the doctor. "I fancy you will find it
+so, Carney."
+
+The officer was a little nettled at the swift conclusion.
+
+"I'm not sure of that, sir. It may be that burglary is the cause. Of
+course, this girl could not afford to keep up a flat on her own. Chorus
+girls can't. But she was not an ordinary chorus girl. She had played
+parts, and was waiting to get a leading one in a new show."
+
+"You know her, then?"
+
+"Oh, no. The maid told me, and I verified it on the telephone. Of
+course, I didn't spill the news that she was dead. Then there is
+something else. The maid says that this girl had a very expensive
+necklace and was intending to wear it to-night at the theatre. The case
+is here, but the necklace has gone. And I found a small gold watch on
+the staircase, which the murderer must have dropped on his way down.
+Further, a locket which she had round her neck lay on the settee beside
+her. The chain was broken as if it had been snatched from her. A tiny
+fragment of a photograph remained in the locket."
+
+"Then you have nothing very substantial as a clue?"
+
+"Oh, we'll manage on what we have, Dr. Caffyn. The maid, whom I have
+questioned, is a new one, and did not see the visitor--she was out
+shopping; but she says that when she returned she heard voices in the
+room, one of them being a man's. The maid had to go out again, but
+before she went out she listened, as maids do. She heard the man say
+that this dead girl would never belong to anyone but him. And this dead
+girl seemed to be soothing his temper."
+
+"Then the maid did not see the man?"
+
+"No, she had to go out again. When she came back the door was open and
+she saw--this. I examined the stairs and found a glove. The man left
+that. It is a rubber glove. There isn't a finger-print anywhere."
+
+"What about the revolver, Carney?"
+
+"A common service one. No prints on it."
+
+Dr. Caffyn was silent for a moment, looking at the dead woman. Her
+beauty was not the beauty of an intellectual woman. It was the beauty
+of physique.
+
+"Had she many friends, Carney?"
+
+"You mean men? They generally have. She was to be married soon, I know
+that. If she had other friends I'll soon round them up."
+
+"Not a vampire, then?"
+
+"Most likely a butterfly, sir."
+
+Dr. Caffyn looked at his watch and began to button his coat.
+
+"When you find the murderer, Carney, I should like to see him as well,
+for observation. There are points of similarity in all murders which I
+have noticed. This man, I suspect, is some poor, unbalanced individual
+whose brain has been overturned by a flood of jealousy. That is, if he
+was the girl's friend. If he was a common burglar, he must also be a
+degenerate. Only such an one would kill a woman. A hidden hereditary
+instinct suddenly flashed out, and he shot her. Lack of self-control.
+Lack of the necessary education. Don't you think so?"
+
+"I don't worry about that. He shot her, and I have to get him. To my
+thinking, education has little to do with murder."
+
+Dr. Caffyn raised his head and gazed piercingly at the detective who
+had dared to challenge his theories.
+
+"Ah," he said, "I fancy you will agree with me later, Carney. In the
+meantime, if you have completed your examination, the body may be
+removed. I shall attend the mortuary later and let you have my report
+to-night."
+
+"Very good, doctor."
+
+Dr. Caffyn went out.
+
+It was too late to return to his home for dinner and too early to go to
+the theatre, so he decided to dine at his club.
+
+He dined alone, as was his custom at the club. He had a favourite seat
+by the window, and there he sat apart thinking over the crime. It
+seemed to prove to him once again that there was a cure for murder,
+just as there was a penalty for it.
+
+So absorbed was he in his reflections that he sat longer than he
+intended; but he decided to go and see one act of the play before
+returning to the mortuary and making the examination so that his
+report would be accurate. A great deal depended on his report. The
+counsel for the accused would scrutinise his wording, searching for a
+loose expression or a hesitating phrase. He would be in the witness-box
+to be questioned and to explain the nature and cause of death. From the
+witness-box he would see the prisoner in the dock.
+
+Dr. Caffyn smiled grimly as he thought of this. It was interesting to
+him to note the expressions on the faces of prisoners while he gave his
+medical testimony. He watched their varying emotions, the functioning
+of their brains, as he destroyed the hypotheses which the defending
+counsel laboured to erect. As a scientist, Dr. Caffyn was never
+embarrassed by the frightfulness of crime. His interest was in studying
+the men who had committed the crimes. He studied them in their cells,
+from his stand in the witness-box, when they waited for the verdict;
+and he had given certificates of their deaths when they had paid the
+penalty.
+
+A taxicab drove him quickly to the theatre, where he met his son
+Richard. It was in the middle of an act when he arrived, but he did not
+hesitate to make his way to the empty stall. He and Richard nodded to
+each other, and then they turned to watch the play.
+
+Richard Caffyn was one of the rising young surgeons of the day, heading
+straight for a fame, as his colleagues agreed, that would make history
+in his profession. But, then, he had his father at his back, a father
+who was very proud of his son.
+
+When the curtain fell at the end of the act they sauntered out to the
+corridor to enjoy cigarettes. They had reached the doorway when a voice
+spoke at the father's elbow.
+
+"Sorry to bother you, doctor, but have you finished the examination?"
+
+Dr. Caffyn turned to see Carney at his side.
+
+"Not yet, Carney, but I'll give you the report to-night. I want you to
+meet my son Richard. I think you have heard of him."
+
+Carney shook hands with the young man, and they continued towards the
+bar. They sat down on a couch facing the counter.
+
+"Found your degenerate yet, Carney?" asked Dr. Caffyn.
+
+"Not yet, sir, but I'm hoping."
+
+The doctor turned to his son and explained the case in a few sentences.
+
+"Do you know, Dick," he said smilingly, "Carney is too polite to say
+he doesn't agree with me, but I know he holds antagonistic theories to
+mine generally. But that, I fancy, comes of the discipline and routine
+of police methods. I was telling him that undoubtedly all murderers are
+degenerates. Look here, Carney, when you are hunting a man, one of the
+best rules is to get at what makes him a criminal--for the time being,
+of course."
+
+"Well, sir," replied Carney, "I have had some experience in hunting
+men, and I find all sorts of things make them bad; especially
+murderers. Fear, hate, love, lust, selfishness, greed--these are some,
+but there are others."
+
+"I agree, and yet I have a notion that a cure for murder may be found."
+
+"A cure?"
+
+"Yes, a cure. Dick, my boy, you know my theories. Now, take this murder
+to-night. I told Jones to tell you why I had been called away----"
+
+"He told me," replied Dick, who was looking absently towards the bar
+and listening to the orchestra. "Have you been trying to convert Carney
+to your point of view?"
+
+"I have, but it takes some doing. Let us go into it again, Carney. The
+reasons you have named are but the forces that convert the thought of
+murder into the act. We must get behind that. The murder-plan has its
+origin in pathology in most cases. In a few one finds it in psychology."
+
+"We do not deal in these sciences when we are after a man," said Carney
+doggedly.
+
+"Perhaps not. You represent the material side. I represent the other.
+Yet it is material in the end. The mind governs the brain. We have two
+brains, an upper and a lower. The upper functions in thought. The lower
+functions in emotions and instincts which require no thought. This
+lower brain is in every animal that has a skull. It is this brain which
+functions when men commit murder. Civilisation has developed the upper
+brain; and murderers are men whose upper brain is primitive. That is
+what I mean by a degenerate."
+
+"Does it matter much?" asked Carney.
+
+"It matters a great deal. It supplies the key to the great mystery as
+to why men commit murder."
+
+"How about your cure?"
+
+"Ah, the cure. It is pathological."
+
+The bell above the bar buzzed, signalling that the curtain was about to
+rise again, but the three men did not take notice of it.
+
+"I'm not sure, father," said Richard Caffyn, "that I don't find sound
+sense in what Detective Carney says. Pathology can only apply to
+habitual criminals. Spasmodic acts are outside rules."
+
+The detective glanced at Dick and nodded.
+
+"My job is to get my man," he persisted. "I don't think we shall ever
+find a cure for murder, with all respect to your father's knowledge."
+
+"Tut, tut," cried Dr. Caffyn. "There you are again, ignoring all I
+desire you to observe! Pathology is the science of the nature, cause,
+and remedy of disease. Murder is disease. It is degeneracy. The causes
+of degeneracy are several--among which are debauchery, depravity,
+poverty."
+
+"Murderers are not always poor men," said the detective.
+
+"No, but they are always degenerates. They have reverted to the
+primitive type. The animalism of their forebears clings to them. Dick,
+you and I have talked this over----"
+
+"That is true, father, but still there is a lot in what the detective
+says. I cannot always agree with you, as you know. Let me put it this
+way."
+
+He turned and spread out his hand as if he were delivering a lecture at
+his hospital.
+
+"There are such things as uncontrollable impulses. Take the case
+of a mother who sacrifices herself to save her child. She does not
+think. It is her lower brain that is working--her instinct. She is not
+responsible, really, for the act, yet she is heroic----"
+
+"But, Dick----"
+
+"Wait a moment, father. I am trying to show that there is a force, or
+forces, against which we cannot fight. Pathology does not enter here.
+Psychology may. In any case, the law does not take much note of either,
+as Carney says. I could put up a good case for impulsive acts arising
+from instinctive and automatic feelings. Is a man responsible when
+urged to act under a wave of extreme emotion?"
+
+"The law says," replied Carney, "that acts are irresponsible only when
+a person does not know the nature or quality of those acts."
+
+"In that case, the best plan would be for a defence to put forward a
+suggestion of insanity. The truth is we are hard put to it to define
+responsibility. It is a tangle of conflicting emotions."
+
+He yawned and strolled towards the bar to get a match for his cigarette.
+
+"Dick will come round to my view after he has had experience," said the
+doctor to Carney, "and so will you. At present he does not distinguish
+between compulsive acts and obsessions, which are two different terms.
+They do not affect the result, however. Heredity--there you find the
+reason for most cases of degeneration. If we admit such arguments as my
+son has put forward we might as well abolish the death penalty."
+
+"As for me," retorted Carney, "I have seen cases where the death
+penalty might have been better set aside--and I say that though I
+brought such men to the cells."
+
+"There may be cases of persons who are utterly insane--raving
+lunatics--but for the others of man-kind the one law must remain.
+Society must be protected. I commend these views to you in the course
+of your labours--for instance, in the case of this girl who was shot
+this evening."
+
+Detective Carney was silent for a few moments.
+
+"What was your cure, doctor?" he asked quietly.
+
+"My cure for murder lies in the future generations. If a man commits a
+murder there is no proof that he may not commit another. There is only
+one way to deal with him. He must be removed--painlessly if you like,
+but effectively."
+
+The detective did not answer, and seemed to be pondering the
+standpoint of the specialist. The doctor went on.
+
+"If we remove evil environment and substitute education for ignorance
+we shall have no more murders. That is a pathological fact, and when
+you have found your man in this case----"
+
+"We'll find him, sir."
+
+"Very well. When the trial comes off I shall certainly use all my
+influence to oppose the torrent of sympathy which seems to go out at
+every recent case towards the criminal in this country. Think of the
+dead girl! Is it safe for the community that a man who deliberately
+took her life should live? Is it wise that he should be kept alive?"
+
+"Well, there may be the plea of insanity----"
+
+"Bah, that has become a common plea! Murder by a proved maniac is an
+exception to the general rule. You know that as well as I do. The only
+safe cure for murder is to send the guilty into oblivion and educate
+the community."
+
+Detective Carney got to his feet, gnawing at his moustache. He had
+spent more time than he had expected.
+
+"Are you going to remain until the play is over, sir?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, that report!"
+
+"I really wanted to suggest, sir, that if you could let us have it
+immediately we should be obliged. I could get a taxi for you, right
+away. I was asked to see you about it and to suggest----"
+
+Dr. Caffyn sighed and nodded. He was a slave to duty.
+
+"Very well. I'll have the taxi. Shall I dismiss it at the mortuary?"
+
+"Why, sir, you could just keep it and bring your report to the station,
+where it is expected. I may be there when you arrive, as I have a call
+to make on this case."
+
+"All right, I'll tell my son."
+
+He went out with Carney, and the latter obtained a cab and sent the
+doctor off. As he rode to the mortuary, the doctor wondered if he had
+been wasting his breath on Carney; he was, at least, sure that the
+detective did not fully appreciate all he had been saying.
+
+The examination of the victim at the mortuary was not lengthy. When it
+was over Dr. Caffyn made his notes and ordered the driver to hurry to
+the police station.
+
+As he entered the reception-room, he saw Detective Carney standing with
+his back to the fire. A frown was on Carney's face.
+
+"There is the report, Carney," said the doctor. "What are you worried
+about? Have you been thinking over what I told you, or have you failed
+to get your man?"
+
+"We have got him, sir," replied Carney, coughing.
+
+"Got him? Congratulations. A degenerate, I'll wager, as I said. May
+I have a look at him--just a look, or a word, maybe, to support my
+theory? You promised."
+
+The detective nodded and led the way to the cells. As he was about to
+put the key into a door, the surgeon touched him on the shoulder.
+
+"A _crime passionnel_--and a primitive brain, I suppose? Or perhaps a
+burglar of the base type?"
+
+"He has written a confession," said Carney, without looking at the
+doctor. "He shot her because she threw him over for another man."
+
+He swung the door open. The prisoner, his face buried in his hands, was
+huddled in a corner of the cell.
+
+He raised a haggard countenance to the visitors.
+
+Dr. Caffyn looked into the face of his son.
+
+
+
+
+           THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FOURTEENTH CELL
+
+
+The visitor looked at the clock once more.
+
+"Don't you think," he said in a grave tone, "that in the recital of
+these stories, which I confess are full of interest and are the best I
+have ever heard, you are losing sight of the reason of my presence?"
+
+"Not at all. I have kept that constantly before me, I assure you,"
+smiled the Governor. "But to a man in my position the great matter is
+to cram into the limited time at his disposal as much of the work he
+most desires done before----"
+
+He stopped, and the visitor interpreted the wave of hand which the
+Governor made.
+
+"I understand," said the visitor. "To tell the truth, I shall not
+relish the business of killing you, but if you leave me no alternative,
+what can I do? I merely point out that time is slipping past rapidly.
+It is now some time after dawn--a while after, in fact. The limit I set
+you is within measurable distance."
+
+"Alas," said the Governor, "how true it is that time waits for no man!
+Let me repeat that I had for my object the desire to prove to you that
+criminals make mistakes in practically all cases. I have shown you how,
+in a selection of the most carefully planned and deliberately executed
+crimes, the unforeseen something gave the law-breakers away. But did
+you notice, in the case of the story I have just ended, that there is
+one point left in the air, so to speak--one item unexplained?"
+
+"I fancy I did. You mentioned that a necklace was missing from that
+chorus girl's flat. You did not say if young Caffyn had taken it. I
+thought it must have been one of his presents."
+
+The Governor shook his head.
+
+"I have the greatest pleasure in congratulating you on your
+observance," he said pleasantly. "The item I was compelled to leave
+unexplained was the disappearance of the necklace. Richard Caffyn did
+not take it, and the police hunted high and low for it. As a matter of
+fact, it had been stolen by Alfred Mushet."
+
+"Who is Alfred Mushet?" asked the visitor.
+
+"He is at present in the fourteenth cell, and he is there because he
+made one of the most curious mistakes ever heard of in crime. And
+so, though I observe that you are inclined to be impatient--which I
+perfectly understand--I do, in the words of the charming Scheherazade
+whose example I am following, humbly entreat you to listen to the queer
+history of Alfred Mushet. I promise that the time will not be wasted."
+
+The Governor then began in these terms:
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+One day, some weeks after the tragic death of Gladys Crieff, the
+actress, Alfred Mushet stood in the shop of Abe Hartz, a little
+be-spectacled Jew in the East End. Mushet was in a temper, and he did
+not disguise it.
+
+"It is no good denying anything," he cried fiercely. "You can't deny
+it. I left my attaché-case with you yesterday. You promised to look
+after it until I came back. Just you hand it over."
+
+"You 'ave called me many names without letting me eggsplain," answered
+Hartz mildly, as he clawed at his beard and gazed innocently through
+his thick spectacles. "It was not me that you gif your case to. You
+mus' come back."
+
+"I want it now, you old crook! I'm in a hurry. Don't finger your
+spectacles, but get a move on and look for my attaché-case!"
+
+"But I cannot see without my spectacles," smiled Hartz. "And even with
+them I cannot see your case. Go away and then come back----"
+
+"I will not come back. You hand the case over, or you'll be sorry."
+
+"But, my dear sir----"
+
+"Don't 'dear sir' me. I know your kind. And don't try any tricks with
+me."
+
+Hartz raised his hands and waved them in indignation.
+
+"What for it is that you insult me? If you think I want your case, you
+bring in a policeman, and to him I shall eggsplain----"
+
+"I don't need any cop to settle with you," flared Mushet. "I know why
+you are keeping it. I'll fix you for that, you dirty little Yid."
+
+And he picked up a counter weight and flung it at Hartz's head as he
+left the shop.
+
+He walked along the street biting his finger-nails and fuming
+internally.
+
+There is no doubt that Alfred Mushet was in an awkward predicament.
+In the attaché-case was the necklace which the police were seeking
+throughout London. How he had taken it was simple enough. He had been
+in the pit of the theatre one night and had seen it on the neck of
+Gladys Crieff, and he had made up his mind to steal it; and, by a
+remarkable chance, he had gone to the flat at the very time that Gladys
+Crieff was alone, waiting for the visit of Richard Caffyn. All this
+came out afterwards, of course.
+
+Mushet had watched the flat carefully. He had seen the maid go out on
+her shopping expedition. He had seen Richard Caffyn go up to the flat,
+and he had seen Caffyn leave. He followed at once, intending to make
+his raid. He had a skeleton key with which to open the door, but he had
+no need to use it. The door, as I have already mentioned, was open when
+the maid returned from her second shopping expedition. Caffyn had left
+it open, and Alfred Mushet had, between the departure of Caffyn and the
+return of the maid, entered and secured the necklace.
+
+He had seen the actress lying on the settee in front of the
+sitting-room fire. But he had thought she was resting, and he did
+not enter that room. He had found the necklace in the jewel-case on
+the dressing-table in the bedroom. It was a case of a swift raid and
+flight. I don't suppose it would have made any difference to him had he
+known that the girl was dead.
+
+But, once he had the necklace, he found that it was a difficult thing
+to hide. The police were seeking it everywhere. No dealer would handle
+it; no receiver would look at it until the hue and cry had died down.
+From place to place Mushet had taken it with him until he had borrowed
+enough money to take a run over to the Continent. But when he was
+getting his passport and making his arrangements he could not always
+carry the necklace in his possession, lest the police took it into
+their heads to suspect him. For this reason he had placed the necklace,
+inside the attaché-case, in the keeping of Hartz. He chose Hartz's
+place because Hartz did a quite respectable business in the pawnbroking
+line, and Mushet had pawned his watch and had asked Hartz to keep his
+case until he called for it the next day or so.
+
+It was a small shop in a mean thoroughfare. Above the door was the
+one word, _Hartz_, in faded letters, and the three golden globes that
+proclaimed the kind of business transacted. Mushet had never been
+across the threshold until he entered to sell his watch and leave his
+case. And now, having secured his passport, and with his ticket already
+purchased, he was held up because Hartz pretended that he could not
+find the case. It was a very annoying situation.
+
+Alfred Mushet had reckoned to be in Paris that night, and the more he
+thought over the situation the more he came to the conclusion that
+Hartz was trying on a piece of bluff. The barefaced way that Hartz had
+denied having received the case was exasperating. Mushet saw through
+the whole thing. The old rascal had opened the case, had seen the
+necklace, and had recognised it, and was either keeping it, or intended
+to hand it over to the police for the sake of the reward that had been
+offered for its recovery. Yes, Hartz was a wily one!
+
+If Hartz had been a regular receiver of stolen property, Mushet would
+have handled him differently than by merely threatening him; but
+Hartz was not a receiver. He was a hard old man who loaned money and
+bargained with all the cunning of his race. He had no friends locally.
+He was available for business at any hour. It was said that he never
+slept; he was always the same when his door bell rang. He was too mean,
+the neighbours declared, to leave his shop on any pretext. If he ever
+went to bed, he must have gone with his clothes on, for at every hour
+he was ready to answer a summons without delay.
+
+Mushet knew that Hartz had this reputation. He knew that Hartz was
+sneered at, and derided, by those who borrowed from him or pawned
+their goods with him--a sort of Ishmael in the wilderness of London.
+
+Mushet had lodgings in the street from which he could see the shop; and
+he ground his teeth as he marched along trying to find a plan by which
+he could compel Hartz to disgorge the swag.
+
+Now, Mushet was a clever man in his way. He had started life as a
+chemist's assistant, having been given this chance by a friendly
+chemist who took an interest in the welfare of needy boys. Mushet
+had learned a great deal in the shop; but he had turned out a bad
+speculation, for he had robbed his employer and had been sent to
+prison. After that he no longer tried to redeem his lost character.
+Prison had taught him one thing--the advantage of waiting and planning.
+He was clever enough to see that if one acted on the spur of a moment
+the results might be disastrous. It may have been that his life as a
+chemist's assistant had taught him much in this way also, for he had
+been sent to school where he had learned Latin, and had reached the
+stage where he could dispense prescriptions. This requires care and
+concentration.
+
+The more he thought of Hartz the more he felt a terrible desire for
+revenge. Hartz had taunted him with the suggestion that he could
+fetch the police in order to "eggsplain" the situation. That taunt
+rankled. It was very obvious, of course, that Mushet dared not fetch
+a policeman. To prove that any case was his he would be compelled
+to state the contents. To state the contents would send him to the
+criminal dock.
+
+He smiled grimly the more he considered the audaciously simple way by
+which Hartz had drawn his prize from him; and when Alfred Mushet smiled
+in that way there was cruelty in his expression--ice-cold ferocity as
+relentless as it was deep.
+
+Taking a bus to Hyde Park Corner, he entered the Park and sat down to
+think it out. There was one point that troubled him. Was it possible
+that Hartz had already handed over the attaché-case to the police? Was
+Hartz in league with the police? Or was the case still in the shop? As
+he sat in Hyde Park, there came to Alfred Mushet an idea whereby he
+could find out this and also exact a nice revenge on Hartz.
+
+It was late when he left Hyde Park and made his way to his lodgings.
+He did not wait there long--just long enough to secure a pair of
+rubber gloves, a new pair--for it was one of his that had been found
+at the flat of Gladys Crieff--a few tools, three small phials, and
+a flashlamp. Having put these into his pockets, he started out for
+Hartz's shop.
+
+It was quite dark, and the street was fairly quiet. To enter the shop
+was an easy job for Alfred Mushet. He was used to taking risks, to
+cutting out glass and sawing off locks. He did not require much energy
+to get into the little pawnbroker's place. Everything seemed to be
+in his favour. In the yard at the back of the shop there was a back
+window to the premises. Mushet tore the catch off the rotten sash and
+pushed the window up without noise. He stepped inside.
+
+His first precaution was to pull down the blind. He was in the back
+shop, and it looked like a lumber-room. The edge of a large safe peeped
+out from a litter of old clothes, parcels, boots, all kinds of goods
+thrown around. On the shelves were more articles, crammed together
+without care or any semblance of order.
+
+Between the front shop and the back was a narrow staircase, uncarpeted
+and dusty. It was up there that Hartz lived; but Mushet did not intend
+to disturb him. He was bent on other work. He was searching for the
+attaché-case.
+
+Into the front shop he stepped gingerly, his flashlamp shedding its ray
+over the counter and the shelves. He searched everywhere--under the
+counter, among the piles of goods on the shelves, behind the shelves.
+He drew blank. The back room was still to explore. He returned to it,
+and was on the point of stepping over a heap of goods on the floor
+when a board creaked on the stair. Mushet stiffened suddenly and
+extinguished his flashlamp.
+
+Another board creaked. Someone was coming down the stairs. A glimmer
+of light flickered from the narrow opening between the two rooms. Next
+moment the figure of Hartz appeared.
+
+He was clad in his shirt and trousers, and above his head he held a
+candle. He looked the queerest figure imaginable as he stood on the
+bottom step, clawing at his beard and peering about like a hawk,
+startled and suspicious. His large round spectacles glinted as the
+glass caught the light of the candle. He did not see Mushet, who had
+drawn himself close to the wall behind the heap of goods; but Mushet
+saw him, and acted at once.
+
+He bounded forward and threw his arms round the man's neck, dragging
+him to the ground and pressing his throat so that he could not utter a
+sound. The candle dropped to the floor and the flame was extinguished.
+Hartz's spectacles were knocked off in the attack, but he had a
+resistance that surprised Mushet. It was the hysterical strength of an
+old man.
+
+Mushet held him down, nevertheless.
+
+"Lie still," he commanded.
+
+"My spectacles! My spectacles!" cried Hartz. "I cannot see."
+
+"I don't want you to see," answered Mushet. "I knocked them off on
+purpose."
+
+"A burglar, is it?" gasped Hartz. "But you will find nothing! I am
+poor. You are killing me."
+
+Mushet released the pressure on Hartz and rose to his feet. He believed
+he had frightened Hartz, but, as soon as his grip was loosened, the
+latter threw his hands out and clutched Mushet by the shoulders.
+
+"I know you! Your voice! You are the one who came for an attaché-case
+and would not let me eggsplain. Help! Help! Robbers!"
+
+It was the worst thing that Hartz could have done, but he was
+frightfully afraid, and his nerves were all to pieces. Mushet gave
+him no chance to repeat the cry for help. They fought it out in the
+darkness.
+
+It was an unequal fight. But Mushet was desperate, since he had been
+recognised. It was a brutal fight. It ended when Mushet struck Hartz
+with all his force above the heart. Hartz dropped, and lay still.
+
+Mushet found his flashlight, which had been lost in the struggle, and
+pressed the trigger. He saw that Hartz was dead, or, rather, he tried
+not to believe it. He had never killed anyone, though he had been in
+fights; and it seemed unbelievable that a man should die from a blow.
+And then, as he looked down at Hartz and remembered how he had struck
+him, the truth penetrated his brain. It is comparatively easy to kill a
+man with a blow on the heart when the victim is being pressed against a
+wall and half strangled as well.
+
+And now, out of the medley of emotions that surged up within Mushet,
+there emerged the clear need for keeping his head. The death of Hartz
+shocked him, but he still saw how he could get clear away. All he had
+to do was to carry out the scheme he had come to execute.
+
+Mushet did not see, of course, that he was just then proving what
+criminologists have always held. One crime must take place to cover
+another, until it ends in the grand climax. That is the usual way,
+according to theorists; but Mushet now unconsciously began to work
+that theory backwards. With the death of Hartz events must be made to
+resolve themselves into their original unsuspicious parts. By carrying
+out his original plan he could cover the greater crime.
+
+He let Hartz lie as he had fallen, and set about taking what was worth
+stealing. There was not much--mostly trinkets and old things that would
+fetch a small sum. Mushet took his choice.
+
+He next attacked the large safe in the back room. It was a tough safe,
+but he used a chemical from one of the phials in his pocket, and the
+liquid bit deep into the metal and softened it for his tools. But when
+at last he swung the heavy door open he found that the safe contained
+only a cash-book, deeds, and documents connected with loans. This
+proved to Mushet that Hartz had handed the necklace over to the police.
+
+The time he had spent on the safe had been wasted. He had been over
+an hour on the premises, and he must leave quickly. But before he
+left he laid the most cunning plan to cover his tracks that could be
+conceived. His chemical knowledge prompted it.
+
+He returned to the front shop and found the electric bell, operated
+by the front-door bell-push. With a screwdriver he took off the bell
+and balanced in its place a thin phial. This phial contained sulphuric
+acid. Then he went upstairs to the living-room and returned with a cup.
+Into this cup he poured some sugar and chloride of potassium. He fixed
+the cup under the phial of sulphuric acid; and around it, leading to
+the floor, he placed some inflammable material. He had not intended to
+do this so elaborately, but, now that Hartz was dead, he took his time.
+The idea was a masterpiece.
+
+This is how he had planned. When the button of the door-bell was
+pressed the hammer would be thrown on the phial of acid. The thin glass
+would break, the acid would fall on the contents of the cup, and a
+flame would arise sufficient to set alight the material surrounding it.
+The fire would destroy any clue of an intruder's presence. It would
+do more. It would also supply a reason for Hartz being found lying in
+his shop--if he was found at all. What theory was more likely than
+that Hartz, being awakened by a fire, had hurried downstairs? Without
+his spectacles, he had fallen. Or even with them; it did not matter.
+Accidental death! And if the fire got a good hold, there would be no
+need for any theory at all!
+
+Having set everything in proper working order, Alfred Mushet left the
+premises as he had entered them. It was now the small hours of the
+morning. He sauntered past the front door of the pawnshop and pressed
+the bell. He listened intently. He peered through the window. He saw
+a tiny flame spring up in the depths of the shop. He went home to his
+lodgings.
+
+A few hours later, as he lay in bed, he heard a commotion in the
+street. Voices were shouting; a policeman's whistle was sounding.
+People were throwing up their windows. Mushet was knocked up by his
+landlady. She called that there was a fire. Alfred Mushet leaped from
+his bed and dressed. It was now dawn, and getting lighter every minute.
+
+Mushet joined the people who crowded to their doors to see the
+fire-engine when it arrived. The premises of Hartz, the pawnbroker,
+were blazing. To Mushet there came a great satisfaction, for he knew
+that by thus getting rid of Hartz he had taken from the police the only
+witness who could accuse him of having handed over the attaché-case
+containing the necklace. Thus he had preserved his freedom.
+
+A crowd stood in front of the burning shop, and Mushet strolled down
+to watch. A fire-escape came at last with a rattle as the flames burst
+from the windows and the door fell inward. Mushet pushed his way to the
+front of the crowd. The excitement was intense.
+
+"There's someone inside! There's someone inside!"
+
+The word was taken up and repeated on all hands, but Mushet did not
+listen to the babble, for he knew better. Hartz was dead. A strange
+exhilaration filled Mushet as he watched the flames gain hold of the
+ramshackle place. He wanted to fan the blaze. The firemen were sending
+streams of water on the shop by this time, and clouds of smoke were
+filling the street. The police were keeping the crowd back as more hose
+was laid down.
+
+And then, as he stood in the front rank of the crowd, Alfred Mushet
+uttered a shout. There, through the smoke and flames, he saw a moving
+figure emerge from the burning house. The figure was outlined against
+the red glow of the interior for a moment, then faded in the smoke that
+swirled down and blotted out the flames.
+
+Alfred Mushet felt the hands of a policeman on him, forcing him
+backward. He staggered, his eyes riveted on the figure that loomed
+up, struggling through the smoke. His eyes started from his head. He
+screamed, and threw a finger out towards that figure that seemed to
+move towards him.
+
+"Hartz!" he cried. "It can't be Hartz! He's dead! It's his ghost! Take
+it away! Hartz is dead! I killed him!"
+
+The figure came forward; and, the smoke clearing, showed to Alfred
+Mushet the shabby figure of Hartz as he had been in life. His
+spectacles were on his nose, his beard was thick and matted, his hands
+clawing at it, as was his habit. Mushet cried out in agony, and fell in
+a faint to the ground.
+
+Well, he was considerably shaken at the sight, and one could excuse him
+losing his wits, and his nerve also.
+
+He was carried to his lodgings, and when he came to consciousness a
+policeman was sitting by his bed.
+
+"Hartz is dead," murmured Mushet. "But I saw his ghost. What are you
+doing here?"
+
+"I'm here," said the policeman, "because the inspector ordered
+me to stay. Hartz has identified you as the man who gave him the
+attaché-case, and found a necklace we have been hunting for. You'll
+have to explain that. Here comes the inspector."
+
+At that moment the inspector entered the room and came over to the bed.
+
+"Hartz is dead!" cried Mushet doggedly. "I saw his ghost."
+
+"Wait a minute," said the inspector. "About that attaché-case. A
+fireman helped Hartz to bring out a small safe that was in the bedroom
+upstairs, containing the valuables of the shop. You called out that you
+had killed Hartz, and we have found a body. But, Mushet, didn't you
+know there were two of them? They kept that shop between them, and not
+many people knew there was more than one Hartz. The one to whom you
+gave the attaché-case was the one that did the outside business. He
+arrived back from the North by the night train, in time to raise the
+alarm of fire. It was he you saw, not a ghost. We'll have to question
+you about the death of his twin brother."
+
+And an hour or so later Alfred Mushet was on his way to prison. His
+nerve and imagination deserted him during the interrogation. He broke
+down and confessed.
+
+
+
+
+            THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FIFTEENTH CELL
+
+
+As the Governor concluded the story of Alfred Mushet, he yawned
+involuntarily.
+
+"I was thinking," he said, "that Mushet ought to go among my
+Intellectuals----"
+
+But he got no further, for the visitor suddenly picked up his revolver
+and backed away menacingly.
+
+"My dear sir," cried the Governor in expostulation, "is there anything
+I have said----"
+
+"I have no fault to find with your stories," replied the other, with an
+alarming grimness, "but that is the last I wish to hear. You have run
+it very close. I ask you to look at your clock!"
+
+The Governor turned his head and saw that the time was exactly five
+minutes to seven.
+
+"Which is it to be?" pursued the visitor; and as he spoke he lifted his
+revolver so that the barrel pointed straight towards the Governor.
+
+The Governor glanced round the room. He saw the fog swirling up outside
+the window, the glass of which was streaming with moisture. Not a sound
+came from any part of the large prison.
+
+"You have just time," said the visitor quietly.
+
+The Governor shrugged his shoulders, and a faint smile passed over his
+features, which had become somewhat haggard with the strain of his
+recitals.
+
+"You are right," he said. "I have just time."
+
+He lifted the bogus order of reprieve and glanced at the wording. Then
+he took up a fountain-pen that lay on his pen-tray.
+
+"I am afraid," he said, in a gentle tone, "that you have more than one
+advantage over me. I do not refer to your gun, in the manipulation of
+which I admit you are an expert. If this thing is to be done, I must
+ring for my warders; and I think you will remember that you somewhat
+dislocated my bell. Now, if the warders are to come here they must
+not, for your own sake, find anything suspicious, or they would make a
+scene. The result of a scene might be deplorable----"
+
+"For you!" interrupted the visitor.
+
+"For both of us, I fancy. You might shoot _me_, you might shoot my
+warders, you might escape through the window. But, as I remarked at the
+beginning of our prison night's entertainment, _you_ would ultimately
+be caught. I am not thinking, believe me, of this matter without
+experiencing a personal interest in it. I wish to avoid bloodshed."
+
+"You alone are able to provide the other way out."
+
+"That is exactly what I have been thinking. You seem to hold the trump
+cards. Why should I permit you to kill me in cold blood? I daresay my
+warders, if the point were put to them, would feel the same emotions as
+I do. Therefore I propose to sign this warrant."
+
+He lifted his pen and bent over the order; but, just as he was about to
+sign, he looked up at his visitor.
+
+"I am afraid you do not quite follow," he said. "Would it not be as
+well if you put the bell into working order and yourself pressed it?
+There is my cut telephone line also--but I do not insist on that."
+
+The visitor picked up the small piece of metal that formed the contact
+of the bell, and also the wooden top.
+
+"I'll attend to it while you sign," he said. "But--_sign_!"
+
+The Governor at once complied with what was no longer a request, but
+had become an order.
+
+As he finished the signature he saw his visitor insert the contact and
+screw the top of the bell-push into position.
+
+The visitor then pressed the ivory knob and walked swiftly towards the
+position he had previously taken up. In this way he was on the opposite
+side of the desk, and was near the window. He put his revolver into his
+pocket; but he kept his hand there also.
+
+The two men faced each other in terrible silence.
+
+The Governor once more looked at the clock.
+
+The hands marked the time as three minutes to the hour.
+
+"My friend," said the Governor in a low tone, suddenly, "you have
+forgotten something."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"You have not unlocked the door!"
+
+"Ah!"
+
+The visitor strode over, took the key from his pocket, and inserted it
+in the lock. He twisted it quickly and returned to his position, his
+right hand once more in his coat pocket, covering his revolver.
+
+"You observe," said the Governor, with a faint attempt at a smile,
+"that what I said originally was true. You people almost always forget
+something. Now, supposing my warders had come and found that door
+locked? Would that not have been a suspicious matter? It was I who
+remembered. You see how I am really protecting you from yourself? Alas,
+prison is an institution where we always try to protect criminals from
+themselves. That is the second function of a prison, as I took pains to
+explain to you when I invited you to listen to my theories."
+
+The visitor was about to reply, but the Governor continued quickly:
+
+"You will observe that I have signed this order in the proper way." (He
+held the document up for inspection, and the visitor satisfied himself
+that everything was as the Governor stated.) "I will give this to the
+warder who is now on the way here. He will take it to my deputy----"
+
+"Why to your deputy? I want the condemned man brought here!"
+
+The visitor flashed out his question suspiciously, but the Governor
+spread his hand in a gesture of explanation.
+
+"My dear sir, a warder has no power to release a prisoner, especially
+one in the condemned cell, until he has been given the proper
+authority, and the Governor, or his deputy, is present. That is
+routine. You cannot complain of it, since you went to the trouble to
+get a reprieve in the authoritative way; and you are wise enough to
+know that any departure from routine would imperil your scheme, as it
+would imperil my reputation. Here comes my warder, I fancy."
+
+The visitor was about to say something in reply to the Governor, but at
+that moment feet could be heard in the corridor. A knock sounded on the
+door. The Governor did not move.
+
+"Come in!" he called.
+
+The door opened, and a warder stood on the threshold, saluting stiffly.
+
+The Governor lifted the order of reprieve, folded it up, and held it
+out towards the warder.
+
+"Take that to the Deputy-Governor at once," he said. The visitor's eyes
+were watching closely.
+
+"Any answer, sir?" asked the warder.
+
+"Yes, there will be an answer. Tell my deputy I have a gentleman
+here who has come urgently on behalf of the condemned prisoner. I am
+waiting. Make haste."
+
+The warder saluted, and went out hurriedly.
+
+As soon as he had departed, the Governor turned towards his visitor.
+
+"I think you were about to make a remark when my warder approached," he
+said. "It was not a complaint, I hope."
+
+"I was about to say that, with all your talk, lasting throughout the
+night, you have proved nothing to convince me that I shall fail to do
+what I came to do. I still hold the winning hand. In a few minutes I
+shall be gone with my friend. When the Deputy-Governor comes with the
+prisoner, you will bid him leave the matter between you and me, as I
+proposed originally. I shall still see that your reputation does not
+suffer. You object to taking either of two methods I suggested--that
+of being bound to your chair, or that of taking a drink that would
+send you to sleep. You have chosen to pretend that the reprieve is all
+correct. Perhaps it is the best way out for you. And yet I must inform
+you that I have formed a conclusion. It would not be safe for me to
+take my friend out by the prison gates, because you could raise an
+alarm immediately I left this room. I shall see to it that we have some
+time to make our escape."
+
+"What do you intend to do?"
+
+"That must be left to me. As soon as your deputy leaves, and my friend
+and I are alone with you, it will be simple. I shall not injure you in
+any way. We may go out by the window after all. The fog is very thick."
+
+He had lost the attitude of antagonism that had until then been
+dominant in his speech.
+
+"We have been opponents," he went on, "and we have come to an
+understanding, as I knew we would. I thank you for having told me the
+stories; but, while I enjoyed them, I would remind you that, while
+these narratives have been entertaining, they have not proved a single
+point in your contentions. The reason is very obvious."
+
+"What is the reason?" asked the Governor humbly.
+
+"It is this: you have been telling stories concerning _persons who have
+been captured_. The thought came to me this moment. And the fact that
+you have been forced to carry out my wishes proves that your theories
+are all wrong. In my one triumph lies the destruction of your many
+axioms. Of course, had I not been interested in your eccentricity I
+would never have allowed you any latitude; but, for a crank, I find
+you a very engaging one--a theorist, with all the faults of one. On
+the other hand, you are not oblivious of the fact that you have been
+beaten, and that your life is being spared because I see that you have
+surrendered without useless opposition. I admire you for it."
+
+The Governor bowed.
+
+"In my turn," he said, "let me ask you one question. If, by some fluke
+of circumstances, by some unforeseen error on your part or on mine, you
+had been unable to save your accomplice from the scaffold--which is a
+fate he richly deserves--would you have admitted failure with the same
+readiness, and in the same spirit, with which you give me credit?"
+
+"I would. It has always been a point with me to surrender when it is
+impossible to escape." Then he added with emphasis: "But, at the same
+time, my code of war is such that I have never yet admitted that every
+chance was lost. If, however, such a position should arise in the
+future, I am well aware that resistance would be an aggravation, and it
+would probably lengthen the sentence a judge might hand out."
+
+The Governor held out his hand frankly.
+
+"It is refreshing to hear you speak in this way," he remarked. "I will
+be able to pass the expression of your views to the quarter where they
+will be duly appreciated."
+
+As the two men clasped hands a loud bang, like the shutting of a heavy,
+distant door, disturbed the silence that had fallen on the room.
+
+The Governor's fingers tightened on those of his visitor and held them
+firmly, his left hand fell gently on the man's shoulder. They stood for
+a fraction of time facing each other. They might have been two friends
+taking grave farewell of each other.
+
+The Governor spoke.
+
+"I am glad my poor attempt to emulate the feat of the amiable
+Scheherazade has been pleasing to you. As the Sultan Schahriah you have
+been excellent. But, nevertheless, the result _has_ convinced me in my
+theories."
+
+"How?" demanded the visitor, with a start of uneasiness.
+
+"You have claimed the victory; but, sir, victory ought not to be
+claimed until a game or a contest is ended."
+
+"Explain yourself."
+
+"Ah," said the Governor steadily, as he still held his visitor's right
+hand and increased the pressure of his hold on the man's shoulder, "my
+deputy and two warders will, according to routine, be here in a moment.
+I hear their footsteps."
+
+A knock sounded on the door. The Governor called, "Come in!" and,
+without turning his head, continued to his visitor:
+
+"The victory is not yours after all. _Your accomplice is dead._ The
+bang we heard a moment ago was the noise of the trap-door on the
+scaffold falling into the pit. You did not know, of course, that my
+clock is an hour slow! You are under arrest!"
+
+Two warders and the deputy had meanwhile entered the apartment, closing
+the door behind them.
+
+The visitor's face went livid. For a frightful instant he stared at the
+Governor; and then the Governor's cry to his men changed, even as it
+was uttered, to one of sharp pain. He staggered back, bent double like
+a half-shut knife, into the arms of his deputy.
+
+The visitor had dealt him a fearful blow in the abdomen with his knee:
+and as he dealt it he leaped backward with a snarl that might have come
+from a wild beast.
+
+"Put up your hands, all of you!" His gun was thrust forward in a
+lightning movement. "Up! Quick!"
+
+One of the warders disregarded the order and sprang forward, but he
+had not advanced a yard when "ping!" and he fell like a sack, gasping,
+blood streaming from his throat.
+
+"My God!" he cried in a strangled voice. "My God! My God!"
+
+"Up with them!"
+
+The Governor obeyed, though his face was twisted with pain; the deputy
+and the remaining warder followed suit.
+
+The wounded man on the floor continued to call "My God!" in a curious,
+gurgling, monotonous way, the exclamation becoming feebler every time.
+
+It might have been part of a play, so swiftly, so definitely, had
+act followed act, so like a series of tableaux had movement followed
+movement. But there the resemblance to a play ended.
+
+The countenance of the visitor was transformed. The previous minute
+he had been listening calmly to the Governor's harangue. Now he stood
+facing the three men, his body thrust forward, shoulders hunched, teeth
+gritted, passionate fury sweeping over his face in dark clouds, his
+eyes gleaming with a brightness that was no longer human. He was now an
+animal at bay. He was a wolf.
+
+And from the bleeding warder on the floor there came the unceasing
+whimpering, "My God! My God!" No one took notice of his agony.
+
+The visitor was the first to speak.
+
+"If one of you three move an inch!" He made a significant movement with
+his gun. "I have four shells left!"
+
+The Governor nodded towards the fallen warder.
+
+"That," he said quietly, "was a mistake, my friend."
+
+The visitor replied with savage exultation.
+
+"Sure. His, not mine."
+
+As he spoke the wailing of the wounded man died away, his frame
+quivered and then was still.
+
+The visitor's left hand fumbled at his waist and a coil of thin rope
+fell at his feet. He bent down, never once taking his eyes off the
+others, and picked up an end formed into a loop. He stepped backward
+towards the window, his left hand feeling along the wood work until his
+fingers touched the heavy metal hook that held the curtain fastener. He
+slipped the loop of his rope into the hook.
+
+Next his fingers unfastened the window catch. He threw up the sash.
+A billow of fog swirled into the apartment. Not for an instant while
+he was doing all this did he cease to face the three officials. A
+terrible, grim leer spread over his features. He tossed his rope
+backward out of the window, then brought his gun into position so that
+it pointed straight at the Governor's breast.
+
+"I told you there was always a chance for me," he sneered. "It's you
+that hasn't a chance now. Listen. I have four shells in this gun. One
+is for you because you hanged Floxton, another is for the electric
+bulb----"
+
+Suddenly the Governor started. His eyes, wide with astonishment and
+what seemed relief, fastened themselves upon the open window beyond the
+visitor. An instant of fearful tension followed, in which the visitor
+sought desperately to read the truth in the Governor's eyes without
+turning to see what menace was at his back. Then, as if answering the
+agonizing doubt, the curtain at the window moved with a crisp sound. At
+the very instant, the Governor shouted in the direction of the noise:
+
+"Quick! Get him, men!"
+
+As the visitor, in startled alarm, swung his gun round towards the open
+window, the Governor bounded forward, his left arm crooked and poised.
+
+_Crack!_
+
+All the weight of his muscular shoulders was behind the fist
+that struck the visitor's jaw with fearful force. The action was
+piston-like, a flash out and in and under that terrific blow the man's
+head jerked oddly, his body arose, then crashed, his gun flew across
+the carpet.
+
+The deputy and the warder were upon him like cats, but the visitor was
+incapable of resistance. He lay motionless and unconscious.
+
+The Governor looked for a moment at his own knuckles, then rapped out
+his orders.
+
+Handcuffs were snapped on the wrists of the prostrate visitor, the body
+of the dead warder was removed, the window was closed.
+
+The Governor sat down at his desk and toyed with the visitor's gun
+which he had picked up. Two warders were working on the unconscious
+visitor bringing him back to life. The deputy was standing by. The
+Governor looked up.
+
+"Was the execution carried out expeditiously?"
+
+"All correct, sir," replied the deputy.
+
+"You will see to the repairing of my telephone and window."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"You will inform Scotland Yard that we have here the man they
+want--Steve Jenkins, the accomplice of the murderer who has just been
+hanged."
+
+"Very good, sir."
+
+"Take charge of this fake reprieve and this gun. They are necessary
+evidence."
+
+The deputy took the articles, and as he did so he remarked: "I think
+that was a great trick you played him, sir, and most original."
+
+The Governor shook his head as his eye rested on the visitor who was
+now being hoisted to his feet.
+
+"Steve Jenkins," he said, "you came here to dispute my theories and you
+have merely succeeded in proving them. All criminals make mistakes.
+Apart from the murder of my warder, for which you will hang, you made
+two bad mistakes within five minutes."
+
+He rose to his feet and assumed his official manner.
+
+"To be a professional criminal and expect to get away with it every
+time," he continued gravely, "is really to presume too much. It
+involves the possession of knowledge that must never be at fault. Why,
+you fell for the old trick of false alarm! I staked--correctly, it
+seems--on your ignorance of the historic precedent of Lord Berkeley
+who, one night on Hounslow Heath, shot dead, by the same ruse, a
+highwayman who held up his carriage at pistol point."
+
+The prisoner eyed him balefully.
+
+"Your next mistake was more gross. It is true I did not possess a
+pistol like my Lord Berkeley; but was it carelessness that made you
+overlook what a reference book might have told you about my few
+accomplishments? If so, the oversight led you into the error of leaving
+open a mark for an ex-champion heavy-weight of the Army who had watched
+all night for it."
+
+The Governor sat down.
+
+One of the warders who held the prisoner saluted.
+
+"Where shall we take him, sir?"
+
+The Governor replied grimly.
+
+"To the fifteenth cell."
+
+The wheels of routine began to grind once more.
+
+
+                               THE END.
+
+
+                          THE HOUSE OF HARPER
+
+                               NEW YORK
+
+                      Publishers of BOOKS and of
+                           HARPER'S MAGAZINE
+
+                          _Established 1817_
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    [Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphenation left as printed.]
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78778 ***
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+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78778 ***</div>
+
+
+<div class="titlepage">
+
+<h1>THE FIFTEEN CELLS</h1>
+
+<p class="ph1">BY STUART MARTIN</p>
+
+<p>HARPER &amp; BROTHERS <i>Publishers</i><br>
+New York <i>and</i> London<br>
+1928</p>
+
+<p>PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.<br>
+E-C</p>
+
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<table>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_VISITOR">THE VISITOR</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_FIRST_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FIRST CELL</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_SECOND_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE SECOND CELL</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_THIRD_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE THIRD CELL</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_FOURTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FOURTH CELL</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_FIFTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FIFTH CELL</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_SIXTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE SIXTH CELL</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_SEVENTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE SEVENTH CELL</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_EIGHTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE EIGHTH CELL</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_NINTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE NINTH CELL</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_TENTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE TENTH CELL</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_ELEVENTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE ELEVENTH CELL</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_TWELFTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE TWELFTH CELL</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_THIRTEENTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE THIRTEENTH CELL</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_FOURTEENTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FOURTEENTH CELL</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_FIFTEENTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FIFTEENTH CELL</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<h2>THE FIFTEEN CELLS</h2>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_VISITOR">THE VISITOR</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>It was all a matter of routine.</p>
+
+<p>Precisely at nine o'clock in the morning the Governor entered the
+prison, just as he had entered for years.</p>
+
+<p>The warder who met him at the gates saluted smartly and said, "All
+correct, sir," just as he had said it for years.</p>
+
+<p>Every warder who was stationed between the gates and the Governor's
+office saluted and said, "All correct, sir," just as they had said it
+for years.</p>
+
+<p>The Deputy-Governor rose from his chair as the Governor entered the
+office, and said, "All correct, sir. Good morning, sir."</p>
+
+<p>The correspondence was looked over. The Governor dictated a few replies
+to his clerk; routine replies. The stewards received their portion of
+the mail dealing with the accounts and the cookhouse, laundry, etc.
+The chief warder reported that the adjudication room was ready. The
+Governor and the Deputy-Governor went in to adjudicate.</p>
+
+<p>The newcomers to the prison were attended to first. They had been
+brought in the previous day, had been bathed, medically examined, and
+given prison clothes. There were fourteen arrivals. Next came those
+who were due to return to the world shortly. Their papers were put in
+order.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor went to his lunch.</p>
+
+<p>In the afternoon he attended to his less important correspondence.
+He adjudicated on the applications for petitions, wherein prisoners
+desired to tell the Home Secretary that their sentences were too long
+or complained of other matters. Every prisoner has a right to petition.
+Very few have their petitions granted.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor went to tea.</p>
+
+<p>His work was not ended. He returned to his office and signed a request
+to the local coroner to be good enough to hold an inquest the following
+day on the body of a man who was at that moment perfectly healthy; but
+he was in the condemned cell.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor then took a walk round the grounds. It was a dull, heavy
+evening. Fog had been coming up all day. In a corner of the prison
+precincts two warders had almost finished digging a grave. The Governor
+wondered how the condemned man would face his execution; and came to
+the conclusion that he would probably do as practically all condemned
+men did—take his ounce or so of brandy, toss it off, and wipe his lips
+with his cuff. The executioner would be at the door and would enter
+the cell, while the chaplain, the assistants, the officials, would
+look on. The executioner would pretend to be cheerful. Most of them
+affect this frightful cordiality. He would say persuasively: "Hullo,
+old man. Put your hands behind your back, if you don't mind. That's
+the idea." By the time the executioner ceased to speak the condemned
+man would be pinioned. The chaplain would lead the procession, reading
+aloud the Burial Service (a kindness granted to ordinary people when
+they can no longer hear it). The shed, ten yards off, would be reached.
+A belt would be strapped round the prisoner's ankles, the executioner
+would put a white cap over the man's head and adjust the noose; then,
+stepping back quickly from the platform, he would pull the lever. The
+trap-door would open, its sides thudding against the sides of the
+pit with a crash that would be heard throughout the prison. The law
+would be satisfied; at any rate, it would be fulfilled. Everything was
+routine.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor had still one call to make. He had to go to the condemned
+cell.</p>
+
+<p>He passed into the prison, walked along the corridors, which were
+steam-heated and scrupulously clean. He stopped before the condemned
+cell at the door of which a warder was on guard.</p>
+
+<p>"All correct, sir," said the warder, saluting.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor looked into the cell through the trap in the door. The
+prisoner was enjoying a smoke. The Governor closed the trap.</p>
+
+<p>"Gives you no trouble?" he asked in a low tone.</p>
+
+<p>"None at all, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Chaplain been here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"There is a visitor coming to see him to-night. Report him to my
+deputy. Don't bother me."</p>
+
+<p>The warder saluted. The Governor went back to his room. His rounds
+were finished. He would not be disturbed. The friends of condemned men
+always wanted to see the Governor just before the executions—as if he
+could do anything! The Governor drew a chair close to the fire, lit a
+cigar, and picked up a newspaper.</p>
+
+<p>His room was a large apartment. There were no curtains on the
+windows, but the glass was of the frosted, corrugated kind so that
+nobody could see inside, even if the position of the room had made it
+possible otherwise; which it did not. The Governor had attended many
+executions in his prison and had seen men die on the scaffold. These
+ceremonies did not affect him, never made him turn a hair. Like many
+other Governors he had been an Army officer before he became a prison
+official. He had no interest in the present case. The crime had been
+cold-blooded. The Governor had asked his deputy to represent him at the
+final scene. Everything was in readiness to launch the criminal out of
+this world.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor went to dinner.</p>
+
+<p>The clock on the mantel-piece of his private room was just striking
+eight when he returned. He was going to write some private letters,
+and he had just lit another cigar when a knock sounded on the door. A
+warder appeared.</p>
+
+<p>"That visitor is here, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Has he been to the condemned cell?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Has he seen my deputy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why trouble me? I left instructions——"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir. But he insists on seeing you."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. Bring him up and then leave us. Do not trouble me again. I
+will show him out."</p>
+
+<p>The warder departed, but was back in less than a minute. At his heels
+was the visitor who had come to see the condemned man. The warder
+closed the door on them and clumped along the corridor for good. The
+Governor raised his eyes from his desk where he had pretended to be
+busy.</p>
+
+<p>"You wish to see me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't give you much time. The prison is already officially closed
+for the night——"</p>
+
+<p>"That doesn't matter."</p>
+
+<p>"You have already interviewed my deputy?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's you I want to speak to."</p>
+
+<p>"What can I do for you?"</p>
+
+<p>Up to this point the routine had been strictly followed. At this point
+routine suddenly received a jolt that destroyed it and blew it to
+smithereens.</p>
+
+<p>"You can just sit where you are, Governor. And don't attempt to move."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor obeyed—he who was in the habit of being obeyed. He was
+facing the barrel of a small revolver which the visitor had thrust
+forward and was holding in his gloved hand. For a moment neither of
+the two men spoke. Neither of them was afraid. It was a meeting of two
+persons well drilled in the art of controlling emotions. The Governor
+examined his visitor. The visitor examined the Governor.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor saw a man of medium height, dressed shabbily, but with a
+certain air of superiority. His face was furrowed, two lines running
+down, one on either side of his cheeks, from the nose past the corners
+of the mouth, to the chin. It was a prominent chin, and hiding under it
+was a duplicate one. The man's brow was broad and wide, his eyebrows
+shaggy and heavy. At the corners of his eyes were wrinkles telling of
+concentration and meditation. The eyes themselves were small, piercing,
+alert, with no trace of nervousness about them. They were a trifle too
+close together, however, and this gave them a touch of cunning. The
+general impression was that the face might have belonged to a student,
+a professor. On the other hand, it might have belonged to a criminal.
+Prison often moulds such faces. It was a face at once interesting
+and common; pleasing and yet unattractive; arresting and still
+unremarkable. But the Governor knew that only an uncommon personality
+would have come into his room with a revolver levelled at him.</p>
+
+<p>The stranger, on his part, studied the Governor minutely. He saw a tall
+man, nearly six feet high, head going bald on the top, military face,
+lean flanks, broad shoulders. In contrast to the intruder's face the
+Governor's had no superfluous flesh. His eyelids were heavy, especially
+at the corners where they almost over-lapped the eyes. The hands,
+which were spread out on the edge of the desk, were well shaped. They
+were hands that could hit hard. The wrists, which appeared under the
+cuffs, were well developed and strong. The fact that the Governor had
+gripped the desk as he swung round, and still gripped it when he saw
+the revolver, proved that he had disciplined himself to crises. A less
+disciplined man would have leaped to his feet; and would have been dead
+next moment. The visitor's revolver was equipped with a silencer.</p>
+
+<p>"You can take your hands off the desk now, Governor," said the visitor.
+"Swing round so that you can sit at your ease. I don't want to kill
+you—yet."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor swung round as directed, but out of the corner of his eye
+he saw the visitor step backwards to the door and turn the key in the
+lock. He put the key into his pocket and advanced until he was on the
+opposite side of the desk. He laid the revolver down.</p>
+
+<p>Why did the Governor not leap up and over-power this visitor who
+menaced him? Because the Governor knew men. He knew from the way this
+individual handled his weapon that he was a master and that before he
+could raise his arm to sweep it from the desk the bullet would be
+fired. The Governor could read men. It was his business to read them.
+He was aware that he faced a man capable of extraordinary things,
+and of ordinary things too; but for the moment the extraordinary
+predominated.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor took up the cigar he had laid on the ash-tray beside his
+chair and lit it leisurely.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you kindly come to business?" he asked. "What is it that you
+want?"</p>
+
+<p>"You have a man in the condemned cell?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have."</p>
+
+<p>"He is due to be hanged to-morrow morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"At eight o'clock exactly."</p>
+
+<p>"He must not be hanged."</p>
+
+<p>"It is the law, and I am afraid that he will be."</p>
+
+<p>"If he is hanged you will die quickly."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see how I can prevent it."</p>
+
+<p>"You can sign this paper."</p>
+
+<p>The stranger pulled a blue sheet of foolscap from his pocket and tossed
+it across the desk. The Governor glanced at it.</p>
+
+<p>"You have procured this at the Home Office."</p>
+
+<p>"I brought it from the Home Office specially for you."</p>
+
+<p>"That means you stole it. Burglary of State documents."</p>
+
+<p>"What does it matter? I mean you to sign it. It will constitute the
+completion of an official reprieve. You will notice that the Home
+Secretary's signature is there."</p>
+
+<p>"Forgery."</p>
+
+<p>"You may put it that way. I obtained his signature and traced it by
+using a piece of carbon paper. Over that tracing I used ink. You will
+be able to plead that the document has all the signs of genuineness."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean that I have to act on this as an official reprieve?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is what I am about to compel you to do."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor stared at his visitor. The whole thing was preposterous;
+but it was possible. One point was obscure and presented a difficulty.</p>
+
+<p>"Supposing the condemned man is freed on this paper, there are
+formalities to be gone through. The trick would be found out in the
+morning——"</p>
+
+<p>"By that time he would be safe."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't quite follow."</p>
+
+<p>"It is simplicity itself. I suggest that you, in your official
+capacity, send for the prisoner to be brought to this room. Your
+warders would bring him."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"This would be quite in the usual course of procedure. When he arrives
+you would acquaint your officers with the arrival of the official
+reprieve. I should be here. It would not be untrue to say that I have
+come direct from the Home Office with it."</p>
+
+<p>"And if I refused to do this?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, you would die. I shoot straight. Do you care to see proof
+of my shooting?"</p>
+
+<p>"It would be interesting to have such proof, but——"</p>
+
+<p>"Please hold your cigar up above your head."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor did so. The visitor raised his revolver with the swiftness
+of a flash of light, a sharp "ping" sounded, followed by a second
+similar sound. The ash of the cigar fell in a cloud on the Governor's
+knees.</p>
+
+<p>"You see?" said the visitor quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"Where did the bullet go?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, you expected to hear the crash of it against the furniture, a
+sound that might have brought one of your warders—is it not so? If you
+will note the angle at which I fired you will see that the bullet went
+through the bottom right-hand corner of the window about six inches
+from the sash."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor turned his head and saw that such was the case. A small,
+perfectly drilled hole had been cut in the glass.</p>
+
+<p>"It was well gauged," said the Governor. "You can shoot. But still I
+insist that the shooting of myself would not help you personally, nor
+your friend the prisoner. My warders would fall on you. Ultimately you
+would be hanged."</p>
+
+<p>"You are wrong. You would send two warders only for the prisoner. That
+is the usual number. There are still five rounds in this gun."</p>
+
+<p>"It is usual for a Governor to acquaint a prisoner with his reprieve in
+the cell."</p>
+
+<p>"We must depart from routine on this occasion."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor considered while he gazed at the carpet. Presently he
+lifted his head.</p>
+
+<p>"And if I accepted this as a genuine, official document?"</p>
+
+<p>"The rest would be easy. The warders would be dismissed while you
+acquainted the prisoner with the lifting of the death sentence. I would
+do the few necessary acts that are required for the plan I have formed.
+The prisoner would be dressed in another suit of clothes——"</p>
+
+<p>"Where would he get them?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am wearing two suits now. He could have one. He and I are the same
+height."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I see."</p>
+
+<p>"We would go out by your window, after switching off the light. I have
+a length of stout cord around my waist. We would not be seen."</p>
+
+<p>The visitor walked over to the window and pointed towards the glass.</p>
+
+<p>"A heavy fog is coming up. It is fairly thick now. The weather prophets
+state in the evening papers that it is likely to last for some time.
+You, of course, would have to be considered. I assure you there would
+be no damage to your reputation."</p>
+
+<p>"How so?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have in my pocket a small phial of dope. A few drops in a glass of
+water, or in a whisky and soda, would put you to sleep for many hours.
+If you objected to that there is another way."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"We could bind you to your chair and gag you. In either case you would
+be found helpless."</p>
+
+<p>"That would be awkward."</p>
+
+<p>"It would be better than being dead."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor threw the stub of his cigar into the fire and pondered the
+situation for a little while.</p>
+
+<p>"There is one point which you have overlooked," he said quietly,
+"though I hardly dare hope that it will appeal to you."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is a simple one also. The prisoner who is to be executed to-morrow
+morning——"</p>
+
+<p>"You mean who is sentenced to be executed to-morrow morning."</p>
+
+<p>"If you put it that way you can do so. My point is that he does not
+deserve a reprieve. Do you understand the nature of his crime? It was a
+most repulsive one——"</p>
+
+<p>"You mean that therefore you, as Governor of this prison, would
+naturally suspect that a reprieve would never be granted, and so would
+take all precautions, such as calling up the Home Secretary on the
+telephone?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you must give me credit for taking measures to make sure——"</p>
+
+<p>"I see. Then there is still another way out whereby you could not be
+accused of laxity."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall be interested to hear it."</p>
+
+<p>"It is this. You could send for him as I suggest, for the purpose
+of having a last talk with him. He has never repented of his act,
+according to the newspapers. Would not a Governor be acting within
+his province in giving a prisoner a chance of a final opportunity of
+repentance?"</p>
+
+<p>"The chaplain has charge of prisoners' consciences."</p>
+
+<p>"I was merely offering an alternative suggestion to save your
+reputation."</p>
+
+<p>While this conversation had been taking place the Governor had been
+busy looking for an opening to defeat the plan of his visitor. He had
+not been discussing the most unusual situation merely to pass the time.
+He recognised that the man in front of him was no ordinary person, and
+that he was one who was determined as well as daring. All the time
+they had been speaking, the eyes of the visitor had been fixed on the
+Governor with the intentness of a cat watching a mouse. One false move,
+one attempt to reach the bell-push on the wall, and the revolver would
+have spoken. The Governor did not want to die. But he knew he would die
+if he met the proposal of his visitor with a blank refusal. Besides,
+it was not a Governor's place, nor his duty, to die. It was his duty
+to hold a criminal once he had him. He recognised in his visitor a man
+who ought to be inside the prison. Already this man had committed acts
+sufficient to give him a long sentence.</p>
+
+<p>There was no doubt that, up to a point, the visitor held the winning
+cards. His scheme had been planned with a thoroughness that defied
+criticism. But how was it that a visiting permit had been obtained
+by him, and how was it that he had dared the cast-iron rules of the
+gaol and had walked through them? These things puzzled the Governor.
+Discipline was part of the Governor's nature. His whole life had been
+lived under discipline, his entire nature was bound up in it. He also
+held strong views in regard to crime and criminals, views which were
+well known to his superiors and to the Commissioners. Yet he realised
+that this was a case which discipline and routine failed to handle.
+Something else had to be brought into play.</p>
+
+<p>"Supposing," he said, as he crossed his legs and put his clasped hands
+behind his head, "that we take a little time to discuss this matter? I
+give you my word that I shall make no attempt to test the accuracy of
+your shooting abilities. I have observed that you know how to handle a
+gun. But the situation is unusual and is worth analysis. We have plenty
+of time to spare."</p>
+
+<p>The visitor glanced at the clock on the mantel-piece.</p>
+
+<p>"It is now 9:45," he said with a nod. "We have ten and a quarter hours."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you a watch?" asked the Governor.</p>
+
+<p>"No. But you have a clock."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"That is so; and I was just about to wind it up for the night when you
+entered. Permit me to do so now."</p>
+
+<p>The visitor did not object, and the Governor rose and wound up the
+clock, explaining as he did so that he wound it every night. They were
+beginning to understand each other. Each knew that he could trust the
+other's word.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor sat down again in his chair, and the visitor took the
+chair on the opposite side of the desk. He placed his revolver within
+easy reach of his hand, then unbuttoned his overcoat.</p>
+
+<p>"Would you care for a cigar, or a cigarette?" asked the Governor
+amiably. "And perhaps a whisky and soda?"</p>
+
+<p>"A cigarette will do. I never touch spirits."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, then perhaps a plain soda?"</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor opened a cupboard and provided a box of choice cigarettes
+and a siphon. These he placed on the desk, while the visitor's hand
+closed over his weapon. But there was no need for the movement. The
+Governor smiled. They resumed their former positions.</p>
+
+<p>"The man who is in the condemned cell at this moment," began the
+Governor, "was caught after he had committed a callous crime of murder,
+the object of which was burglary. I need not go into details, since
+you doubtless know them. The newspapers were full of the case, which
+was tried at the Old Bailey before a wise judge and an intelligent
+jury. There was practically no defence. The prisoner, whose name is
+Floxton, was proved to be the culprit. He had been a music-hall artist
+before he became a criminal. He and another man, named Steve Jenkins,
+toured the halls as knock-about comedians. Jenkins always took the part
+of the gentleman in their turns. It is believed that the murderer was
+the less intelligent of the two and that his actions have for some time
+been dominated by Jenkins, a cleverer criminal, and an intellectual.
+The two took to fraud when they fell on bad times. They went to Chicago
+and became gunmen. Floxton had served more than one sentence. Jenkins
+was too clever to be caught. I would be glad to think that he was in
+prison with his companion. I have said he was an intellectual——"</p>
+
+<p>"You see him before you," interrupted the visitor. "I appreciate your
+testimonial."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, as I suspected. The two suits of clothes you mentioned gave me the
+clue. Of course, these heavy eyebrows are not your own?"</p>
+
+<p>"They are not."</p>
+
+<p>"The make-up is clever. The permit to visit the prisoner—how did you
+obtain it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was made out on the application of a third party. That is all you
+need know."</p>
+
+<p>"Impersonation? Really, my friend, you have broken the law in a great
+number of ways to carry out your scheme. I admit its bravery. But I see
+also another side to it. What will it profit you or your companion even
+if you save him from the gallows? You know I have firm theories on the
+question of crime. You would be hunted, every avenue of escape would
+be closed to you. This island would be merely a large prison. England
+would be your gaol."</p>
+
+<p>"It would be big enough."</p>
+
+<p>"But in the end it would be too small. You would make a mistake one day
+and your liberty, perhaps your life, would be forfeit."</p>
+
+<p>"You think that a mistake is inevitable?"</p>
+
+<p>"Decidedly so."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not agree with you."</p>
+
+<p>"I never expected that you would. But the fact remains. Every man
+in prison to-day is there because he made a mistake in tactics, in
+judgment, in action. Consider what you criminals are up against! To
+escape the law you must never make a mistake! Is that humanly possible?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do not claim infallibility. Since every man in every walk of life
+must make mistakes, we may do so. But it is possible to recover. You
+have proof that I can defy your rules and regulations. I am here."</p>
+
+<p>"It is true you are here. But is that any guarantee that you will not
+make a mistake?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have made none so far. You are my prisoner."</p>
+
+<p>"That is also true; and yet I am Governor of a prison full of men who
+have made mistakes. Indeed, so sure am I that all criminals must make
+a mistake somewhere, somehow, some time—the fatal mistake that places
+them in the cells—that I have arranged the floors of this prison in a
+sort of series of degrees. In the main block I have placed those whose
+mistakes are the mistakes of ignorant, brutal men. They are by far the
+great majority of criminals. Their mistakes are blunt, coarse ones; I
+call them the Errors of the Illiterate. The ordinary police have run
+these men to earth."</p>
+
+<p>"I have heard of your theories," said the visitor grimly. "You are a
+crank."</p>
+
+<p>"In the right wing," went on the Governor, "are the men who have
+a higher intelligence. They are the blackmailers, the cruder kind
+of forgers, the confidence men. I call their tactical mistakes the
+Errors of the Intelligent. They were arrested by the detectives of the
+Criminal Investigation Department."</p>
+
+<p>"I remember reading your evidence before a Select Committee," smiled
+the visitor. "You rather let yourself go on your theories. If I mistake
+not, your idea was that by keeping your prisoners in grades they kept
+to their own lines of crime?"</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly, that was my theory. I have special accommodation for each
+grade. My third and highest in the scale are housed in the left
+wing. They are all men of highly developed mentality. But they
+all made their mistakes when they became criminals, and they were
+all caught. I call them the Intellectuals. The condemned cells are
+placed in a separate portion of the building, apart from these graded
+prisoners, because into the condemned cells go men of all these
+grades—illiterate, intelligent, intellectual. Murder, you see, is
+mostly an impulse. Spasmodic acts are not controlled by intelligence or
+intellect."</p>
+
+<p>"That is your theory, but there are exceptions. What about premeditated
+murder—such as I contemplate if you refuse to do as I say?"</p>
+
+<p>"You have entered the region of pathology now," replied the Governor.
+"Murder is degeneracy, and men who commit murder are always
+degenerates. For the moment they revert to the primitive. That
+reversion may be the result of a deliberate plan or the work of a
+moment."</p>
+
+<p>"It does not matter much, does it?"</p>
+
+<p>"In a way it does not—to the victim. But in a way it does—to the
+students of crime. If we can grade law-breakers we can see the
+operations of their minds, and so classify them. We can almost
+anticipate their acts. For these reasons I never allow my illiterate
+prisoners to mix with my intelligent ones, nor my intelligent ones to
+mix with my intellectual ones. At least I contrive to separate them as
+much as possible. A prison, you must be aware, has three functions to
+perform."</p>
+
+<p>"What are they?"</p>
+
+<p>"The first is punitive. The criminal must be chastised."</p>
+
+<p>"And the second?"</p>
+
+<p>"The second is deterrent. The punishment must be a warning to others,
+as well as to the criminal himself."</p>
+
+<p>"And the third?"</p>
+
+<p>"The third is educational. We strive to cure evil propensities."</p>
+
+<p>"How do these functions apply to hanging?"</p>
+
+<p>"The first function automatically wipes out the second and the third
+so far as the defaulter is concerned; but it is held the others still
+operate with potential defaulters."</p>
+
+<p>The visitor shrugged his shoulders, and a grim smile played round his
+lips.</p>
+
+<p>"My presence here proves that you are wrong," he said. "If I wished to
+kill a man I would kill him. The satisfaction of having done so would
+out-weigh all other considerations. It is up to you. Have you decided
+whether you will hand over your prisoner—or die?"</p>
+
+<p>"You mistake my meaning," said the Governor. "You may be the exception
+that proves the rule. Or you may not. I am not talking in the hope
+of help arriving. We shall not be disturbed. I dismissed the officer
+who brought you here, and the night staff are now in charge. They
+do not know you are with me. I often sleep on that settee in the
+corner.... Allow me to elaborate my meaning on the question of the
+miscalculations of criminals. I maintain that they all, ultimately,
+make a fatal error; and that error brings them to the cells. Some get
+short sentences, some get long ones, some walk to the scaffold. Did you
+notice, as you came along to this room, that you passed, in the middle
+block, a corridor which is barred off from the remainder of the prison?"</p>
+
+<p>"I noticed it."</p>
+
+<p>"There are fifteen cells in that corridor. Into these fifteen cells
+go fifteen of the new prisoners when they are admitted here. They are
+the men whose cases interest me most. I study them before classifying
+them into the three grades. This morning I had only fourteen prisoners
+to put in that corridor. It would be a great favour to me if you would
+consent to hear why these fourteen men came to be in my charge."</p>
+
+<p>"You imagine it would influence me? You are surely a crank."</p>
+
+<p>"I love to test my theories. You know, of course, that the Central
+Criminal Court is in session. The fourteen prisoners who joined my
+company this morning received their sentences there. I am convinced
+that you will be interested to hear how these fourteen men made their
+mistakes, and came to the cells they now occupy. Their stories are
+intensely fascinating, I assure you. Will you not allow me to give
+you the benefit of their errors? If I bore you, then you may tell me
+to stop, but we have still plenty of time at our disposal, and your
+friend in the condemned cell can be brought out at very short notice."</p>
+
+<p>"You are a curious person to be a Governor," said the visitor with a
+smile, "but then you are a crank. Why should I not humour you? But
+first let me make absolutely sure that we will not be interrupted."</p>
+
+<p>He took a small pair of pliers from his pocket and snipped the
+telephone cord. Then he walked over to the bell-push in the wall,
+unscrewed the wooden top, and pulled out the small piece of metal that
+acted as a contact. He put the wooden top on again. His revolver had
+been in his right hand all the time and his eye had flirted constantly
+towards the Governor. The latter had not moved in the slightest. He was
+well aware that he was in considerable danger.</p>
+
+<p>The visitor returned to his chair and laid the small piece of metal
+from the bell on the desk.</p>
+
+<p>"When you ring for your warders," he said, "this may still be used.
+I see by the clock that we have now precisely ten hours before the
+proposed execution time. Allow half an hour for getting my friend out
+of the cell. That gives you nine and a half hours to live if you go the
+full length; provided, of course, I don't tire of your recital before
+then."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said the Governor. "The reason I am anxious that you hear
+the stories of these fourteen newcomers to my prison is that I desire,
+even if it is the last thing I do in life, to demonstrate the accuracy
+of my theory that all criminals make one fatal error some time. You
+have called me a crank. I am conscious that others have thought so,
+even if they have not been frank enough to say it. It is a crank's
+weakness to be whimsical even at the risk of his existence. So, if you
+will please make yourself comfortable, I shall do my best to play the
+part of the amiable Scheherazade, while you assume the attitude of the
+excellent Sultan Schahriah, holding the gift of Life and the sentence
+of Death in your hands."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_FIRST_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FIRST CELL</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>There is at least one disadvantage under which I labour (said the
+Governor) in taking upon myself the mantle of the wise and delightful
+Sultana Scheherazade. While she knew that she would be allowed to live
+so long as she amused and engaged the attention of the Sultan of the
+Indies, I am restricted to barely ten hours; and though I believe that
+I also could entertain you for one thousand and one nights, I will
+do my best, in the single unit at my disposal, to prove to you the
+theories I hold so strongly. Without, therefore, entering into any of
+the side issues which would otherwise give rise to much profitable
+speculation, permit me to relate to you the story of the occupant of
+the first of the fourteen cells to which I have directed your attention.</p>
+
+<p>David Fleming and his wife lived in a little cottage about twenty miles
+from London. They never went up to town except occasionally, and then
+only on business, and their business was not lawful. In the intervals
+between their "jobs" they posed as respectable citizens.</p>
+
+<p>On the night of which I speak they were in the sitting-room of their
+small house, which was situated several miles from the nearest village.
+They had a visitor, a dealer in precious stones, who had come down in
+haste from London to treat with them for some jewels which he had heard
+were for sale. The jewels were part of a tiara which David Fleming's
+wife had risked much to obtain—her liberty and her reputation as a
+thief. Having no honour, in the matter of honesty she did not count
+honour. She, like her husband, was a social bandit.</p>
+
+<p>She stood in the shadow of the badly lit room while her husband sat
+at the table with the prospective buyer of the stones. The tiara had
+been melted down, and the gold had been disposed of elsewhere. Only the
+gems remained. Loose gems can always be sold at any of the subterranean
+markets in London, but these were better than the average thus disposed
+of, and to get a purchaser who could pay the extra price had been
+somewhat difficult. But the visitor they wanted had come at last, one
+who was in a position to bargain.</p>
+
+<p>"You want one thousand pounds for these?" asked the dealer, shrugging
+his shoulders. "I will give you eight hundred, their utmost value. Say
+the word and it is a deal."</p>
+
+<p>Fleming raised his huge head and looked towards his wife who stood in
+the shadow beyond the table. She was motionless, a small woman with a
+keen, sharp face like the face of a weasel.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we take it?" asked Fleming.</p>
+
+<p>His wife retreated a step so that the dim light of the lamp on her face
+became dimmer. She was like a ghost in the gloom. Presently she spoke,
+though her features could not be distinguished.</p>
+
+<p>"Has he brought the money?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; but he says he will write out a cheque."</p>
+
+<p>The dealer lifted his head, but did not look round as he addressed the
+woman, nor did he look at the man whose eyes were fixed on his face.</p>
+
+<p>"I have written out a cheque," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"For a thousand?" came the query from the dim outline of the woman.</p>
+
+<p>"For eight hundred."</p>
+
+<p>There was a silence. The dealer was one of those business men who do
+not speak much. He picked up one or two of the stones and began to lay
+them out on the table under the shaded lamp. David Fleming watched him
+curiously, unemotionally. His wife watched also, holding her breath.</p>
+
+<p>The dealer seemed to be absorbed in handling the stones. His fingers
+lifted one after another and held each before his eyes and against
+the light of the lamp for a moment before he placed them on the white
+table-cloth. On the window the rain was beating furiously. When the
+dealer had placed all the stones, large and small, rubies and topazes,
+cat's-eyes and peridots, diamonds and sapphires, in the position he
+desired, he cast a glance at Fleming and breathed deeply.</p>
+
+<p>An exclamation from the back of the room brought Fleming's eyes from
+the table. He peered over the dealer's shoulder towards his wife.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you speak? Shall I close the deal?"</p>
+
+<p>Her weasel face emerged from the shadow and her finger pointed to the
+stones arranged on the table.</p>
+
+<p>"Why did he put them in that fashion?"</p>
+
+<p>The dealer answered, still looking at Fleming, to whom the question had
+been directed.</p>
+
+<p>"These stones are, I think, from a tiara that disappeared from a
+dressing-room of a London ballroom a few months ago. This is the
+arrangement they formed in the tiara. One stone is missing."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>The woman took a step nearer. Her husband glanced at the dealer, then
+at his wife.</p>
+
+<p>"I am wondering," said the dealer, "where the little stone is. Perhaps
+it was lost when you broke up the tiara?"</p>
+
+<p>"You are wrong. The stone fell out when I grabbed it and ran off. What
+of it? We take the risk. All you have to do is to buy what you see."</p>
+
+<p>There was a challenge and a sneer in her tone, to which the dealer
+merely replied:</p>
+
+<p>"What you say is true. It is your risk. Come, I must get back to town.
+My car is out there in all the rain. Is it a deal?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why didn't you bring cash?"</p>
+
+<p>"I came down after the banks closed. Besides, it is easier to carry a
+cheque—and safer."</p>
+
+<p>"But I wanted the money."</p>
+
+<p>"You can apply at the bank in London to-morrow morning. I have given
+you a card with my address, and I have shown you a bank-book with a
+balance that will easily meet the cheque."</p>
+
+<p>"I must think it over."</p>
+
+<p>It was noticeable that she said, "I," not "we." Her husband had not
+uttered a word during the latter part of the conversation. He sat with
+his eyes fixed on the stones arranged in the form of the tiara. The
+woman crossed the room and went out. The two men heard her go along the
+passage leading to the back door. They heard her open it and go outside.</p>
+
+<p>She returned to the room in a few minutes and approached the table.
+Rain had damped her shoulders and glistened on her dress.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a wild night," she said. "I went to get some coal from the
+cellar in the yard. We need fires in this weather."</p>
+
+<p>Her husband lifted his eyes towards her and now spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you decided?"</p>
+
+<p>The question revealed the relationship between them vividly. It was she
+who was the master—he the servant. Beside her, Fleming was a giant in
+stature. In brain he was a pigmy.</p>
+
+<p>They were a couple who had been attracted—if one can use the word—to
+each other by the law of contrasts. In their relationship as a married
+pair everything about them seemed inconsistent. In the normal run
+of things they ought to have been mutually antagonistic. Even in
+appearance this was so.</p>
+
+<p>Fleming was a mountain of a man. She was a mouse of a woman. Her
+very features suggested the sharpness of a rat. Her teeth stuck out
+in front, yet she was not bad-looking. She appeared to be a woman of
+fifty, yet she was her husband's age exactly—thirty. She looked ill
+and she was perfectly well. This physical deception had been of use to
+her more than once when she had been arrested for stealing jewellery.
+The hotels were her hunting ground, ballrooms her gold mines. Her game
+was the rich people who frequented social events. Sometimes she went as
+a servant, sometimes as a guest. She never returned empty-handed. When
+she was caught, as had happened once or twice, her captors pitied her
+seeming frailty. Judges had been misled by her physical fraudulence and
+had been lenient where they might have been severe. She was a living
+imposture.</p>
+
+<p>Her audacity was out of all proportion to her appearance. It was she
+who planned the part her husband played in their lawlessness. It was
+she who had taken the tiara from a dressing-room in front of a watching
+maid, and had given it to Fleming, who was hiding by the side entrance.
+It was she who had flung pepper into the maid's eyes, and had then
+stalked confidently among the guests raising the alarm. She had gone
+out by the front door as the police came in. The maid had been blinded
+permanently. In the agony of her torture she could not give a detailed
+account of the incident.</p>
+
+<p>To this monstrous paradox her husband had surrendered his personality,
+unconsciously but finally. He was himself a paradox, which explains the
+curiosity. In spite of his bulk David Fleming was merely a pickpocket.
+His courage never went beyond taking a wallet, or a watch, from a
+stranger's dress. He looked a burglar capable of murder. In reality he
+was afraid of a single policeman. He had not the courage to take risks.
+His whole life had been spent among the sneaks of the street corners.
+He had married this needle of a woman because she willed it, knowing
+that he would be of use to her. He did not know whether to admire her
+or fear her. She ruled him because her rodent mind gnawed constantly at
+his bovine one. It was in the nature of both of them to steal, but she
+had been the cleverer of the two—she had stolen his personality from
+him. It was the case of the mosquito moving the elephant.</p>
+
+<p>All this, of course, did not enter into the docketed information which
+the police possessed of them. Scotland Yard, having their finger-prints
+and their photographs, swept aside subtleties. It classified them both
+as rogues.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you decided?"</p>
+
+<p>For the second time Fleming asked the question, blinking his big
+eyes towards her as she stood beyond the circle of light. She rubbed
+her thin hands together, making a smooth noise like the rubbing of
+sandpaper on a polished surface.</p>
+
+<p>"I have not decided anything—yet."</p>
+
+<p>The dealer turned in his chair and looked at her.</p>
+
+<p>"The cheque is here," he said, tapping his breast. "I wrote it out,
+knowing that eight hundred was the limit I could go to. Have you had
+these stones here since you stole the tiara?"</p>
+
+<p>The woman did not move a muscle of her face as she replied.</p>
+
+<p>"We melted the piece down and sold the gold. We kept the stones because
+there are not many who can give the cash they are worth. How did you
+get to know they were for sale?"</p>
+
+<p>"News travels, you know. I had the word from a mutual friend. I gave
+you his name when I wrote to you saying I was coming to-night. But I
+could not get off before the bank closed. It will be difficult for you
+to dispose of these stones if you don't sell them to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't that all the more reason why you should take my offer?"</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps."</p>
+
+<p>"Look here. I can't waste my time. Take it or leave it. I must get back
+to London to-night, rain or shine. It is not as if there was a hotel
+here. You have fairly buried yourselves in this neck-of-the-woods."</p>
+
+<p>"Will you stay the night if we provide a bed for you?"</p>
+
+<p>"What would be the use? You don't need all night to make up your mind?
+No, I'll get back home."</p>
+
+<p>He rose to his feet and began to button up his coat.</p>
+
+<p>"Eight hundred is my offer. Take it or leave it. I will give you ten
+minutes to decide. I am going out to crank up my car, and when I come
+in you must say what it is to be. Eight hundred is better than nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"Eight hundred is less than we ought to get."</p>
+
+<p>"You can't tell me of another diamond merchant who is willing to give
+you eight hundred and ask no questions. Just think of the trouble you'd
+have to get rid of the loot."</p>
+
+<p>With that the dealer strode to the door. As soon as he was gone from
+the room the woman approached her husband, who was still seated at the
+table.</p>
+
+<p>"He must not go back to-night," she said in a low tone, banging her
+clenched fist on the table.</p>
+
+<p>"Why? If you'd take his price——"</p>
+
+<p>"You fool! Don't you see? He is no dealer. That man is a detective. He
+is one of the Flying Squad."</p>
+
+<p>The words sent a shock like electricity through Fleming. He sat up
+suddenly, his large face white and scared.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know?" he stammered.</p>
+
+<p>"It is easy. Had he been a dealer he would have paid in cash. A cheque
+would be evidence against him if anything came out later. And he used
+the word 'stole.' No dealer uses that word. He gave a name in his
+letter—the name of the man who he says told him we had the goods to
+sell. I don't believe it. I tell you that man is a detective from the
+Yard. I was watching him. I know now."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sure?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure? Of course I'm sure. I tell you he is one of the Flying Squad who
+came to investigate after the tiara was lifted. I have been watching
+his face. I can place him. That is why I kept to the background. He is
+setting a trap for us."</p>
+
+<p>"If he is a detective, why doesn't he arrest us?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you see? He heard about the stones somehow, but hadn't time to
+get a warrant made out for us. It was late when he left London. He came
+to make sure we were here—to make sure we had his letter——"</p>
+
+<p>"But his cheque? His offer to buy?"</p>
+
+<p>"A snare! A ruse! Had he brought the warrants and arrested us, did that
+give him the diamonds? He had to come to see them for himself—as a
+dealer. He needed evidence. Did you not see him working out his case
+as he arranged the stones on the table? Detectives don't carry big
+money—so he offered us a cheque."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ass! A dealer would have had the money, as I tell you. Think, fool! If
+we accepted a cheque from this so-called dealer we would have to go to
+London to cash it. It would be made out on a London office. And they
+would be waiting for us at the bank door, or at the counter when we
+presented the paper—so!"</p>
+
+<p>She made a movement with her hands to imitate the clasping of handcuffs
+over her wrists. Fleming shivered.</p>
+
+<p>"It will go hard with you, wife. There is the blind maid. It means
+penal servitude—almost life for you——"</p>
+
+<p>"It will be as much for you as for me, unless we do something. We can
+get out of it yet. We must."</p>
+
+<p>"How can it be prevented?" he demanded dully.</p>
+
+<p>"By countering plot by plot. He has set a snare for us and we have
+walked into it. Let us set one for him. Do as I say. Here he comes."</p>
+
+<p>The door of the room was thrown open and the dealer entered hurriedly.
+Rain was running from his coat. His shoulders glistened like black
+mirrors.</p>
+
+<p>"Here is a fine thing!" he cried angrily. "My car is standing on her
+rims. Somebody has slashed my tyres. Who could have done it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Who indeed?" echoed the woman. David Fleming jumped to his feet,
+glancing from his wife to the dealer.</p>
+
+<p>"Your tyres?" he said. "Your tyres cut!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, we have had some trouble with tramps in these parts lately," said
+his wife quickly. "They hate cars and motorists. They say that at night
+they are sometimes nearly run down by cars. One of them has played a
+bad trick on you, mister."</p>
+
+<p>"It is a trick I'd make him pay for if I could find him," said the
+dealer in wrath. "I cannot go to London on three rims. I have only one
+spare tyre. The nearest garage——"</p>
+
+<p>He looked helplessly from one to the other, while the rain dripped
+from his coat and formed pools on the floor. The woman looked at the
+sitting-room clock.</p>
+
+<p>"It is miles off," she said. "It is closed long ago, anyway. Don't you
+see it is nearly midnight?"</p>
+
+<p>"What can be done?"</p>
+
+<p>"What I said before you went outside. We'll give you a bed until
+morning. Switch off your lights and put the car in our shed. If you
+stay it will serve a double purpose. I may make up my mind about the
+stones and let you have them at your price, and you may take us both up
+to London in the morning so that we can cash the cheque."</p>
+
+<p>"That means that you are willing to accept eight hundred?"</p>
+
+<p>The dealer took the slip of paper from his pocket-book and signed it,
+receiving in return the stones in a small canvas bag. He put the bag
+into his inside pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"It is kind of you to put me up," he said, "but all the same there
+must be a way to get back. The village is not more than three or four
+miles off."</p>
+
+<p>"It is merely a place of one short street."</p>
+
+<p>"But I may be able to telephone——"</p>
+
+<p>"The telephone is in the post office. It closed early in the evening."</p>
+
+<p>"Is there no train?"</p>
+
+<p>"None before dawn. And that is a slow milk train."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, London is twenty miles away. It is a nuisance. But surely there
+is a garage where I may hire a car?"</p>
+
+<p>"There is a garage, but they have no cars to let for hiring. They just
+do repairs and sell petrol."</p>
+
+<p>A slash of rain hit the window. The dealer could think of no more
+suggestions.</p>
+
+<p>"I may as well stay in that case," he said. "I'll go up by train in the
+morning and tell the garage people to call for it after I've gone. I
+can come down in a few days for it."</p>
+
+<p>"That is the best plan," said the woman. "And in the meantime you two
+men had better push the car into the shed and I'll prepare your room."</p>
+
+<p>As she went upstairs she struck her hands together repeatedly,
+muttering to herself.</p>
+
+<p>"He does not want to drive us up to town. He wants to go alone with his
+evidence. I know! I know! We'll see who can set snares best!"</p>
+
+<p>She was still up in the bedroom when the men returned to the
+sitting-room. The dealer walked through the room straight to the
+kitchen and bent down in front of the dwindling fire, spreading his
+hands out. Fleming followed him. The dealer glanced round the kitchen.
+He lifted the lid of the coal-scuttle in order to put some fuel on the
+dying fire, but there was no coal in the scuttle. When Fleming offered
+to get some the dealer shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll go up to bed soon. I came in here because there isn't a fire in
+the sitting-room. It doesn't matter. These tyres will cost me a bit to
+repair."</p>
+
+<p>At that moment the woman entered.</p>
+
+<p>"Would you like a bite of supper?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No, thanks. I'm going to bed."</p>
+
+<p>"Then let me show you the way to your room."</p>
+
+<p>The dealer nodded to Fleming and followed her. She lit a candle and
+took him to his room. The room was small and mean. The bed was ready,
+the blind drawn. He thanked her once more and flung himself into a
+chair, yawning. She bade him good-night and went downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>When she descended to the kitchen her husband was standing gazing at
+the embers in the grate. He looked up as she entered.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"The snare is set," she answered, primping at her straight hair. "We
+have only an hour or so to wait."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you intend to do?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a tremble in his tone and a startled look spread over his
+face. Her features were more than ever like those of a rat just then.</p>
+
+<p>"You shall see. It is him or us. He knows all. And he is the only one
+who knows."</p>
+
+<p>"What then?"</p>
+
+<p>"There is an old mine shaft less than a mile off. What could be a
+better hiding-place for his car?"</p>
+
+<p>"A mine shaft?" repeated Fleming, and his face became livid.</p>
+
+<p>"It is better than the river," she said calmly. "It would never be
+found in the mine shaft."</p>
+
+<p>She went to the cupboard and drew out a long carving knife, running her
+finger along the edge. Her husband trembled at her coolness. She saw
+his agitation and smiled, her front teeth showing.</p>
+
+<p>"All you have to do," she said, "is to obey. I have his cheque. If we
+get someone to cash it we shall have ready money. We need not go to the
+bank. Let someone else go. We shall find a 'fence' who will cash it.
+For the present, consider that the stones are in his inside pocket—his
+coat pocket. We shall have them also. There is no lock on his bedroom
+door. If you are afraid, you may go to bed."</p>
+
+<p>"What are you going to do?" asked Fleming in a shaking voice.</p>
+
+<p>She replied quite coolly.</p>
+
+<p>"Close the jaws of the trap. While he lives he has evidence. It is his
+existence or ours."</p>
+
+<p>There was a cold ferocity about her that even Fleming had never
+previously seen, and the new knowledge of her character stupefied him
+with horror. Into his dull brain there crept a vague knowledge of a
+terrible truth. This was the climax of evildoing. First a small theft,
+then a larger one, then a still greater, then a crime that chilled
+his bones and branded them both for ever. The progress of crime, of
+violation of the law, had worked to its consummation.</p>
+
+<p>"Woman!" he cried suddenly, in desperate revolt. "Woman, I have married
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>She answered his outburst swiftly and with venom.</p>
+
+<p>"Fool! I have kept you!"</p>
+
+<p>It was the truth. Left to himself he would never have become more
+than a minor criminal, snatching small prizes, swaying between the
+gutter and the prison cell. Her greed had done two things; it had
+enriched them, but it had involved them. The law of compensation, of
+responsibility clinging to the heels of daring, worked in crime as in
+respectability. She had always viewed the prize and had disregarded the
+corollary. He coveted the one but always shrank from the other.</p>
+
+<p>In a little while she spoke again.</p>
+
+<p>"It was I who slashed his tyres. That was the beginning of the
+counter-snare. It kept him here. There is nothing much for you to do.
+When I have made it possible, you shall take him in his car——"</p>
+
+<p>"When you have made it possible?" he repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"When I have made it possible. Listen. This is what you have to do.
+Carry him down and lay him in his car. It must be done before dawn.
+You know how to drive a car. Bring it out of the shed and lay him in
+it. Then drive it to the mine shaft. On the rims of the wheels. It
+doesn't matter. Stop the car just as you come near the mine shaft, and
+get out. Then start it again and let it plunge into the shaft. Him with
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"But the car tracks?"</p>
+
+<p>"There is more rain coming. The tracks will be washed out. And nobody
+can prove anything."</p>
+
+<p>"What about us after this?"</p>
+
+<p>"We will leave this house. When we get the money from a receiver for
+this cheque we will be all right. We have had passports ready for some
+time. There will be no difficulty at all. We can sell the stones over
+in Paris."</p>
+
+<p>Fleming let his head fall into his hands, and remained in that position.</p>
+
+<p>The woman put a handful of sticks on the fire, and crossed her hands in
+her lap, her eye on the clock.</p>
+
+<p>It was nearly one hour after midnight. The rain had ceased, but the
+moon was struggling behind great clouds which chased each other across
+the sky. A strange quiet fell on the house.</p>
+
+<p>Another hour passed. Fleming remained with his hands clasping his
+forehead, his eyes on the floor. His wife kicked off her shoes and rose
+softly to her feet.</p>
+
+<p>She moved noiselessly towards the door and passed out. Fleming did not
+stir.</p>
+
+<p>He strained his ears, nevertheless. Would there be a struggle? His wife
+was agile, swift, inexorable. The sleeper was defenceless.</p>
+
+<p>A floorboard above the kitchen creaked. Fleming took his hands from
+his forehead and listened, his head cocked in a strained position.
+The ceiling of the kitchen was old and thin; it was the floor of the
+bedroom to which his wife had gone.</p>
+
+<p>Did he hear a cry? Breathlessly he waited. A blow? A groan? No. Not a
+sound. All was silent. He wanted to shout and dared not. His nerves
+were all unstrung.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed like an eternity, but in reality it was not more than fifteen
+minutes before the kitchen door was pushed open. His wife appeared. She
+was like a ghost. Her face was pale and grim, but her lower lip was
+held down by her projecting teeth. In her hand was a small canvas bag.
+It was the bag in which the precious stones were kept. She sat down and
+emptied the contents into her lap. They sparkled and gleamed in the
+darkness.</p>
+
+<p>"It is done," she said. "We hold the trump card. The snare worked."</p>
+
+<p>She put the stones back into the bag and hid it in her bosom. Her
+husband waited for her to speak. She pulled on her shoes slowly.</p>
+
+<p>"He did not stir. His coat was lying over him—to keep him warm, no
+doubt. It was easy to get the stones. He had not even taken them out
+of his coat pocket."</p>
+
+<p>"Did he—did he—move?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Lay like a log. One blow was enough! One blow! The knife is sharp.
+I sank it deep into him. The point must be through his heart."</p>
+
+<p>"He did not turn?"</p>
+
+<p>"He had the bedclothes over his head. The room was dark, but I knew my
+way. I did not touch him. I stood beside the bed and struck. I left the
+knife there. One blow! It was easy. The knife slid down deep."</p>
+
+<p>Fleming gazed, speechless with horror at her recital. Her words were
+ghastly in their simplicity.</p>
+
+<p>"It is your turn next," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"For what?"</p>
+
+<p>"In a little while we shall be going—away. The car must be got out.
+You will bring him down. You know what to do. We needn't go to bed now.
+Let us eat."</p>
+
+<p>She went about the business without a shiver. They ate a hurried meal
+and drank some liquor. His wife allowed Fleming a free supply of
+liquor, knowing him for what he was. When they finished their meal she
+made a gesture, and he got to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>It was raining again, but Fleming did not notice this as he walked from
+the front door to the shed. He pushed the car out and guided it to the
+front entrance. He coaxed the engine, and saw that there was a supply
+of petrol in the tank. All that was needed was to crank it up. He
+returned to the house and found his wife putting on her coat.</p>
+
+<p>He turned his head away from her and walked towards the narrow stairs.
+His hand was on the siderail when a noise struck into the heavy silence
+of the night. The sound petrified them both. They gazed at each other.
+A motor-car was roaring its way up the lane.</p>
+
+<p>It stopped at their door. They were without power to act.</p>
+
+<p>Into the house strode three men. The foremost stepped into the lamp
+light, and the Flemings saw his face and cried aloud in terror. The
+woman's eyes seemed to start from her head.</p>
+
+<p>"His ghost!" she screamed.</p>
+
+<p>"Not his ghost," replied the man. "I heard you and your husband
+planning my death when I went out to start my car and when I went to
+my room. I slipped out of the window, leaving the pillows made up to
+appear as if I were asleep. I have been to the village. I telephoned to
+Scotland Yard. These men are also detectives. They came down in a fast
+car. You are being arrested, both of you, for the theft of the tiara,
+the blinding of the maid, and the attempted murder of myself. Had you
+really brought coal for the fire when you went out, madam, you might
+have killed me in bed, for I did not suspect you would try murder. But
+I saw that you had been out and that you had not brought coal as you
+professed, so I knew <i>you</i> had slashed my tyres. Let me warn you both
+that whatever you say will be taken down in writing."</p>
+
+<p>David Fleming did not answer. His wife thrust out her rodent-like face
+as she saw the handcuffs being produced.</p>
+
+<p>"Why did I forget to bring the coal?" she muttered, a rat to the end.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_SECOND_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE SECOND CELL</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>"An interesting narrative," was the comment of the visitor when the
+Governor finished his tale, "but David Fleming was obviously a man of
+low intelligence or he would not now be in the cell of your prison. His
+wife made the error that brought them both to gaol—at least I presume
+she also is now in a cell."</p>
+
+<p>"She is, but not under my charge, of course," said the Governor in
+reply. "Now, had you been in David Fleming's place, could you have
+foreseen, do you think, the small item that led to their undoing?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am certain that any man of ordinary common sense would have avoided
+the pitfall," smiled the visitor. "It is fatal to trust a woman."</p>
+
+<p>"There may be something in what you say," rejoined the Governor. "You
+have the historic case of Antony and Cleopatra on your side. But
+generalisations do not always apply. It is curious that you should have
+mentioned that point, because it is the very one that influenced the
+actions of John Dennison."</p>
+
+<p>"Who is John Dennison?"</p>
+
+<p>"In order to know John Dennison," said the Governor, "you must hear the
+story of the occupant of the second cell, which I shall have pleasure
+in relating to you now."</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Imagine yourself (continued the Governor) in a certain jewellery shop
+in the West End of London just after closing time. It is the custom
+in most warehouses of this description to take all the goods from the
+windows and lock them up in the safe every night, and Dennison and
+another salesman were engaged in this duty.</p>
+
+<p>"One claw diamond ring—£1,000!" called Dennison, as he stood in front
+of the safe, holding a tray of jewellery.</p>
+
+<p>"One claw diamond ring—£1,000," repeated his fellow-assistant, who
+bent over a stock sheet at the counter.</p>
+
+<p>"One necklace—£300!" called John.</p>
+
+<p>The checker repeated the words, and ticked the item off.</p>
+
+<p>The manager, from the back office, watched the two assistants at their
+work. The shop was closed, the front door bolted and locked, the iron
+fence padlocked across the plate glass windows. All the other hands
+had gone home, and Dennison and his fellow-salesman were taking the
+valuable goods from the window and putting them in the safe. This was
+Dennison's job—to carry the trays from the window and deposit them in
+the safe. While he called out the contents of the trays and the prices
+his helper checked each article off from a list. This occurred twice
+daily—in the morning, when the goods were taken from the safe to be
+displayed in the windows, and in the evening, when they were returned
+to the safe.</p>
+
+<p>Under such conditions one would think a robbery impossible. John
+Dennison did not think so. He was robbing the firm under the manager's
+nose.</p>
+
+<p>Dennison was given the job of handling the trays because he was the man
+who, next to the manager, best knew jewels. He could value stones at a
+glance. He could detect a flaw in pearls before the average salesman
+was able to recognise that a flaw was present. For over a year he had
+held the position with this firm in the West End. For over a year he
+had been using his brains towards one end—the idea of the robbery.</p>
+
+<p>"One brooch, Burma ruby—£450," he called.</p>
+
+<p>"Completion of trays!"</p>
+
+<p>He stepped towards the door of the large safe as the checker droned
+his reply. John Dennison's long, thin fingers moved across the tray as
+he placed it on the shelf, the brooch was lifted and dropped inside
+his coat cuff. It was the work of an instant, showing no more than
+the flash of a hand. A second later he drew his handkerchief from his
+sleeve, holding it tightly as he dabbed his brow; then he put it into
+his coat pocket. The brooch now lay under the handkerchief, beside the
+necklace, the claw ring, and several other articles he had extracted
+from the trays in exactly the same way.</p>
+
+<p>"That's all, sir," he said to the manager.</p>
+
+<p>The manager nodded. John Dennison put his weight on the safe door
+to close it. He heard the lock click into position. This made him
+perfectly satisfied, for only someone who knew the combination could
+open the door again, and the manager, who was the only person in the
+shop who knew it, already had his hat on his head and was pulling on
+his gloves.</p>
+
+<p>Dennison took the sheet of foolscap from the checker and laid it on
+the manager's desk. The manager dropped it into a drawer and turned
+the key. The list would not see daylight until the next morning.
+Dennison bade the manager good night and went out, with his assistant,
+by the side door. At the corner of the street he bought a newspaper
+and scanned it casually. He was not interested in the news, but he was
+waiting to see that the manager left the shop, and he was content when
+the manager emerged immediately and entered the car that was waiting
+for him.</p>
+
+<p>Dennison did not go straight home, though he knew his wife was eagerly
+waiting for him. His next move was proof of the extreme care with which
+he had built up the fabric of the crime that was to leave no clue.
+First he went to a shop and bought a cheap, small, metal attaché-case.
+He then went by bus to Richmond. At Richmond he hired a skiff and rowed
+a considerable distance up the river.</p>
+
+<p>It was almost dark by this time. It was completely dark when he
+reached a spot he had previously selected for his cache. Along the
+river-bank was a row of wooden piles. Dennison went ashore and searched
+for a heavy stone. This he took into the boat with him and pushed off
+into mid-stream. He anchored there.</p>
+
+<p>Wrapping his stolen goods in the newspaper, he put them into the case
+and bound it firmly with a roll of blind-cord which he had brought with
+him. On the top of the closed case he bound the stone, leaving plenty
+of cord free to take to the bank. He slipped the case over the side
+of his boat and paid out the cord until the case was at the bottom of
+the river. Then he rowed ashore, letting the slack cord run out as he
+rowed. Round one of the wooden piles he cast a wide noose, and, having
+used another stone as a sinker, he dropped the noose into the water and
+watched it disappear.</p>
+
+<p>After this was done he rowed back to Richmond, paid for the hire of the
+boat, and went home.</p>
+
+<p>It was late when he reached the flat where he and his wife lived. She
+met him as he opened the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Ted Hughes has been here all evening," she said. "Is everything all
+right?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it's all right. Glad to see you, Ted."</p>
+
+<p>A young man about his own age had come from the sitting-room to greet
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"We expected you at the usual time," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Kitty was getting anxious. I wanted to take her out to a show."</p>
+
+<p>Dennison shrugged his shoulders, grinning.</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry to upset your evening. You may go now, if it isn't too late."</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you come with us, John?" asked his wife.</p>
+
+<p>"Me? No. I'm not a gay bird like Hughes. I'm not keen on shows."</p>
+
+<p>She pulled off her cloak and flung it in a chair.</p>
+
+<p>"It's late. I'll not go to-night."</p>
+
+<p>Dennison turned to Hughes with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Come round again, Ted, and take her out."</p>
+
+<p>Hughes nodded, and took his leave reluctantly. As soon as the door
+closed, Dennison slumped into a chair.</p>
+
+<p>"There's nearly ten thousand pounds' worth in this haul, Kitty. When I
+say 'Go,' prepare to come out of England."</p>
+
+<p>"John, have you got it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not here. Hidden."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course; but where?"</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head slowly.</p>
+
+<p>"Keep to your department, Kitty."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not tell me? You always keep me in the dark! It isn't fair!"</p>
+
+<p>"Adam went wrong when he trusted too much to Eve. I'm not making the
+same mistake. You know our methods."</p>
+
+<p>She glanced sulkily at him and turned away, but he caught her arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Kitty. There may be inquiries. There may be searches. Maybe
+the cops will come here. They'll be sure to watch, anyway. They have
+ways of frightening women. I don't want you to blurt out anything under
+excitement. That's what the cops aim for. If you don't know anything,
+you can say so and stick to it."</p>
+
+<p>"You will be careful when you sell the stuff?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ted Hughes will do the carrying for me, as usual. I'll explain to him
+in time where to find the goods. If he's nabbed, it's up to him. The
+great thing is to keep suspicion away from us."</p>
+
+<p>"You're sure of yourself—as usual?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'm all right. I can trust myself. I gave notice to the manager
+to-day. I leave in a month."</p>
+
+<p>"But if Hughes is caught and gives you away?"</p>
+
+<p>"He daren't. I'd kill anyone who gave me away. Hughes knows that."</p>
+
+<p>"Me too?" she asked, with a curled lip.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose so," he answered quietly. "Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>They went to bed without another word.</p>
+
+<p>There was this to be said for John Dennison—he was remorselessly cool.
+The theft at the shop was not his first lapse into crime by any means.
+He had never been caught in any of his previous escapades, so that the
+police did not have his finger-prints or his photograph. His career had
+been one of implacable accuracy. He had always covered himself by using
+other individuals, and he always saw to it that the other individuals
+were encompassed in the toils of the net he spread. For himself he
+always left a loophole.</p>
+
+<p>In South Africa he had been an I.D.B.—which means that he had been an
+illicit diamond buyer. The workers in the mines had been his tools,
+taking the risks and accepting his percentage. It was there he had
+learned the value of stones.</p>
+
+<p>He had come to London on the tracks of stones he wished to possess. He
+had used his wife to find them. It was she who had gone through every
+fashionable shop until she was able to direct him to the store in which
+he was now engaged as an assistant. It was she who had made friends
+with Ted Hughes, who was then a salesman in the shop. Bit by bit she
+had led Hughes on, fascinating him, alluring him, ultimately destroying
+him, so that he was discharged from his post.</p>
+
+<p>All this time John Dennison had kept in the background. When Hughes
+was discharged, he had applied for the post, armed with credentials
+from diamond men in South Africa, had been willing to find the security
+the firm demanded, and had secured the position. It was worth while
+depositing a hundred or two pounds to be inside such premises.</p>
+
+<p>While he worked at the shop his wife had played her part. She had
+not thrown Hughes over. She had retained him, according to plan.
+His infatuation was deepened by the loyalty she displayed in his
+misfortune. He became a hanger-on on the fringe of the trade, and a
+friend of John Dennison as well as an admirer of John Dennison's wife.
+He knew London. He went with Kitty Dennison to dance-clubs. Her husband
+did not object. It was all in the plan.</p>
+
+<p>There was little to choose between this strange pair of criminals, this
+husband and wife who worked from different angles towards a common
+goal. Both played their parts independent of the other. Both retained
+a peculiar individuality of action. Both were equally deserving of
+punishment. The only bond between them was their marriage certificate.</p>
+
+<p>The life in London attracted her. She found all that she, as a woman,
+desired, just as her husband found all that he, as a diamond thief,
+desired. The dance-clubs did not interest him, but they interested
+her. She liked gaiety, and Hughes was able to show her where it was to
+be had. He strove to please her. He succeeded, but at a cost he did
+not then realise. For her part, she was so used to being directed by
+the cold, intense implacability of her husband that she found in the
+society of Hughes a bath of pleasure. She went about with him without
+restraint. John Dennison watched, and waited.</p>
+
+<p>Gradually Hughes became financially overwhelmed. He had been led out
+of his depth. His discharge from his position constantly rankled as an
+injustice. Resentment breeds revenge. The time was ripe for a coup.
+Dennison sounded him. Hughes, desperate and in debt, was willing to
+do what Hughes, solvent, would never have dreamed of doing. He was
+prepared to be a seller of stolen property. He was introduced to
+"receivers."</p>
+
+<p>Dennison tested him with small stuff at first. All that was asked of
+Hughes was that he went to a spot, found a parcel, and took it to an
+address. He did not even know the contents of the parcel. A day later
+he received his share of the proceeds from Dennison. He believed he was
+dealing with smuggled diamonds.</p>
+
+<p>Thus it was that John Dennison was a criminal, but was safe even under
+police observation. It was Hughes who faced the accusing law. If Hughes
+was caught, Dennison was ready to prove that he was guilty of nothing
+more than a passing friendship with him. Not once had he discussed the
+shop with Hughes, though he was aware that Hughes knew the combination
+of the safe. Knowledge of the lock was nothing to Dennison. He was not
+a burglar.</p>
+
+<p>In the present case he was content to wait long enough to allay
+suspicion. He held the winning card.</p>
+
+<p>The robbery was discovered when the manager came to the shop the next
+morning and opened the safe. The shock sent a thrill through the
+establishment. The police were called. Detectives came. They examined
+the premises, the safe door, the locks and bars of the shop entrance.
+They could make nothing of it.</p>
+
+<p>The manager was able to show that the goods had been put in the safe
+as usual. He had seen Dennison and the other assistant take them from
+the window. He had seen the safe closed. He had tested the lock before
+he left the premises. His finger-prints, and those of Dennison, were
+still on the safe door. Who knew the combination? Not an assistant
+save the head salesman, who had been gone before the trays were taken
+out of the window, and the manager himself, who was, of course, above
+suspicion.</p>
+
+<p>The detectives hovered about the shop all day. Others came, examined,
+and went away. The manager spent most of his time being interviewed by
+them in his office. The end was that all agreed it was a mystery, a
+classic crime. John Dennison had done what every thief, every burglar,
+every criminal, dreams of doing—he had robbed, and obliterated his
+trail completely. This was a tribute to his daring as well as to his
+skill.</p>
+
+<p>But John Dennison was not content with this. He went one better. He
+aided the detectives. It was he who supplied them with a clue. Under
+his counter he discovered a skeleton key and a small jemmy. He bore
+them in triumph to the manager.</p>
+
+<p>The detectives surged round him as he explained how he had come across
+them when he was looking for a polishing-brush. He did not explain that
+he had slipped the articles from his sleeve as he stooped towards the
+floor!</p>
+
+<p>Why had Dennison given the detectives this clue? Obviously because
+he knew the working of the official mind. If no clue was available,
+they would come to the conclusion that this was an "inside" job, that
+it had been carried out by someone within the shop. The key and the
+jemmy supplied them with something to investigate while he made his
+preparations for escape.</p>
+
+<p>While the detectives were busy examining the jemmy and the key, other
+investigators came—the insurance people. Two experts came to represent
+their interests. One of these two, a tall, thin man with dreamy eyes,
+looked at the safe for a long time. The manager explained everything in
+detail. The tall, thin man listened attentively. He examined the jemmy
+and the key, fitted it into the lock of the side door, cast his eyes on
+the ceiling, the cellar trap-door, the cabinets ranged along the walls.</p>
+
+<p>"A clever theft," he murmured.</p>
+
+<p>He joined the other detectives, who were comparing notes. They took
+away the key and the jemmy, and the excitement died down in the routine
+of the shop duties.</p>
+
+<p>That night when John Dennison went home he told his wife to advance the
+next step in his scheme.</p>
+
+<p>"Book passages for Cape Town on the ship sailing the day after I finish
+with the firm. Give any name except our own."</p>
+
+<p>"Everything all right, John?"</p>
+
+<p>"Everything."</p>
+
+<p>She did not go out that evening, but remained content beside him,
+listening to the wireless.</p>
+
+<p>Dennison went about his business as usual. Every evening for a week he
+asked the same question as he hung up his hat in the hall.</p>
+
+<p>"Anybody been here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody."</p>
+
+<p>During the second week his question changed.</p>
+
+<p>"Seen Hughes to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>During the third week the query was:</p>
+
+<p>"Going out to-night?"</p>
+
+<p>The answer remained the same:</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>One morning a few days before he was due to leave the shop he looked up
+from his breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>"Kitty, I'll want Hughes soon."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"You'd better tell him so."</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't seen him for some time."</p>
+
+<p>"You haven't quarrelled?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a challenge and a menace in his swiftly raised voice.</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"You've been keeping indoors a lot of late. Hasn't he been asking you
+out to shows?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"You've got to bring him along. I need him—for the last time."</p>
+
+<p>"I told him not to call again, John."</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"I told him not to come for me."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him strangely, biting her lip. There was a trace of
+nervousness in her tone as she answered:</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't want him to come. He told me the last time I saw him that he
+loved me."</p>
+
+<p>Dennison threw back his head and laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what about that? I knew he was infatuated. I'm not blind, but
+it's all in the game, isn't it? You've got to keep it up with him, as
+you've done with others. We're leaving London soon. Better send a note
+asking him to come and take you out. He has to pick up a parcel for
+me——"</p>
+
+<p>"The diamonds you took from the shop?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it safe now?"</p>
+
+<p>"The insurance people have paid. That's good enough."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why worry about Hughes? Tell me where it is, and I'll get the
+stuff——"</p>
+
+<p>"And deliver it to the fence? Not at all, Kitty. Cops sometimes hang
+round fences' homes. I won't expose you to risk. Your job is to bring
+Hughes here. The money will be sent to us on board the ship by special
+messenger, after Hughes delivers the loot."</p>
+
+<p>She pouted, eyeing him in a way that showed she felt hurt.</p>
+
+<p>"John, why don't you let me into the secret? I'm not a baby. You seem
+to be almost inhuman at times, keeping everything locked up inside you.
+You just use people like pawns. Why can't you be like Hughes—nice and
+sociable——"</p>
+
+<p>"It is because Hughes is nice and sociable that he is aiding us, Kitty.
+Hughes is part of my plan. He is necessary to side-track suspicion.
+I'll tell you where I hid the stuff when we are away, but not now. In
+the meantime it's your job to be nice to Hughes. I expect to meet him
+here this evening. We leave in about twenty-four hours."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not write to him yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>"He'll come quicker to see you, and letters may be used as evidence."</p>
+
+<p>His eye travelled to the telephone on the hall table.</p>
+
+<p>"He's not on the 'phone, and I'd hesitate to use it, anyway. You never
+know who's tapping the line. We'll keep that for emergency, Kitty.
+Hughes has got to deliver the loot at once; then you may have a last
+outing with him—but don't tell him it's the last!"</p>
+
+<p>"You want me to go out with him to-night?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do; after he has delivered the goods he can join you at the
+dance-club. He'll work swiftly to get there, and, as he'll be paid by
+the fence, he'll have money to burn. I'll pack up while you are away.
+Hughes will report progress to you, and you to me on your return."</p>
+
+<p>He noticed an anxious look in her eyes as he went off to his work. This
+was his last day at the shop.</p>
+
+<p>Ted Hughes was at the flat when Dennison returned in the evening. Kitty
+was dressing, and kept to her room while the two men talked, and, as
+soon as everything was arranged, she and Hughes departed. Dennison
+began to pack.</p>
+
+<p>He reckoned that by the following midday he and Kitty would be aboard
+the liner. Hughes would not know they had gone from the furnished flat
+until he called one day to find it empty of tenants. Swift action was
+the keynote of Dennison's plans. Hit and run! Sell and vanish! No trail
+was ever left behind.</p>
+
+<p>He finished packing, and sat down to wait for his wife's return.
+Reviewing the situation, he decided that he had managed it rather well.
+Kitty would be able to tell him when she came back how Hughes had
+succeeded. He had parted from the manager of the shop on very friendly
+terms. His excuse for leaving was that he was going to America.
+There had been no hint or mention of the robbery, which had become
+history—unexplained, if not forgotten, history.</p>
+
+<p>There was only one point on which he was not quite satisfied. He
+wondered why Kitty had mentioned to him that Hughes had fallen in
+love with her. He considered this carefully. The fact that Hughes was
+infatuated with her did not disturb him. Other men had been infatuated.
+But the fact that she had allowed him to fall seriously in love
+with her was unusual, for she had hitherto played her part with the
+joyous daring of irresponsibility. Was it possible that she had become
+attached to Hughes because he was "nice and sociable"? Thinking all
+this out in cold blood, John Dennison, for the first time in his life,
+experienced a pang of jealousy.</p>
+
+<p>He became restless as the hours passed. Midnight came and went. One
+o'clock struck. Two. Three. Four. Daylight broke. The city began to
+awaken to life. John Dennison watched the clock steal hour after hour
+from him. He gnashed his teeth and beat his hands together. But still
+his wife did not come.</p>
+
+<p>He was at his wits' end by breakfast-time. He was sleepless, haggard,
+red-eyed. Yet he was helpless until Kitty arrived. For want of
+something to do, he made himself a cup of coffee on the gas stove in
+the kitchen. He was drinking the coffee when the door knocker thudded.</p>
+
+<p>He knew this was not his wife, for she had a latchkey. He went to the
+door, opening it cautiously. Facing him was the tall, thin detective
+who had represented the insurance company.</p>
+
+<p>"Can I have a word with you, Mr. Dennison?"</p>
+
+<p>Before Dennison could answer, the man strode into the hall.</p>
+
+<p>"I saw your light on early in the morning. I suppose you are waiting
+for your wife?"</p>
+
+<p>"What is that to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't expect you'll see her again. I am a private detective,
+Mr. Dennison. I was engaged on the robbery at the shop, and in the
+course of my duties I had to keep an eye on you and your wife. Are
+you aware that she has been friendly with, and is now running off
+with, a man named Hughes? I considered it my duty to tell you. I have
+discovered they are leaving the country as Mr. and Mrs. Hughes——"</p>
+
+<p>John Dennison saw red in that moment.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know?" he demanded hoarsely.</p>
+
+<p>"I have watched your wife's movements."</p>
+
+<p>Dennison blazed.</p>
+
+<p>"They've turned on me!" he cried in wrath. "She's gone off with him
+because he was nice and sociable! They've taken the swag!"</p>
+
+<p>He threw his hands above his head savagely.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll give you no trouble. I confess everything! But I'm confessing so
+that you may beat Hughes and her! They mustn't get away with it! It was
+I who took the diamonds. Hughes was the carrier. I'll tell the whole
+story if you catch them. We are all in it—the three of us——What are
+you staring at? You're losing time instead of getting after them!"</p>
+
+<p>The telephone bell tinkled in the hall. He leaped for it, the detective
+at his heels, but he waved the man back. The receiver was already at
+his ear. Someone was calling him. It was his wife's voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, John! It's me—Kitty! I didn't come home last night because a
+detective was on my heels. I've seen him hanging about before, but I
+gave him the slip and came to this hotel. I didn't dare telephone you,
+in case he was tapping the line, but this morning I slipped out the
+back way. Hughes found the loot and delivered it safely. We've just
+time to catch the boat-train. I'll meet you at the station. You'll find
+the passage tickets in my dressing-case. I had them made out in the
+name of Mr. and Mrs. Hughes——"</p>
+
+<p>John Dennison dropped the receiver and sagged into a chair.</p>
+
+<p>The detective, who represented the insurance company, was watching him;
+and the look on the man's face told John Dennison that he had beaten
+himself. His unfounded jealousy had made him say too much, and the
+passage tickets were not any use to him, nor to the wife who was above
+suspicion.</p>
+
+<p>It had proved disastrous to him <i>not</i> to trust a woman.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_THIRD_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE THIRD CELL</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>"I admit," said the visitor, who seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed the
+stories he had just heard, "I admit that a generalisation does not
+always work in regard to women any more than in regard to anything
+else. In both the instances you have given, however, the flaw was that
+the people concerned (whom you would call the criminals) did not get
+away quick enough. They delayed their exit."</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me," said the Governor, "if I suggest that there have been
+cases where swift flight has been on the side of the culprit and yet,
+through some unknown, some subtle, misgiving, some unexplainable
+cause, it has availed him nothing in the end. And this has happened
+not because the pursuers have known where to find their man. It is one
+of the strange things of crime that always, somewhere, at the most
+unexpected moments, the flaw appears and the whole fabric of defence
+and escape falls to dust. I hold that in case after case the criminal
+defeats himself."</p>
+
+<p>"Not if he knows his objective and goes straight for it," retorted the
+visitor. "Now, I know my objective——"</p>
+
+<p>"So did Samuel Vining," interrupted the Governor. "And yet Samuel
+Vining is at the present moment the occupant of the third cell in the
+corridor beneath us. He is one of those who will pay with his life for
+his error. Since his is a very remarkable case, I propose to relate his
+experience in support of what I say."</p>
+
+<p>The visitor settled himself in his chair and helped himself to another
+cigarette, while the Governor took a sip of whisky and soda and cleared
+his throat.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>There was nothing subtle (began the Governor) about the murder
+committed by Samuel Vining. He struck down a man in the bar of a small
+public-house during a heated argument—buried a seaman's knife to
+the hilt in the man's side. There the victim lay, his glazing eyes
+turned towards the ceiling. It had been the deed of a moment. When the
+bystanders realised that the man was dead, Vining had disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>He had not more than half an hour's start of the police, but half
+an hour is a long time when a man is speeding from justice. Vining
+had the world to roam, the whole earth in which to hide. His impulse
+was to flee. He boarded a bus going westward and took a ticket to
+the terminus, not knowing where the route would lead him. His main
+object was to get away, to get away, to get away! The desire to escape
+from humanity surged through his brain. Did he repent of his crime?
+Repentance was nothing. Punishment was the avenging force he had to
+escape from. Repentance was an inward thing. Punishment was not
+anything <i>he</i> could decide. <i>That</i> was in the hands of those who were
+pursuing him at that very moment.</p>
+
+<p>When the bus reached its journey's end he continued along the country
+road. He had no idea where it would lead. He did not, for the moment,
+care. Sometimes he ran, but he found running consumed his energy too
+quickly, so he walked mainly. The night was dark, but the stars were
+out. The road was lonely except for an occasional motor-car going
+towards, or coming from, London. He drew into the hedge when the cars
+passed, hiding from them. The stars told him he was walking south. In
+the south was the sea. This thought gave him some comfort.</p>
+
+<p>By dawn he was so weary that he was almost dropping from exhaustion;
+but he stumbled on, blindly getting away! He was passing through
+undulating country by this time. In the meadows he saw occasional
+houses. Workers were stirring. A labourer could be seen in the paths
+now and then. Dogs awoke and barked. The barks sent a shiver through
+Vining's frame. They were like warnings, challenges to him. They were
+the voices of civilisation telling him that he was observed. This made
+him hurry once more. He reflected that the police were on his trail,
+searching for him everywhere. Their net would be cast in the city,
+the telephones would be bearing messages, the telegraph would be
+issuing calls for his arrest. How could he defeat these means? Not by
+swiftness, but by cunning.</p>
+
+<p>At a bend in the road he came upon a road-mender seated beside a
+heap of stones. Beside the roadman was a can of tea, and in a red
+handkerchief was his early morning meal. A newspaper was spread over
+his knees. He looked up as Vining approached.</p>
+
+<p>They stared at each other for a moment. The road-mender spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Bin on the road for a bit, I reckon. Goin' to the coast, hey?"</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know I've been on the road for a bit?" demanded Vining
+challengingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Humph! By the dust on your clothes. Makin' for the coast?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a tidy way. Well over a score of miles. Hastings lies over the
+hill yonder."</p>
+
+<p>"Does it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nearer a score and a half of miles. I've seen a few walkers to the
+coast in my time. They generally walk durin' the night. Cooler, I
+dassay. You're fagged out."</p>
+
+<p>"Give me something to eat."</p>
+
+<p>It was more a demand than a request, and the road-mender lifted his
+eyes from the newspaper suddenly, then dropped them again to the
+printed page.</p>
+
+<p>"Take what you want," he said, his tone changing. "There's tea, an'
+bread, an' cheese, an' a scrap of meat."</p>
+
+<p>Vining slumped down on the roadside and started to eat ravenously.
+He finished the man's allowance and drank the tea. The food gave him
+strength, and the tea washed the dust from his parched throat. The
+road-mender was watching him, his right hand holding his long, thin
+hammer close to his side. Suddenly he rose to his feet, moving off
+backward.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you going?" demanded Vining quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"For help."</p>
+
+<p>"Help? What for?"</p>
+
+<p>"I know you. Think you can escape, do you? It's in the newspapers about
+you. At first I didn't think—but I bin watchin' you. The dust of you
+gave you away."</p>
+
+<p>"The dust?" echoed Vining dully.</p>
+
+<p>"It told me you'd bin walkin', an' then I looked at the paper. It says
+that a man named Sam Vining, a seaman, killed another man in a pub in
+the East End last night. You're him—Vining."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know?"</p>
+
+<p>"The dust told me you'd bin walkin', then I read your description.
+It's there—in print. Medium-sized, broad, dressed in shabby navy
+suit, tattoo marks on the back of right hand, brown eyes, mole on left
+temple, black-and-white check cap. That's you. They have a photo,
+too—not very like you, but near enough; must have bin taken a while
+ago. You killed this man because of a woman. She gave the police a lot
+of information. Her name is there."</p>
+
+<p>"Sarah," muttered Vining hoarsely.</p>
+
+<p>"That's it—Sarah. Sarah something. It's you, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is me. What about it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Your number's up."</p>
+
+<p>The road-mender was moving farther off, still walking backwards.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you going?" asked Vining.</p>
+
+<p>The roadman pointed to a hollow beyond the road, from which a thin
+trickle of smoke issued among the trees.</p>
+
+<p>"Down there is a village. A policeman lives there. I'm going to tell
+him. Better come with me quietly. Give yourself up. Come on. I've got
+you."</p>
+
+<p>He stood erect, swinging his long, thin hammer by his side. Vining made
+a movement as if he was about to rise.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't try to escape," warned the road-mender. "I can throw this hammer
+straight as a die!"</p>
+
+<p>Vining put his hand on the stones to raise himself. Next moment he
+fired one—a jagged rock that took the road-mender on the cheek. Vining
+was used to slinging pins and tools aboard ship. The road-mender went
+down, blood spurting from his cheek. Vining was gone by the time he
+gathered himself up.</p>
+
+<p>Down the road, then through a gap in the hedge into the meadows, went
+the fugitive, bending almost double as he dodged along ditches and
+under cover of hedges. From a nook he saw the policeman, some time
+later, go along the road on a bicycle at a great speed. He watched the
+officer's helmet disappear round a bend; then he struck deeper into the
+meadows.</p>
+
+<p>The one thing that stuck in his mind was that he was within possible
+distance of the coast. He knew the general position of Hastings. It was
+south of Dungeness point; and Dungeness was almost opposite Cape Gris
+Nez. If only he could take a boat at Hastings he could row to Gris Nez.
+His tiredness seemed to lift as the plan came to him.</p>
+
+<p>But before he stole a boat he had to get to the coast; and before he
+got to the coast he had to travel unseen during a long day. He decided
+to sleep for a few hours. He slept in a dry ditch in a small wood.</p>
+
+<p>When he awoke, the sun's position told him it was late afternoon. He
+was hungry. He had a few shillings in his pocket; but what was money if
+he dared not show his face to human beings? He searched for a brook,
+found one, and bathed his hands and face in the muddy water. It was
+cooling at any rate. He even drank some of it. As he dried himself with
+his handkerchief he pondered the situation.</p>
+
+<p>"They are all against me," he muttered, "but I'll win through.
+At Gris Nez I'll ship off—anywhere! They always want firemen—on
+coasters—anything!"</p>
+
+<p>He recollected suddenly that to get a job he must show discharge papers
+from his previous ships. For an instant the thought staggered him; but
+only for an instant.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll knock somebody down and take his papers. Then I'll pretend I'm
+dumb. I only want to get to Gris Nez."</p>
+
+<p>This became his passion, the objective to which his mind clung. Gris
+Nez! Gris Nez! He rose and stumbled on.</p>
+
+<p>Towards night he was near the hill which the road-mender had pointed
+out. But he was again exhausted. Not used to marching, the fatigue
+was telling on him; on mind as on body. He sat down by the edge of a
+cornfield and closed his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he heard voices. He dived into the corn, flattening the grain
+as he floundered along. The voices grew louder. He lay down. A man was
+calling.</p>
+
+<p>"Dick, where'd you put the rake?"</p>
+
+<p>Another voice answered unintelligibly. The sound of someone thrusting
+his way along the edge of the field came nearer. An exclamation burst
+out, and the first voice called harshly:</p>
+
+<p>"Someone's gone and trampled the corn down. If I only got hold of
+him——"</p>
+
+<p>Another step brought the man almost on top of Vining. The latter did
+not wait for the alarm to be raised. He jumped to his feet and attacked.</p>
+
+<p>It was all done so suddenly that the farm worker had no chance to
+defend himself. He went down before the onslaught, kicking and
+struggling, but Vining was desperate. He pounded the man into
+unconsciousness and left him. Rising to his feet he ran—straight
+through the cornfield.</p>
+
+<p>He heard voices as he ran, but he took no heed. He did not stop until
+he reached the opposite end of the field. As he forced his way through
+the hedge he looked back. Two men were pursuing, smashing their way
+through the corn in his wake. Vining gritted his teeth. He had laid a
+trail of flattened grain which was impossible to mistake. The harvest
+of the fields was aiding his enemies.</p>
+
+<p>He broke through the hedge and ran. Fear gave fleetness to his feet,
+but he did not know the ground. There were rabbit-holes which hurt his
+ankles when he stepped into them. There were hidden hillocks, mounds,
+rushes, tufts of grass, that seemed to try to impede him. He crashed
+on, labouring like a wounded animal. He ran for nearly an hour. When he
+stopped there was no sign nor sound of his pursuers.</p>
+
+<p>"They'll come after me," he muttered. "They know the country, and I
+don't. They'll come after me. I'll keep to the hill——What was that?"</p>
+
+<p>From somewhere behind he heard the bark of a dog, the baying of a
+hound. His heart stood still. They were pursuing him by scent! Their
+dogs could come where a vehicle could not follow. What was to be done?
+His right ankle suddenly bent under him. He fell as a sharp pain shot
+up his leg. He had put his foot into a rabbit-hole.</p>
+
+<p>The shooting pain made him, for the moment, forget his pursuers. He
+could hardly rise, but he got on his feet by strength of will and
+hobbled on. As he toiled along he cast his eyes about. What was he
+looking for? He found it soon enough in that natural backyard. A thick
+branch of a tree lay on the ground. He tore it up and sat down to wait.</p>
+
+<p>The baying came nearer. It was almost dark now. If only he could get
+one good blow at the dog, that was all he asked. One blow would be
+enough. Samuel Vining knew how to strike.</p>
+
+<p>He sat motionless, waiting. Suddenly something that seemed to be a part
+of the gloom swept past him. He caught a glimpse of a brown, furry
+animal which leaped aside as he stirred, and vanished suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>"A hare," he thought. "The dog has disturbed it."</p>
+
+<p>He had no time to think more, for just then there broke on his ears a
+deep bay, and a white dog plunged into view. Vining gripped his club
+and waited, tense for the stroke.</p>
+
+<p>The dog was running to a scent. He had his nose to the ground. Vining
+drew back to make sure his arms had the swing he wanted. He held the
+branch aloft. The dog came straight towards him. Vining struck.</p>
+
+<p>It was a terrible blow, with all the force of a pair of powerful
+shoulders behind it. The rough branch caught the dog on the head just
+above the eyes. Such a blow would have killed a man.</p>
+
+<p>The club was shattered, the dog's breath came in a strange gasp, its
+body crumpled up and rolled over. Vining scrambled to his feet as he
+heard other dogs in the distance.</p>
+
+<p>"They've sent a pack after me," he cried. "That one will stop them."</p>
+
+<p>He staggered into the gathering gloom, making his direction towards
+a small wood that clung to the hill-side. He heard no more from his
+pursuers, but when he lay down he was surprised to see that his hands
+trembled. A peculiar throbbing was in his breast, the blood was
+pounding in his ears, his teeth were chattering. He was not cold.
+He was perspiring. Through his body the trembling continued; he was
+shaking as if he had ague. It was his nerve that had deserted him.</p>
+
+<p>Samuel Vining did not know the psychology of his case. He had never
+heard of psychology. All he knew was that he was feeling "done in."
+His vision was becoming blurred. His mind had become rusty, almost
+incapable of acting. He started at the least sigh of the wind, the
+slightest rustle of the trees.</p>
+
+<p>"Gris Nez!" he muttered constantly. "Gris Nez! Hastings, then Gris Nez!"</p>
+
+<p>When he tried to sleep he found it impossible. He could not even rest.
+The ground was hard, the surface uneven. His body was pained, his limbs
+ached. Hunger did not trouble him, but thirst did. He felt terribly
+thirsty. It is a peculiar fact that nervousness brings thirst; dry,
+cracked thirst which cannot be relieved.</p>
+
+<p>"Hastings," he cried suddenly. "I must get to Hastings! Then Gris Nez!
+Before morning!"</p>
+
+<p>But, though he cried aloud his necessity, he lay where he was, unable
+for the time being to rise and make the effort to march. Was this
+conscience? Conscience did not trouble Samuel Vining. It was merely
+exhaustion of mind and body that was lashing at him, wearing him down
+with a grinding pressure that was irresistible. He went over the events
+of the murder and his subsequent actions slowly and methodically,
+dwelling on every point with a mind that was strung up to high tension.</p>
+
+<p>He could not stop thinking of the past twenty-four hours. He could not
+sleep. The fear of the dogs was upon him. He could not rest. A strange
+paradox was present within him, one part of him declaring for repose,
+the other clamouring for action. He was hardly able to keep still.
+At last he rose, bound his handkerchief about his injured ankle, and
+stumbled on. He broke off a stick from a tree to aid him as he marched.</p>
+
+<p>Things were becoming vague, but his mind was clear, strange as the
+seeming contradiction may be. He was constantly remembering the
+incidents of his flight and his escapes. His brain was fumbling at the
+problem, searching for a way out. It ought to be comparatively easy for
+him to make his escape. Why had he not done so? Why had these people
+come upon his trail? Like a flash he saw, and he uttered an exclamation
+as the reason struck him like a blow.</p>
+
+<p>Man was his enemy. From man he need expect no aid. He had run from the
+face of man. In the wide fields he ought to have found the solitude
+he sought; but he had found the woods and meadows willing to give him
+up. The dust of the main road had betrayed him to the road-mender.
+The cornfield had betrayed him to the farm hands. The scent of his
+clothes had betrayed him to the hounds. Where could he escape from this
+accusing Nature? The answer came as swiftly as the question was uttered.</p>
+
+<p>"Hastings! Then Gris Nez!"</p>
+
+<p>The sea would hide him as she hid untold secrets. That was it. Let him
+get back to the sea, his natural element, and he would put his pursuers
+to confusion! He was at home where the sea was. This land, where roads
+were unsheltered and meadows were cultivated, was his enemy also. He
+toiled on, filled with a new hope and trembling resolve.</p>
+
+<p>He did not know how many hours he walked, but he kept his position by
+the big hill. He understood that this hill was part of the white cliffs
+he had seen so often from the Channel. He reached the shoulder of the
+hill when the night was still dark. He stopped, raised his head, and
+sniffed. A new tang came to him. It was the tang of the sea.</p>
+
+<p>He pushed his way round the shoulder and saw the Channel at his feet.
+The lights of a town twinkled away to his right, the long promenade
+showing up like an uneven line of burning matches.</p>
+
+<p>"That is Hastings," he told himself. "There are caves among the cliffs."</p>
+
+<p>He had heard, like many others, of the caves which were at one time
+used by the smugglers of the coast. He determined to find one of
+these caves and stay there for the next day. From the cave he could
+mark a boat, and go for it as soon as the following night covered his
+movements. He was jubilant, for in the darkness he felt that many boats
+were lying there.</p>
+
+<p>He crawled down the hill facing the sea, moving slowly because his
+strained ankle pained him, and because he was on dangerous ground. The
+dawn broke grey and sullen while he searched for a cave. By its light
+he found what he wanted, a hole in the shoulder of the cliff into which
+he could crawl. It was reached by a narrow, scarcely visible track, and
+was in a part of the cliff which visitors were not likely to roam.
+Vining drew himself into the hole and lay down his full length, gazing
+out to sea.</p>
+
+<p>The wash of the waves on the shingle sounded eerily, but above the wash
+and rattle of the shingle came a cry that thrilled his bones and caused
+him to sit up in swift alarm.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Get away! Get away!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>The command came unexpectedly, high pitched, with the muffled blur of a
+voice shouting in a strong wind. To Vining the words were a cataclysmic
+disturbance. He had been seen! He leaned far out of the cave, his hair
+on end, his nerves tingling.</p>
+
+<p>A bird flew past the opening of the cave—a white gull with grey wings
+and open beak.</p>
+
+<p>"You can't see me!" he called in wild derision, a swift defiance in his
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>He waited in suspense for a reply, expecting to hear a challenge, an
+order to surrender. None came.</p>
+
+<p>The bird that had flown past the cave swung back again, a beautiful
+thing sailing against the lightening sky. He saw its outline moving
+steadily, perfectly poised, with outstretched wings, beating up against
+the cold breeze that heralded dawn. It swung close to him, its little
+beak open, its feet dangling, ready to alight. He lost it in the gloom.</p>
+
+<p>The waves breaking on the shingle surged far up the beach, then swept
+back, and the stones rattled down after the receding water with a noise
+like thick hail.</p>
+
+<p>"Who are you, anyway?"</p>
+
+<p>Vining shouted to make himself heard above the clatter of the shingle,
+but he was conscious that his voice was drowned in the noise. He
+shouted a third time. There was no reply. Only the swish of the spent
+waves and the rattle of the rolling pebbles came to him.</p>
+
+<p>"There's someone down there," he muttered uneasily. "Someone was
+calling."</p>
+
+<p>Fear came to him in renewed force. Had he been trailed? Had someone,
+some night prowler, seen him descend to the cave? Or was it his fancy?
+Was it possible that no one had called, no one at all? Were his ears
+deceiving him? Was his nerve gone?</p>
+
+<p>He put his hands to his head, which was aching and throbbing, and
+held his temples. His hands trembled. He was shaking all over. As he
+crouched there, a wretched figure, afraid, scared, shivering with cold,
+and with the thrill of his breaking spirit racing within him, he heard
+it again.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Get away! Get away!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>There was no mistaking it, though the call was much fainter. It came to
+him borne on the wind, a cry from far up the beach.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Get away!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>He bounded to his feet, every shred of his former self abandoned, every
+sinew urging him to action.</p>
+
+<p>"All right," he cried. "I'll get away! I'll get away!"</p>
+
+<p>He had been seen. Someone had observed him. He had stumbled on to a
+forbidden piece of the cliff. Was it a watchman who had seen him and
+had warned him to go away? It could not be the police. They would
+not have warned him to go away! They would have come and taken him.
+He dared not wait there. The observer would give information of his
+presence. The police would come to investigate. He would be found, and
+then—the scaffold!</p>
+
+<p>The land was his enemy. His soul clamoured for the sea and the things
+of the sea. He knew the sea. He had sailed on it for years—deep-water
+sailing, out of the sight of land and human beings. The sea would cover
+him, and his pursuers would be baffled.</p>
+
+<p>The land was for landsmen. The police worked on land. The land had
+betrayed him thrice already—first by the dust of the road, next by
+the corn in the meadow, then by the scent of his clothes. The land had
+tried to hinder his escape; it had tried to maim him. How he cursed the
+rabbit-hole that had sprained his ankle!</p>
+
+<p>Dawn was coming up in the east. He must move at once, before his
+pursuers came after him. He would go down and take a boat at once and
+be off before daylight—off to Gris Nez! He would outwit the unseen
+observer, and be halfway across the Channel before the boat was missed.</p>
+
+<p>Crawling out of his cave, he toiled slowly and painfully up the cliff,
+stopping every now and then to listen. Once he heard the call, but it
+sounded far away, almost like an echo.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Get away! Get away!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>He smiled grimly to himself. The observer was on the wrong tack,
+evidently moving towards the town, while he moved in the opposite
+direction. The dawn was present by this time—a grey dawn—but daylight
+was coming fast. Every minute brought more light. Now was his time to
+get to the beach and choose his boat from those he could see lying
+about the shingle.</p>
+
+<p>He reached the crest of the hill, intending to descend on the other
+side; but, as he peered over the ridge, he heard cries and shouts and
+saw a strange sight. Coming along the top of the cliff was a pack
+of hounds—brown and white hounds, like the one he had slain in the
+meadow. They were coming straight for him; and behind them were men on
+horseback. He had no time to think, no time to do anything except rise
+to his feet and strike at the foremost dog as he had struck before.
+This time he did not kill, but he sent the animal howling to the rear;
+and, as he saw the pack breasting the hill, he took to his heels.</p>
+
+<p>Oblivious of the pain in his ankle, he ran towards the sloping cliff.
+He had no time to select his place of descent, but he found one. He
+slid, rolled, bumped, towards the shore, landing in a heap on the
+shingle. He was up again, and ran towards the boats. They were after
+him. He saw some men on horseback shaking their whips at him and
+shouting. He did not care. His hands were on a boat, but he could not
+move it alone. He looked out to the sea. A small fishing-boat bobbed to
+the swell less than a hundred yards from the beach. He ran into the sea
+and struck out for it.</p>
+
+<p>"Gris Nez! Gris Nez!" he called. He would show them some sailing! Was
+he not a seaman? He swam fast and reached the fishing-boat, hauling
+himself aboard by a fender. He did not trouble to look at his enemies.
+He had too much to do to escape. The anchor-rope refused to come; he
+cut the line in desperation and began to haul the sail up as he drifted.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Get away! Get away!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>The command startled him, so clear was it, so sharp. His fingers let go
+the rope, the sail dropped, crumpling up in a tangled mass. He looked
+aloft, and saw a little white gull, with grey wings, perched on the
+masthead, and above it another gull wheeled and circled.</p>
+
+<p>Vining was still staring at the gulls when a motor-boat ran alongside
+his drifting craft. Over the gun-wale men clambered and faced him. One
+was a policeman, but a man in the garb of a huntsman thrust his way
+forward and pointed to Vining.</p>
+
+<p>"That is the man, constable. We had a dog killed yesterday, and that
+broke the chase, and we routed out a cub this morning, and chased it
+along the cliff, when this man——"</p>
+
+<p>"I killed the dog in the meadow yesterday. I am Samuel Vining."</p>
+
+<p>"The murderer!" cried the constable. "We have been watching for you."</p>
+
+<p>Samuel Vining did not move, though the others shrank from him. He was
+staring insanely at the gulls overhead.</p>
+
+<p>The wild things of the sea had joined forces with the wild things of
+the land to betray him. There had just penetrated his tossing brain the
+knowledge that it was no human voice that bade him run from the cave
+where he might have lain unobserved and safe.</p>
+
+<p>What he had imagined, in his anxiety, to be a watcher's warning was
+merely the call of the little, grey-backed bird, the Jenny gull, the
+kittiwake, that gets its name because of its chatter, so imitative of a
+plaintive human call.</p>
+
+<p><i>Kittiwake! Kittiwake!</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Get away! Get away!</i></p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_FOURTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FOURTH CELL</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Before his visitor had time to raise any plea of weakness in the story
+he had just been told, the Governor lifted his hand, coughed, and
+continued apologetically:</p>
+
+<p>"You are about to say that the capture of Vining was inevitable from
+the start? That was true so long as he remained on land. But had he
+been a stronger man mentally he might have succeeded in calming his
+nerves. Alas, there is always the one 'if' that makes what seems the
+perfect, clueless crime a failure in the end! Now, it so happens that
+in the cell next to that occupied by Vining there is a man who has been
+found guilty of a similar crime, but he committed it in what is perhaps
+the nearest approach to perfection—if one can use the word in this
+connection—I have ever heard of."</p>
+
+<p>"Just a moment," said the visitor, as he sipped from a glass of
+soda-water. "May I ask why you have other condemned men in cells next
+to crooks and thieves?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is a delicate explanation I am forced to give," responded the
+Governor. "You see, when an execution takes place, all the prisoners
+are kept in their cells until it is over. Even this precaution, this
+consideration for their feelings, however, does not prevent them
+knowing that the ceremony has taken place. When the executioner pulls
+his lever the sides of the trap fall with a resounding bang against
+the sides of the pit. Every man in the prison hears that bang. Now,
+to-morrow morning I intend to place these fourteen prisoners in their
+respective and proper grades and cells——"</p>
+
+<p>"And I am here to see that they will not be offended by hearing the
+bang," interrupted the visitor firmly, as his fingers toyed with his
+revolver.</p>
+
+<p>"Just so," agreed the Governor. "That is why you have favoured me with
+your company, which I find very exhilarating, in spite of its menace to
+my self. But to proceed with my explanation to your question. Whether
+I am alive or dead the fourteen prisoners will, before their midday
+meal, be transferred to the cells which will be theirs so long as they
+remain. Their present abode is merely, let us say, expedient."</p>
+
+<p>"You excite my curiosity by the mention of the man who almost succeeded
+in making a clueless trail," commented the visitor. "I presume you will
+place him among the Intellectuals?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not prepared to say so. His crime was one of murder. That is a
+class by itself. But let us proceed to compare his methods with that of
+cruder persons."</p>
+
+<p>With that the Governor leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands
+as he took up the story of the occupant of the fourth cell.</p>
+
+<p>When a fox sets out to kill [said the Governor] he uses craft. Harvey
+Wilkins was a fox.</p>
+
+<p>He had pondered long on his crime; so long that it had ceased to be
+hideous to him. It was merely a means to an end. He had made up his
+mind to kill Gilbert Hoey and he had got him into the best position for
+the purpose. He had balanced his chances so cleverly that he knew that,
+even if the result of his action was discovered, ordinary investigation
+could not lay the blame at his door. Third degree methods are not
+resorted to in England.</p>
+
+<p>A few yards beneath where he and Hoey stood was the white-hot, moving
+surface of molten metal in one of the factory's cauldrons. They were
+standing on a narrow platform that ran a few yards above the edge of
+the huge fire-clay crucible from which the liquid metal would be poured
+by machinery. The furnaces were roaring. Wilkins had planned it well.
+They were alone. The workers of the factory had just gone for the
+night, the staff of night workers were coming in at the gates.</p>
+
+<p>They had halted above the glowing pit, watching the tiny bubbles that
+shot up to the surface as the gases escaped and the scum arose. Harvey
+Wilkins glanced at Gilbert Hoey. He noted Hoey's eager features, his
+intent air. He hated Hoey with all the force of his jealous nature.</p>
+
+<p>They were both engineers, both employed by the firm, both ambitious.
+They had worked side by side, both in charge of their own gangs of
+workers. But Hoey was beating Wilkins in the prizes of their calling.
+It was Hoey who had discovered a recipe for purifying steel, a swifter
+method for puddling pig-iron. It was Wilkins who kept to the old ways.</p>
+
+<p>The two men were a contrast in almost everything. Hoey was brilliant
+and erratic; careless in many things, such as keeping his own set of
+books. He left details to others. Wilkins was deliberate and watchful
+of details; a plodder who lacked vision.</p>
+
+<p>As he saw Hoey gazing down at the bubbling metal, Wilkins noted that he
+was resting his arms on the steel rail that guarded the platform. This
+rail was a sliding one, fitted in a similar manner to the deck rails of
+a ship. It could be slipped from its socket by the removal of a long
+steel pin, so that part of the machinery above the casting could be
+cleaned and oiled when the furnaces were not in blast. Wilkins glanced
+at the steel pin. His fingers fumbled with it. His eyes travelled to
+Hoey, who was leaning on the rail intent on the examination of the
+metal below. The heat came up to both men in waves. Wilkins closed his
+hand over the pin. Just one tiny pull and he would be free to carry out
+the schemes he had long contemplated but had been unable to achieve
+because of his rival Hoey. He pulled at the pin. It came away in his
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>Down fell the rail, borne adrift by the weight of Hoey's elbows. Down
+went Hoey, his arms flung wide, his hands grabbing at space and failing
+to find a hold. His body plunged into the boiling metal. A flame shot
+up, a blue flame with a white fringe. And that was all.</p>
+
+<p>There had been no cry, no shout of alarm. The whole thing had been
+so quick that even Wilkins was amazed. It had been so simple that it
+seemed impossible to believe.</p>
+
+<p>The steel rail dangled idly from the stanchion. The metal bubbled and
+stirred in the cauldron. There was no more Gilbert Hoey. Not a vestige
+of him could ever be traced henceforth. He had been obliterated more
+efficiently than a man blown to atoms. He had been engulfed in a liquid
+that had made of him nothing more than a shooting flame.</p>
+
+<p>Harvey Wilkins picked up the hanging rail and put it back into its
+socket. He pushed the steel pin home. He looked about the works. No one
+was there, the place was deserted. The last of the nightshift men were
+beginning to come through the timekeeper's wicket on the other side of
+the yard. Wilkins walked back to his office.</p>
+
+<p>He sat down and drew his handkerchief over his perspiring forehead.
+He was pulling himself together. As he sat in his chair he heard the
+hooter sounding, telling him that another casting was about to be made,
+that another furnace had finished its job. In a few more minutes the
+molten metal would run like seething silver into the moulds and cool
+off in time in the shape of rails, ships' propeller-shafts, and other
+necessaries for the world beyond.</p>
+
+<p>Harvey Wilkins felt perfectly safe, if a little nervous. His love of
+detail had stood him in good stead for this, the greatest risk he had
+ever taken, the foulest act he had ever committed. There was no one to
+say that his hand had withdrawn the steel pin that dropped the guarding
+bar. There was no one to say that Gilbert Hoey had been examining the
+job. The entrance to the office was on the other side of the building
+from the men's entrance. Hoey did not come down at night usually.
+It had been at the suggestion of Wilkins that he had come down this
+evening. No one had seen Hoey fall to his death. The murder had been
+complete, clueless, without a trail leading to its author.</p>
+
+<p>"He couldn't have felt it," Wilkins murmured. "The temperature is the
+highest a furnace can reach. He couldn't have felt a thing."</p>
+
+<p>He kept repeating the last sentence to himself for some time; perhaps
+as a sort of a salve to his screaming conscience. But now and then he
+shuddered as he thought of the scene.</p>
+
+<p>The thudding and crashing of the steam hammers, the dull roar of the
+moving machinery, came to him suddenly, though the noise had been going
+on since the sounding of the hooter. He stirred himself, took a glass
+of spirits from a bottle in a cupboard, and began to set about the
+minor part of his crime. He intended to prove that the man who had thus
+been blotted out of life had gone from the factory in quite another way
+and of his own accord. One thing was certain, he told himself, getting
+great comfort from the reflection: Hoey would never be able to disprove
+what Wilkins was going to say about him!</p>
+
+<p>Wilkins rose from his chair and went into the small office which Hoey
+had used. They had separate rooms, but the girl who typed their letters
+and acted as their joint secretary was always gone for the night before
+her two superiors. Wilkins sat down at the typewriter and typed a short
+note on a sheet of paper. He left the paper in the machine.</p>
+
+<p>Next he took down a cash-book and a ledger and did some figuring on
+the last pages on which entries had been made. He left the books open.
+He opened Hoey's desk with his keys and searched among the contents.
+He found what he sought without much trouble. It was a small enamelled
+cash-box. Using a key on Hoey's key-ring, he opened the box. It
+contained a bundle of treasury notes and a handful of silver. Wilkins
+emptied the contents into his own pockets. He put the cash-box back in
+the drawer, left Hoey's keys dangling in a lock of the desk, switched
+out the light, and returned to his own room.</p>
+
+<p>From his own desk he took a shipping company's brochure and put it in
+the pocket of Hoey's overcoat, which hung from a peg in the passage
+outside. The brochure was an illustrated one giving the fares and
+passenger services to and from South American ports. When he had
+finished these arrangements, Harvey Wilkins put on his own hat and coat
+and hurried from the office.</p>
+
+<p>He went straight to the house of his employer, the head of the firm. He
+was admitted on his application to see his employer urgently. In a few
+minutes he was faced with the man he had come to see.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Mynes," he began, acting the part well, "I have come up at once
+because I have reason to think that you ought to know what has been
+going on. I am afraid that the news I bring is rather terrible."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, Wilkins?" asked Mr. Mynes, settling himself in his chair.
+"Nothing gone wrong at the works, is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid, sir, it has something to do with the works. Do you realise
+that you have been swindled by Gilbert Hoey, and that he has absconded
+with the money he drew to pay his men's wages?"</p>
+
+<p>"God bless my soul!" exclaimed the factory owner, jumping to his feet.
+"It is impossible!"</p>
+
+<p>"I could hardly believe it myself, sir, when I saw what was going on.
+But it is true. I came to you to-night because the crisis has been
+reached."</p>
+
+<p>He stopped as the door of the study opened, and on the threshold stood
+a girl dressed in white. She had dark chestnut hair which, exquisitely
+shingled, made a fitting frame for her attractive features.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry," she began, seeing Wilkins, "I thought you were alone,
+father."</p>
+
+<p>Wilkins knew that this was not strictly true. She had come to the study
+because she thought Gilbert Hoey had arrived. She and Hoey had been on
+very friendly terms for some time; more friendly than Wilkins liked,
+for he had hoped to marry his employer's daughter.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in, Ada," cried her father. "Come in and hear what Mr. Wilkins
+has come to tell me. What do you think? Hoey, the man I trusted
+implicitly—the man who was carrying out one of the biggest jobs for
+me—the man——Words fail me when I think how I trusted him."</p>
+
+<p>"What has he done?" asked the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen to Mr. Wilkins. Go on, Wilkins, and let me have this in detail.
+I want proof, not suspicions. You say Hoey has run off with the wages
+money of his men."</p>
+
+<p>"That is what I say, sir. You may remember that a few months ago I
+took over the books of Hoey at your suggestion, so that they might be
+brought up to date?"</p>
+
+<p>"I told you to do so. Hoey said he couldn't do book-keeping. He hated
+book work unless it was connected with engineering specifications."</p>
+
+<p>"That is what you told me, sir. I took over his books. I found finally
+that it was impossible to make them balance. He had used sums of money
+for which he could not account. You allowed him to pay the workers on
+his contracts himself. A week ago I spoke to him about it. He promised
+to make reparation."</p>
+
+<p>"Why didn't you come to me at once?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I wanted to give him a chance. I thought he might have been
+negligent."</p>
+
+<p>"Go on."</p>
+
+<p>"To-day I knew that he had drawn a large sum for wages. The big
+contract for steel rails and forgings was in his hands to a great
+extent. He has been managing the laying of the new railroad. I asked
+him to come down to the office to-day and talk things over. He came
+into his office late in the afternoon, but did not come near me. I
+waited, doing overtime on my own books. His typist stopped work and
+went home. I called out to him, saying I was ready to go over the books
+with him. He replied that he would come to me later. Some time passed.
+I heard him go out. I went into his office. A sheet of paper was in the
+typewriter. It contained a short message to you, sir. I have left it
+just as I found it."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what was the message?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was to the effect that, as he saw no hope of getting a partnership
+with you, he was taking matters into his own hands, and was going away
+with the wages. He says that it is useless for you to seek him, as he
+will never be found."</p>
+
+<p>"And the money?"</p>
+
+<p>"I looked into the cash-box. It was empty. He must have been gone an
+hour before I went into his office."</p>
+
+<p>"The fool!"</p>
+
+<p>Mynes sat back in his chair and gritted his teeth. Suddenly he rose to
+his feet.</p>
+
+<p>"He was a fool," he said bitterly. "I trusted him, and I intended to
+make him a partner. I had not told him so, because I wanted it to be a
+surprise after he had put the present contract through. Hoey a thief!
+Hoey a common swindler! Wilkins, you and he were my right-hand men!
+Well, I'll make an example of him!"</p>
+
+<p>He strode towards the door, then turned and beckoned to Wilkins.</p>
+
+<p>"Come down to the factory at once. I want to go into this matter. I can
+hardly believe it, but if it is as you say, I'll have a warrant out for
+his arrest to-night——"</p>
+
+<p>"You will have to be swift, sir. I searched his overcoat which he left
+in the office. In the pocket I found a shipping list dealing with
+sailings for South America. I fancy he has laid his plans——"</p>
+
+<p>"He won't get there. I'll have every ship watched; I'll bring him back
+and send him to prison. Ada, you and Hoey were fairly friendly. Don't
+let this upset you. I'll deal with him."</p>
+
+<p>He rushed out to get his hat and coat. Wilkins raised his eyes to the
+face of the girl, who had stood still during his recital.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such news, Miss Ada, but it was my duty."</p>
+
+<p>The girl sat down suddenly, clasping her hands in her lap. Her eyes
+were fixed on Harvey Wilkins's face.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe a word of it," she said quietly.</p>
+
+<p>Wilkins merely bowed. He knew that Hoey had been friendly with Ada
+Mynes, and her disbelief in his story let him see how deep that
+friendship had been; but he held the whip handle. Time would change
+her. Circumstances would make her alter her ideas. One thing at a time,
+he told himself. Hoey had disappeared. That was enough for a day.</p>
+
+<p>He went down to the office with Mr. Mynes. He showed him the evidence
+he had arranged. He repeated his statements. He advised caution,
+suggesting that the news need not be published broadcast as it would
+damage the firm. He went with the factory owner to the police station
+and laid the information. On the sworn evidence of Wilkins and Mynes a
+warrant for the arrest of Gilbert Hoey was made out, and the network
+of police resources began to operate. By telephone and telegraph every
+port was notified of the disappearance of Hoey. Harvey Wilkins was
+congratulated by his employer and went home to bed.</p>
+
+<p>That he was a murderer did not disturb him. Who was there to say it had
+been murder? Who could find the body of a man who had been consumed in
+a flash of fireworks? The crucibles would be emptied by the morning,
+the metal would be turned into moulds, into rails, ships' propellers,
+pig iron—a hundred different matters. Giant rollers would soon be
+pressing out this particular cauldron's contents into long sheets.
+These would be rolled up again and pounded by great steam-hammers into
+the form desired. Gilbert Hoey had disappeared like a puff of smoke.
+The boiling metal had not only killed him—it had also wiped out every
+trace of the incident.</p>
+
+<p>The following morning Wilkins went down to the works as usual. On his
+way he called at the police station to see how far they had gone. The
+inspector who had seen him the previous night was not at the desk, but
+his substitute told Wilkins all the news they had. Hoey's description
+would be telegraphed up and down the country. His rooms had been
+searched, and his belongings were intact. He had not been traced.</p>
+
+<p>"I expect he fled when I challenged him," said Wilkins. "He didn't even
+take time to pack a suitcase. He must have been scared badly."</p>
+
+<p>"I expect so," said the officer drily. "I can't give you any more
+information, as I'm not in charge of the case."</p>
+
+<p>Wilkins went to his office feeling surer than ever. He had put dust
+into the eyes of the law. He smiled to think of the police watching
+ports, railway stations, roads, hotels—looking for a man who would
+never be found.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Mynes did not come to the office at his usual time, and Wilkins
+continued his work leisurely. He was at his desk just before lunch
+time, when the door of his office opened. Miss Ada Mynes walked in and
+took a seat. She left the door ajar. Wilkins rose to find a chair for
+her near his desk, but she waved him back to his seat. There was a
+strangeness about her he had never seen before. She was all strung up,
+but she was holding herself in check.</p>
+
+<p>"I came to you because the police can't say what I want to say," she
+said. "I came to hear about the disappearance of Gilbert Hoey."</p>
+
+<p>"If I can be of any help, Miss Mynes, I shall be glad; but the police
+have the matter in hand, and your father——"</p>
+
+<p>"My father knows I am here. I told him I was coming."</p>
+
+<p>"If he gave you permission that is all right, Miss Ada. What is it you
+want to know?"</p>
+
+<p>"Everything."</p>
+
+<p>"I can tell only what I myself know."</p>
+
+<p>"That may be enough."</p>
+
+<p>The tone struck him. It was antagonistic, but she was nervous and was
+trying to control herself. Her eyes were on his face—eyes that seemed
+to be gimlets. There was no escaping them. He sought to pacify her,
+beginning to tell once more the story he had told the previous night.
+She waved it aside.</p>
+
+<p>"I have come to ask questions."</p>
+
+<p>Again that tone—strange, incisive, charged with meaning. He suddenly
+felt the sharpness of it. It was the tone of a terrier; without snarl,
+without growl; the tone of a terrier when it is about to worry.
+Persistent and annoying.</p>
+
+<p>"I told you yesterday I did not believe your story," she said in a
+level tone. "I repeat that now. Gilbert Hoey is no defaulter."</p>
+
+<p>"You were friendly with him, Miss Ada; but that does not alter facts."</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you say 'were'? Why speak in the past tense?"</p>
+
+<p>He saw the grimness with which she thrust the question at him; but he
+smiled. He knew that she felt the situation keenly. She was fighting
+for Hoey's reputation. He would be easy with her, since she was a
+woman; a woman whom he wanted in his own time.</p>
+
+<p>"I used the past tense because I hardly think you can remain friendly
+with him after this. Your father would object, I fear."</p>
+
+<p>"Leave my father out of it. I was yesterday more than friendly with Mr.
+Hoey."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed. I did not know it had gone so far."</p>
+
+<p>"That is why I am here."</p>
+
+<p>Again the biting tone gave him the impression of a terrier. It was as
+if a household pet had become an enemy. He saw a strain of her father
+in her then; the strong, determined forcefulness of the parent was
+coming out in the child. He admired her for it.</p>
+
+<p>"Ask your questions," he said, leaning back in his chair.</p>
+
+<p>She drummed her fingers on the desk for a moment, looking at him from
+under her eyelashes.</p>
+
+<p>"When Mr. Hoey came down to the office last evening, did he go into the
+works?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure?"</p>
+
+<p>"Positive."</p>
+
+<p>"He told me you had invited him to look at the cauldron."</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot help what he told you, Miss Mynes."</p>
+
+<p>"We have proof that he did not leave this town last night."</p>
+
+<p>"Who has proof?"</p>
+
+<p>"The police. I have been with them all night. Mr. Hoey did not go by
+train. We inquired at the booking office. He did not go by car. His own
+is still in the garage. No car was hired. We have been to every car
+owner, every hirer there is."</p>
+
+<p>"If he did not leave the town he must be about somewhere. Let the
+police find him."</p>
+
+<p>There was a sneer in the taunt he flung at her—a sneer that had been
+his natural retort.</p>
+
+<p>"Was there any need for him to steal the money?"</p>
+
+<p>"His bank balance was not large, I believe, Miss Mynes."</p>
+
+<p>"You know that?"</p>
+
+<p>"He made no secret of it."</p>
+
+<p>She bit her lip. The terrier in her attitude had received a check; but
+she tried another grip. Just like a terrier.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Hoey told me yesterday that he was coming down to see how a
+casting was going on. You say he did not look at any casting?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is what I have told you."</p>
+
+<p>"The furnaces were preparing a job of which he was in charge?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"He was expecting to leave for the Continent in a few days to
+superintend this job's delivery?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"The money in his care was for payment of his men who were going with
+him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"It was not a large amount?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was over a thousand pounds. There were other expenses he was to
+clear off—quite large enough to be a temptation when I had challenged
+his books."</p>
+
+<p>"You expected to get this job?"</p>
+
+<p>"Your father preferred him."</p>
+
+<p>"You were rivals in the factory?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not rivals; co-workers."</p>
+
+<p>"You told me once you were rivals."</p>
+
+<p>"When?"</p>
+
+<p>"The day you told me you were in love with me; the day I told you I did
+not desire your affection."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I may have said that in a moment of disappointment at finding you
+liked Hoey."</p>
+
+<p>"You asked my father for a partnership?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and he declined—for the present. What do you mean by raking up
+these things?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want to prove that you were rivals."</p>
+
+<p>"And then?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am seeking a motive."</p>
+
+<p>The terrier was there openly, defiantly, frankly, facing the fox that
+had covered his tracks. There was no use hiding the situation longer.
+It was a duel between them. Her eyes told him more than her words. Had
+she been a stranger, a detective, he would have shown her the door. But
+she was the daughter of his employer. He became frigid.</p>
+
+<p>"A motive for what?" he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>"A motive for Gilbert Hoey's disappearance."</p>
+
+<p>The sudden suspicion that had flamed in his mind died down. She was
+floundering, he told himself; floundering in her use of words because
+of her anxiety for Hoey. He felt that he could handle her. Was she not,
+after all, only a woman? She would forget Hoey in time.</p>
+
+<p>"I see," he said gently. "You are seeking a motive for his running
+away."</p>
+
+<p>"For his disappearance."</p>
+
+<p>"It is the same thing."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean to suggest any other explanation?"</p>
+
+<p>Now was his time, he thought, to bully her into reason! They were
+alone. He would frighten her, as she had almost frightened him. He knew
+he was safe. The cauldron of molten metal would tell no tales. The fox
+is seldom afraid of one dog. But he runs from a pack. This girl was
+hysterical, he told himself; she needed to go home and rest.</p>
+
+<p>"I am very busy this morning, Miss Mynes. If you don't mind I would
+suggest that you take things easy and do not worry. Hoey may not have
+been worthy of your thoughts. And really you ought not to come here and
+question me. It is most unusual——"</p>
+
+<p>"Many things are unusual. But they are sometimes necessary."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"You will learn in time. I have a few more questions to ask."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. Ask them. But I shall tell your father I have been
+interrupted——"</p>
+
+<p>"Has the metal which was in the cauldron last night been poured off?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, by the night gang."</p>
+
+<p>"So that the machinery above would be oiled and cleaned to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"I gave orders for it to be done this morning. I expect it has been
+attended to. We are very busy."</p>
+
+<p>"It has <i>not</i> been attended to."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"The police decided that it was to be left as it was. No workmen have
+been near it."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed?" cried Wilkins; and there was, for the first time, a hint of
+alarm in his tone.</p>
+
+<p>The girl leaned across the desk. Her mood was that of the terrier more
+than ever; a terrier that has got a hold at last.</p>
+
+<p>"If any sand or grit were in that cauldron with the metal it would be
+skimmed off or the casting would be spoiled, would it not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but what——"</p>
+
+<p>The answer was a movement by the girl. She slammed a small package on
+the desk and separated the blackened, ruined fragments as she raised
+her finger. The terrier had the fox in a corner.</p>
+
+<p>"See this? It is the remains of a meerschaum pipe in an asbestos case
+which I gave to Gilbert Hoey yesterday evening before he came down
+here. This was fished out of the cauldron."</p>
+
+<p>Wilkins gave a stifled cry. He felt his feet slipping, but he was
+crafty.</p>
+
+<p>"He may have thrown it into the cauldron!" he cried.</p>
+
+<p>"But you said he did not go to the works! You said he never left this
+office!"</p>
+
+<p>There was a silence. Wilkins knew then that he was faced by a girl who
+was fighting to avenge her lover with all the subtlety of a woman's
+nature. She was more than terrier then. But she had no proof. This was
+his trump card. She had no proof. It was merely intuition that had
+prompted her. He faced the terrier and steadied himself with an effort.</p>
+
+<p>"He may have gone without my seeing him," he declared quickly.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment the terrier lost her hold. But she came back to it.</p>
+
+<p>"The police want your finger-prints!" she cried, jumping to her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"What for?" he countered.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you not see on this asbestos case are Gilbert Hoey's initials in
+platinum? I gave him the case. It takes a greater heat than that of
+molten iron to melt platinum! He would not throw it away. He came
+down to look at the casting. He stood on the platform above the
+crucible. There is a sliding bar there, held by a pin. On that pin are
+finger-prints. They are his or yours. No one else has been there. The
+police have taken a print of these fingers, to compare with the prints
+on the typewritten message."</p>
+
+<p>"You can prove nothing!" he cried. "He fell in! It was an accident! It
+was an accident!"</p>
+
+<p>The fox was at his last ditch; a safe one, he was sure. But the terrier
+pursued him, knowing she was near victory.</p>
+
+<p>She ran to the door and threw it open. There, in the next room, stood
+her father, the police inspector, and another man who was busy with a
+note-book.</p>
+
+<p>"Our talk has been taken down in shorthand," she cried. "The defence
+you put up could not have been torn down by ordinary methods, so I came
+alone to you. I accuse you of murder!"</p>
+
+<p>The fox had still his last defence.</p>
+
+<p>"It was an accident!" he cried. "You cannot prove anything!"</p>
+
+<p>"You were seen!"</p>
+
+<p>Harvey Wilkins stared at his accuser, then at the inspector; at the man
+who was busy with his pencil, at his employer. He dropped into a chair.</p>
+
+<p>"In that case," he muttered, "it is useless to deny it. I confess. I
+pulled the pin and let him fall into the cauldron."</p>
+
+<p>A cry from the girl startled him. She had played her trump card. It had
+broken down his defence. The inspector stepped forward. Wilkins raised
+his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Who saw me?" he asked hoarsely. "Bring your witness. Was it you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," she answered. "God!"</p>
+
+<p>The fox had been tricked.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_FIFTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FIFTH CELL</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>"Women are certainly the deuce," commented the visitor as the Governor
+dramatically ended his story of the fourth prisoner. "So far you have
+proved that my contention is right. A man ought not to have anything to
+do with them."</p>
+
+<p>"And yet," replied the Governor, "men can make errors even when they
+think they are most safe. My experience has shown me that very vividly.
+And, since you may be pained at the part women have played in the tales
+I have already related to you, I commend to your attention my next
+story, which deals with the occupant of the fifth cell."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall be happy to hear it," said the visitor.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>I intend to introduce to your notice (said the Governor) a remarkable
+young man in the person of Frederick Clausen. We will find him seated
+in a cheap coffee-house in one of the northern districts of London.
+His elbows were on the marble-topped table at the moment I have in
+mind, and he was looking up into the face of the not too immaculate
+proprietor of the cheap restaurant.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he said loudly, "the money was taken from the bank to-day and is
+safe in a black japanned box in the boss's escritoire. I myself put it
+in his study. There are two thousand pounds in notes alone, and——"</p>
+
+<p>"Not so loud, Mr. Clausen," hastily interrupted the restaurant-keeper
+in a whisper, as he glanced over his shoulder. "Not so loud."</p>
+
+<p>But Frederick Clausen took no heed of the warning. He laughed and threw
+back his head, then took a sip of coffee as his eyes travelled round
+the small, dingy room.</p>
+
+<p>"It would be an easy haul for any robbers," he continued, "but there's
+nothing to fear on that score. We start paying out to-morrow at nine
+o'clock. I thought I'd let you know, so that you could tell anybody who
+hasn't been notified. Two thousand pounds, mark you! Fancy all that
+money lying in a little japanned box in the study!"</p>
+
+<p>His eyes looked over the rim of his cup. Two men sitting at a table
+within two yards of him were busy looking at the moving traffic in the
+street. They were typical of the residents in the district—at least, a
+certain proportion of the residents—drifters, nondescripts. The peaks
+of their caps were drawn over their brows, their clothes hung loosely
+on them; yet their hands were soft and white. At other tables sat other
+people of similar type. There were derelicts there, and workers too,
+some furtive-eyed, some weary, some crooked-mouthed.</p>
+
+<p>Frederick Clausen put down his cup and rose to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be going back home," he said. "To-morrow means a hard day's
+work—paying out all that money."</p>
+
+<p>As he moved towards the door the restaurant-keeper came with him and
+laid a hand on his arm as they stood on the front step.</p>
+
+<p>"You're getting on well, Fred," he said in a low tone, "and I'm glad
+to see one of the boys of the district making good. It isn't often
+you look in here; but you oughtn't to speak so loud about that money.
+You're forgetting what you ought to remember—that there's always
+someone sitting about. You know what I mean!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, was I speaking too openly? I'm sorry."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm saying nothing, Fred, except this. If I was you I'd shift that box
+of money from the study when you get back. I can't stop people coming
+into my shop for a cup of coffee so long as they behave themselves; but
+I'm giving you a hint. See? So-long."</p>
+
+<p>He turned and went back to his frowsy counter. Frederick Clausen
+shrugged his shoulders and walked smartly along the grim street, his
+lips set in an equally grim smile.</p>
+
+<p>"The old fool!" he muttered. "As if I didn't speak loud on purpose!
+Does he think I didn't know those two crooks were drinking in every
+word? Well, I'll bet it comes off all right."</p>
+
+<p>He felt like laughing out loud, so pleased was he with himself. It was
+late in the evening, but he had spent the time to advantage. Was he
+not, in the eyes of his employer, above suspicion?</p>
+
+<p>Turning into a quiet street, he mounted the steps of a tall, narrow
+house and let himself in with his latchkey. He shot the bolts of the
+front door with considerable force, spoke a cheery word to a maid who
+was finishing her dreary duties in the kitchen, saw that she had a
+candle to light her way to her bedroom, then put out the hall light and
+went to his own apartment. He undressed and jumped into bed at once.</p>
+
+<p>But if Frederick Clausen went to bed he did not go to sleep. He did
+not want to sleep. In a few minutes he heard the scullery-maid mount
+to her room. A deep silence pervaded the house. Clausen lay still for
+nearly two hours, smoking an occasional cigarette to pass the time. It
+was long past midnight before he decided to move. He got up, put on
+a dressing-gown, took a small phial from his coat pocket and, with a
+handkerchief in his hand, opened the bedroom door. All was still.</p>
+
+<p>He crept along the corridor to a door at the end of the passage and
+tried the handle. It turned easily. He shook some drops of the contents
+of the phial into his handkerchief and slipped into the room.</p>
+
+<p>In a short time he came out again and went to another bedroom. This
+time he listened at the door some time before he entered. Then he
+slipped in, and came out again noiselessly.</p>
+
+<p>He crept up a short flight of stairs and soaked his handkerchief from
+the phial before entering a third bedroom half way to the next floor.
+When he returned to the semi-darkness of the corridor he stood still,
+his face expressing satisfaction, his nerves jumping just the slightest.</p>
+
+<p>He stood in the corridor and breathed deeply, but smiling to himself.
+In his hand he held the small phial and the handkerchief. In his head
+he held the scheme he had evolved and was now executing step by step.</p>
+
+<p>What he had just done was the second stage of his plan, and both had
+been remarkably easy—easier than he had anticipated. He had entered
+the bedroom of his employer and had laid the handkerchief, soaked with
+chloroform, on his face. He had done the same with his employer's
+wife, with their son—a young man about his own age—and with the
+housekeeper. The servant who slept at the top of the house was far
+enough removed from the scene of operations to be dispensed with as a
+danger.</p>
+
+<p>Clausen had gone to this trouble because he wanted to eliminate risk
+in carrying out his intention of robbing his employer, an intention he
+had harboured for some time. Robbery as an idea was old, of course;
+but robbery by his method was sufficiently original, he calculated, to
+place its author beyond suspicion. He had used chloroform merely to
+intensify the sleep of those who might disturb his work.</p>
+
+<p>There still remained the third and final stage of his plan. He put
+the phial, in which were only a few remaining drops of the drug, into
+the pocket of his dressing-gown beside his handkerchief, and went
+downstairs towards the study on the ground floor back. The curtains of
+the room were open, and the fading moon gave him all the illumination
+he needed. He knelt beside the escritoire, opened it with a key, and
+extracted a black japanned box. He opened the box and gazed on the
+money.</p>
+
+<p>It did not take him long to extract the major portion of the notes,
+which were done up in handy bundles. Some silver was in paper bags.
+He took most of it also; but he did not touch several cheques and
+postal orders which lay in a drawer beside the notes. Cheques and
+postal orders are traceable. Treasury notes, unless the owner knows the
+numbers, are not; and Clausen was well aware that his employer did not
+know the number of a single note.</p>
+
+<p>He was gathering up the money when something soft brushed against his
+hand. He started, but next instant smiled at his alarm.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, puss," he whispered, as he stroked the large black cat that was
+rubbing its head against his leg. "A black cat for luck!"</p>
+
+<p>He tickled the cat's ears, then pushed the family pet away and
+completed his theft. He closed the japanned box and put it back in the
+escritoire, then wiped the metal with his handkerchief. He removed his
+finger-prints from the escritoire in the same way, and went back to his
+room. The cat came with him, purring and pleased as it rubbed itself
+against his ankles.</p>
+
+<p>It wanted to follow him into his bedroom, but he pushed it out into the
+corridor and closed the door. His next act was to conceal the money.</p>
+
+<p>This part of his scheme was also well prepared. From the fireplace he
+removed a brick, which he had loosened by degrees during his leisure
+hours, and in a cavity behind the loose brick he placed the notes and
+silver. As he replaced the brick a small fall of soot dropped on his
+hands. He shook most of it off into the fireplace, but, as some grime
+remained, he went to the bathroom and washed the smuts off. He was not
+taking any chances. Everything had been flawless in his plan so far,
+and he intended to be sure that the high efficiency continued to the
+end. Frederick Clausen was very thorough.</p>
+
+<p>When he had cleaned his hands he returned to his bedroom, closed the
+door, threw his dressing-gown on a chair beside his bed, and turned in.
+He had finished the work he had set himself. The phial of chloroform
+and the handkerchief he had used could not be got rid of until the
+morning. For the present they were safe in his gown pocket.</p>
+
+<p>Clausen was quite at ease regarding his theft. He was not an habitual
+criminal by any means. He was private secretary to Mr. James Holson,
+and he therefore knew all about Mr. Holson's affairs. The latter was
+what was known as a welfare worker, who gave his spare time to help
+those who desired to help themselves.</p>
+
+<p>James Holson was well known in the charitable world, or, rather, the
+world of charities. He was founder and treasurer of one of the largest
+welfare societies in England—a society of the club type, which
+accepted contributions from its members and disbursed the funds on
+certain days of the year to the investors. Mr. Holson made no profit
+for himself out of his club-society. He was content to preach the duty
+and virtue of thrift. He handed out the savings from his office on the
+ground floor of his house in Euston district with the same smiling
+cheerfulness as he accepted the contributions.</p>
+
+<p>Frederick Clausen was one of his "finds"—a young man of the lower
+working-class community who had aspirations, and ambition. He too was
+a member of the society, and he had become Holson's secretary because
+he was a young man who had shown a desire to "get on." Through his
+hands passed most of the details of the organisation. He lived in his
+employer's house, capable and trusted.</p>
+
+<p>It was Clausen's desire to succeed in life, and this very ambition led
+to his present crime, strange though that may seem. His salary was
+small—too small, he believed, for his abilities. He had often asked
+for an increase, but had as often been told that an increase was not
+possible for the time being. To Clausen this was a grievance. He did
+not care that charitable societies such as his were incapable of paying
+large salaries to their staffs. He did not argue that the organisation
+was limited in funds by its very objects. But he did care that money
+in a lump sum was a very valuable possession, and he argued that to
+possess money enough to fill his dreams was worth a small risk. In him
+his ancestry warred with his lately acquired respectability. He felt
+his opportunities limited. He was not perhaps morally strong enough
+to step outside the limitations and go farther afield. His quarrel
+was that his limitations were limitations. Thus his alleged grievance
+gradually became a vague sense of injustice. There are many similar
+cases. Temptation fed on mistaken ideas grows strong. Thus the sapling
+became an oak.</p>
+
+<p>So long as there is temptation there will be crime. So long as there
+is crime there will be law. So long as there is law there will be
+law-breakers. Rectitude and guiltiness are not separated by a straight
+line, as is commonly supposed. They are segments of a circle. Frederick
+Clausen had passed the first two segments, and now, having taken the
+money from the japanned box, had completed the last arc of the circuit.</p>
+
+<p>He had approached his act as do practically all who, for the first
+time, set out to beat the law. That is to say, he approached it with
+acumen and knowledge born of considerable study. The average burglar
+who has adopted theft as a trade goes straight to his objective, and
+retreats swiftly from it after accomplishment. The amateur criminal is
+much more elaborate. He believes that he has the wit to do what others
+have failed to do.</p>
+
+<p>Clausen was not content to steal and wipe out all traces of his trail.
+That, to his acute mind, was but to leave the structure of his plan
+half finished. He had gone much farther than that. He had seen to it
+that a burglary would be provided to send the authorities on a false
+scent.</p>
+
+<p>His knowledge of the district guided him towards the keystone of
+his crime and supplied him with an alibi that seemed proof against
+suspicion. He had called at the dingy coffee-house deliberately to give
+information to ears that were always open to receive and act on stray
+news. To this mean eating-house came characters he had known in his
+unregenerate days—men who trod the shady paths of life, youths who
+lived by lawlessness. Clausen himself was of the locality. He knew the
+suspects who frequented the side-streets and roamed the dim by-ways,
+seeking like wolves, the opportunity to plunder.</p>
+
+<p>He had timed his visit to the restaurant with care, and had sat at a
+table reading his newspaper and exchanging a spasmodic conversation
+with the proprietor, knowing that the visitors would come who could
+make use of his words. He was perfectly aware that the two men who sat
+at the next table were thieves, convicted and hardened in roguery. He
+had spoken for their benefit. The chances were a thousand to one that
+they had inwardly smiled at his seeming innocence as they listened to
+his information. Simple people are the carriers of news. What burglar
+could turn his back on a proposition where the details were handed to
+him so guilelessly?</p>
+
+<p>So Frederick Clausen argued, knowing the district and the men. Their
+minds were less subtle than his. They would act true to type. He
+had left something in the japanned box for them, a reward for their
+trouble. They would take the postal orders, even if they did not take
+the cheques, and thus they would be convicted.</p>
+
+<p>As he lay in bed, Clausen went over every point. He had made things
+easy for the burglars. He had undone the catch of the study window, he
+had left the japanned box unlocked. Even if they did not come, he was
+still safe. The chloroform he had used on the occupants of the house
+would work off before morning. They would have heard nothing, and the
+released window-catch would tell that a burglary had been committed
+from the outside.</p>
+
+<p>He estimated that the burglars would come within three hours after he
+had taken the money, if they came at all. The time passed slowly, and
+he was conscious of a tinge of anxiety. He heard the public clocks
+strike the hours. Dawn was not far off when his slumbering senses were
+jerked into action. Somewhere in the house a bell was ringing.</p>
+
+<p>He sat up in bed. What was the bell? With an exclamation of irritation
+he lay down again.</p>
+
+<p>"It's the scullery-maid's alarm clock," he muttered. "I'd forgotten she
+uses one to awaken her. I wonder what is the time."</p>
+
+<p>His hand was under the pillow, searching for his watch, when he
+suddenly became tense. The bell had ceased to ring, but another noise
+came to his ears. It was from the ground floor. At first the sound was
+a confused jumble, then what seemed to be the smashing of glass and the
+rumbling of men's voices. Clausen's heart beat quickly. The burglars
+had arrived. His theories had worked out after all. Was this not proof
+of his ability to gauge men and their actions accurately? A glow of
+triumph swept over him.</p>
+
+<p>And then, out of the stillness that followed the noise, there came
+other sounds. He heard feet on the corridor pass his door. He lay down
+and drew the bedclothes up to his chin. Voices were talking. Someone
+was knocking at a door. More voices added to the confused sounds. He
+heard the sound of feet on the corridor again—more feet, heavy feet.
+Someone knocked at his door. He lay still and did not answer.</p>
+
+<p>The knock was repeated. A voice called his name. He did not answer. The
+handle of the door turned. A light flashed. He lay still, breathing
+regularly, feigning sleep.</p>
+
+<p>Fingers touched his shoulders and shook him. He opened his eyes,
+pretending to be startled, and called out in well-acted alarm:</p>
+
+<p>"What's that? Who are you?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's all right, sir," said a policeman who was standing at his
+bedside. "You've had a visit from burglars. We came in through the
+study window after them, and the maid told me this was your room.
+You're Mr. Holson's secretary, aren't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes! Burglars! In here! Where are they? What's to be done?"</p>
+
+<p>He was sitting up now, rubbing his eyes, running his fingers through
+his hair, apparently dazed.</p>
+
+<p>"It's all right, sir, don't be alarmed. The burglars didn't come this
+length——"</p>
+
+<p>"Burglars! The scoundrels! It's the money they're after—the money in
+the box—two thousand pounds—the society's money to be paid out this
+morning. This is terrible."</p>
+
+<p>"Better get dressed quickly, sir. I've awakened young Mr. Holson and
+told him to waken his father. You must all sleep soundly in this house
+not to have heard us. Will you please come downstairs quickly? We want
+your information."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll come now."</p>
+
+<p>Clausen leaped out of bed, intending to snatch up his gown; but as he
+put his hand out he hesitated. Snuggled on the top of the gown as it
+lay on the chair was the lazy black cat, the household pet, curled up
+on the soft cloth which formed for it an ideal resting-place.</p>
+
+<p>The black cat for luck! Clausen's mind was quick to take advantage of
+the cat's choice of a bed. The dawn was beginning to struggle through
+the curtains, giving a strange coldness to the room. He shivered and
+turned to the policeman.</p>
+
+<p>"I might as well dress. A secretary's work is never done, and I may as
+well get up for the day. Will you give me a few minutes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'll wait, sir. My mate is downstairs on guard. We'll want Mr.
+Holson and you to go over the study with us. Come down when you are
+ready."</p>
+
+<p>The constable moved into the corridor, leaving the door ajar. Clausen
+heard his employer's son calling to his father, who answered drowsily.
+The house was awaking jerkily. Clausen began to dress, smiling towards
+the black cat asleep on his gown. What could have been better? The
+animal must have slipped into his room when he was washing the soot
+from his hands. He stroked its neck as he passed. His gown was safe
+under that cat.</p>
+
+<p>As Clausen dressed hurriedly, he heard Mr. Holson and his son stumble
+along the corridor on their way downstairs. The policeman was with
+them. Mr. Holson was talking in half-awake, grumbling accents, coughing
+and groaning as he moved. Clausen did not wash himself, nor shave. He
+hurried down at their heels, pulling his jacket on as he went.</p>
+
+<p>All the lights in the house were lit by this time. The servants were
+in the hall. Clausen joined the investigators. He found his employer at
+the foot of the stairs, on the brink of a collapse, supported by his
+son and the policeman.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Holson," cried Clausen, "this is terribly unfortunate, sir! How
+can we face the club members? Don't you worry, sir. We may be able to
+arrange a loan from the bank——"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Holson waved his hand feebly and groaned.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Holson is a bit seedy," explained the constable. "I think he had
+better get back to bed—or, wait, there he goes—better lay him down
+here and fetch some water. He's going to faint."</p>
+
+<p>Clausen ran to get water, and when he returned they were carrying his
+employer back to bed. They did not take him into his own bedroom,
+however, but into Clausen's, which was the nearest at the top of the
+stairs. They laid him on Clausen's bed, and Clausen bathed his brow and
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>Holson's son sank into a chair and stared vacantly around. Clausen was
+the only person besides the policeman who kept his head.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not surprising that Mr. Holson, poor man, takes it like this,"
+he said sympathetically. "Two thousand pounds gone! I hope you have got
+the burglars, constable. Have you found a clue? How many burglars were
+there? It is a wonder they did not kill us in our sleep. It must have
+been men who knew we took the money from the bank yesterday——"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that's all right, Mr. Clausen," said the policeman. "We've got the
+best of clues. We've got the burglars—two of them."</p>
+
+<p>"Is that so? Ah, that is smart! Caught in the act, I hope. And the
+money—did they have time to dispose of it, or have you recovered it
+too?"</p>
+
+<p>The policeman was paying attention to Mr. Holson, so that he did not
+answer then. The philanthropist was showing signs of recovery and had
+opened his eyes, then tried to sit up.</p>
+
+<p>"Be careful, sir," cautioned Clausen. "Take it easy. Everything is all
+right. The constable says the burglars have been caught. Did you say
+you had recovered the money, constable?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's a bit that puzzles my mate and me," replied the policeman
+thoughtfully as he wiped the inside of his helmet with his
+handkerchief. "We've got the burglars all right. The money wasn't taken
+by them, sir, because me and my mate got them before they opened the
+escritoire. And yet, when Mr. Holson took the box out just now, most of
+the money was gone——"</p>
+
+<p>"They must have hid it before you came on the scene," cried Clausen.</p>
+
+<p>"We were on the scene practically all night," said the constable.
+"You didn't know, Mr. Clausen, that Mr. Holson informed our station
+yesterday about the money being here. He asked us to keep watch during
+the night. There are bad characters around the district, and me and my
+mate were on special duty. With Mr. Holson's consent we fixed a trap
+last night. You didn't know about it, because you were out until late
+in the evening——"</p>
+
+<p>"A trap!" cried Clausen. "What was the trap?"</p>
+
+<p>"We laid down an alarm bell that rang in Mr. Holson's bedroom the
+moment the burglars stepped over the window-sill of the study. In this
+way he was to know if, and when, any burglars came. In the meantime
+we were to keep watch from outside—you know, patrolling about in our
+rubbered boots. The idea was that the bell would bring Mr. Holson down
+with his son, and we would have the thief, or thieves, back and front.
+Well, the bell rang, but nobody came down. Did you hear the bell, Mr.
+Clausen?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," replied Clausen, lying coolly. "I did not hear any bell."</p>
+
+<p>"That's funny, for Mr. Holson and his son say the same thing, yet me
+and my mate heard it from the lane at the back of the house. And the
+housekeeper says she did not hear it either. We had a lot of trouble to
+get Mr. Holson and his son awake, and the housekeeper too. They've all
+got headaches and—it's funny."</p>
+
+<p>He put his helmet on carefully, looking from one to the other.
+Frederick Clausen stood motionless, the dripping sponge in his ice-cold
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>The policeman's eye wandered round the room, resting finally on the
+fat, black cat sleeping on the dressing-gown on the chair.</p>
+
+<p>"Everybody seems to sleep well in this house," he grinned. "Even the
+cat. And a cat is generally scared of us when we enter a house. This
+one is unconcerned——"</p>
+
+<p>He stepped to the chair and laid his hand on the animal, stroking it
+gently.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here," he said. "This cat has its nose stuck into the pocket of
+the gown——"</p>
+
+<p>His laugh ceased suddenly. With a jerk he lifted the cat from its soft
+bed. It hung dangling in his grip, limp and unconscious. A faint, not
+unpleasant odour drifted through the room.</p>
+
+<p>Next moment the policeman dropped the cat and plunged his hand into
+the pocket of the gown, bringing forth the handkerchief and the small
+phial, the cork of which stuck awry from the neck.</p>
+
+<p>He turned his eyes on Frederick Clausen; and Frederick Clausen knew
+that, in spite of all his precautions, in spite of legends to the
+contrary, the black cat had brought, not luck, but evidence against him
+which was at once undeniable and convicting.</p>
+
+<p>It was a matter of detail from the suspicion to the search of the room,
+the finding of the stolen money, and then the charge. After that, the
+cell.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_SIXTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE SIXTH CELL</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>"And <i>now</i>," said the Governor as he took a sip of the whisky and
+soda that was near his elbow, "we will continue our examination of
+criminals, and their personal strengths and weaknesses, by going on to
+the next story, if you will permit."</p>
+
+<p>"Go on," said the visitor.</p>
+
+<p>"Before I do so," said the Governor, "might I invite you to make
+yourself more at ease? You have your overcoat on, and these gloves you
+are wearing——"</p>
+
+<p>"The overcoat may be discarded, but not the gloves," smiled the
+visitor, who pulled off his coat with a quick movement that surprised
+the Governor by its rapidity. "I can shoot quite as well with my gloves
+as with bare hands. And I notice that your desk is of highly polished
+mahogany."</p>
+
+<p>"I was thinking of your personal comfort, I assure you," returned the
+Governor. "As for any finger-prints, a man of your courage would not
+allow a small matter like that to stop him——"</p>
+
+<p>"Your diagnosis is right in that instance. If I thought it worth
+while to take off my gloves I would do so. I don't. Come, the night
+is passing and you seem to want to talk for some time. Why mention my
+gloves?"</p>
+
+<p>"The sight of kid gloves reminds me of the case of Daniel Callow,
+whose story I am about to give you."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor slipped a throat tablet into his mouth.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>The case of Daniel Callow (he said) leaves me in a quandary. Ought he
+to go into the Intellectual section or into the Intelligent grade?
+Perhaps you will aid me to determine.</p>
+
+<p>Consider Daniel Callow just in the act of closing the heavy door of
+the bank safe and switching out his electric torch. He put the torch
+into his pocket. After listening for a moment, he lifted the handbag in
+which he had packed the loot he had just stolen and stepped towards the
+door. He was wearing kid gloves. On his feet were goloshes drawn over
+his shoes. He opened the door and looked out. There was no one about.
+He closed the door behind him softly. Next moment he was walking away
+with his loot.</p>
+
+<p>It had been easy. It had been simple. It had been without a hitch. He
+boarded a bus and went home.</p>
+
+<p>As he entered the semi-detached, bijou, suburban residence of which he
+was tenant, the dining-room clock struck eight. Daniel Callow smiled to
+himself. He was home on the stroke of the hour, as he had been for a
+week. He heard the maid setting his supper in the dining-room. She came
+out as he closed the hall wardrobe in which he had put his bag and
+overcoat.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you clean the aerial, Annie?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir. I've got it as bright as a new wire, but I didn't have time
+to wind it up."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll do that after supper. Have the rose-trees come?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir. I laid 'em out on the plot where you dug the holes for 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"That was right. I think you can go now, Annie. I won't require you any
+more to-night."</p>
+
+<p>He heard her go out by the back door while he was at supper. When he
+had finished eating his meal he rose and pulled on a pair of heavy
+boots. He went out to the garden and wound up his aerial. He took out
+the bag of notes and silver, extracted a handful or so of the latter
+currency, and deposited the bag in one of the holes in the rose-plot.
+On the top of the bag he planted a rose, stamping the bush well down.
+He planted others also. This work had to be done before darkness, but
+it did not occupy him more than ten minutes. After this he returned to
+the house, took off his garden boots, pulled on a pair of slippers, and
+lifted his head-phones. The time signal was just being broadcast.</p>
+
+<p>Now, of the three types of criminals, we may take it that the lowest
+are those who become law-breakers because it is their instinct. The
+next above them are those who, while not making a habit of crime,
+side-step once or so. Then there are those who are among the
+Intellectuals, the professionals. In this class are those who have
+never been caught. Daniel Callow was trying to graduate from the second
+to the top class in one step.</p>
+
+<p>When a man belongs to a fast set, and spends his money as if his annual
+income was a month's salary, he is heading for one of two places—the
+Bankruptcy Court or the debtors' prison. A bank clerk cannot live like
+a landed proprietor with immense wealth; but it was "the thing" in the
+set to which Daniel Callow and his wife belonged that responsibility
+should come after pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>Callow had married his wife, Irene, because she belonged to the set.
+She never knew what salary he received at the bank. She never asked.
+The night-club life was what brought them together. It held them
+together. During the day Daniel was at his counter at the bank. During
+the night he and Irene were generally at banker with a count. In their
+club, counts were common and honourables were not even remarked on.
+Debts were usual; but there was this difference. The debts of the
+counts and the honourables were paid when pressure was applied. They
+had means. Daniel Callow had none.</p>
+
+<p>It was because he saw the Bankruptcy Court or the debtors' prison in
+front of him that Daniel Callow had thought out his scheme. For him it
+was simple. To an ordinary burglar it would have been daring.</p>
+
+<p>There was no man in the bank whose efficiency was greater. He had
+also earned a reputation for punctuality that was a criterion of the
+establishment. Every morning he was at his place before the other
+clerks, even before the manager. The keys of the safe were deposited
+every evening by the manager at the local police station. Daniel
+called for them every morning, and had the books and ledgers out on
+the desks by the stroke of the hour. What was easier than to take a
+wax impression of the keys as he handled them? There was only one that
+mattered, and it Daniel had left in the safe door. This was part of his
+plan.</p>
+
+<p>Sitting with his head-phones on, by his fire, Daniel Callow smiled as
+he thought of the reputation he had earned. How was the manager to know
+that he had earned it with a purpose in view? He had been early every
+morning so that his great idea might come to fruition.</p>
+
+<p>The main part of the plan, however, was that which dealt with covering
+his trail. He had advised Irene to pay a visit to some friends of their
+circle who had rented a house at the coast. Irene never asked anything
+about money so long as Daniel provided it. She did not bother about
+finance. You can find her type easily enough. The midnight set don't
+trouble about the next morning. They have no next mornings. So, from
+the whirl of the West End dance-club, Irene went off to another kind of
+whirl at the seaside. Daniel stayed at home and went to the bank as
+usual.</p>
+
+<p>During Irene's absence he came home every night just in time for
+supper. He dined at the club about six. He reached home about eight.
+The maid then went off duty—the plan on which he and Irene had agreed.
+Every morning Daniel went to the bank at his usual hour, or, if
+anything, slightly earlier. He had that wax impression of the key to
+get. He got it. After that the remainder of his idea was simple.</p>
+
+<p>He was under no disillusionment as to what would happen when the
+burglary was discovered. He knew that detectives would be called in.
+He knew that there would be an inquiry. There might even be a search.
+Callow was no professional thief. He did not attempt to run off with
+the swag. He had nowhere to run to, for that matter. He knew no "fence"
+who would hide it. He wanted no accomplice. Alone in the house, he had
+thought of the rose-bed in the garden. Even if detectives came to his
+house? He would sit tight and watch his roses grow. Ah, there was a
+brain for you!</p>
+
+<p>Theoretically he was right. The first desire of the ordinary criminal
+is to escape, to flee from the scene of his crime, and to hide his
+proceeds in a place some distance from where he himself lurks.</p>
+
+<p>Daniel Callow reversed both these ordinary rules, which are so well
+known to the police. He not only kept his loot in his garden, he went a
+step farther. He discovered the burglary for the benefit of the staff
+next morning.</p>
+
+<p>When the manager arrived, he was told how the keys of the safe were
+found in the door, how the safe had been rifled, how several thousands
+of pounds had been taken, how Daniel Callow had sent for the police at
+once. The manager complimented Daniel, whose story was backed by the
+cleaners.</p>
+
+<p>The police took down statements, examined the safe door, the keys,
+the door knobs, the floor, the windows. They did not find a clue. The
+deficiency in cash was made up by hurried loans from other branches of
+the bank, so that the public might never guess a theft had taken place.
+The staff was sworn to secrecy.</p>
+
+<p>In the afternoon, every member of the staff was called in turn into the
+manager's room. When Daniel Callow was sent for, he entered without
+fear.</p>
+
+<p>Next to the manager sat an elderly man, who was introduced as Detective
+Morat. Daniel told himself that he had never seen anyone more unlike
+a detective. Here was no rat-faced, keen sleuth. Morat had a big
+reputation, but he confessed, after hearing Daniel's story, that the
+whole thing was a mystery. Daniel had expected to be put through a
+cross-examination. Morat did not bother with any cross-examination. He
+merely sat smiling, his big face beaming with kindliness.</p>
+
+<p>When he left the bank that night, Daniel Callow did not go straight
+home, but called at the night-club. He had a hand or two at cards,
+listened to the latest stories of the set, indulged in a few dances,
+and then went his way. The maid was waiting for him, though it was long
+past his usual time of arrival.</p>
+
+<p>"A gentleman has been here for you twice," she announced.</p>
+
+<p>"What was his name?"</p>
+
+<p>"He wouldn't give any."</p>
+
+<p>"What was he like?"</p>
+
+<p>"Looked like a policeman to me. He asked when you came home last night,
+and when you usually came."</p>
+
+<p>"You told him, didn't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right. Sorry I'm late, Annie. You may go."</p>
+
+<p>When the maid was gone, Daniel Callow sat down and began to think. Was
+this part of a game the police were playing? Did they suspect him?
+This was the beginning of the period he had anticipated, the period
+of suspicion and investigation. Probably every other member of the
+staff was undergoing the same thing. He went over his acts, and came
+to the confident conclusion that he had nothing to fear. If the police
+suspected him, why did they not come and search his house? Even if they
+did——? He could wait his time. The money was safe enough under his
+rose-tree.</p>
+
+<p>The following morning, as he stood behind the counter of the bank,
+he saw the thick form of Detective Morat enter and go through to the
+manager's office. In a little while Daniel was summoned to the inner
+office. He went without a tremor.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Callow," said the manager, "we want you to tell us again just how
+you came to discover that a burglary had been committed. Detective
+Morat is not quite sure of one or two points. He is correcting the
+statements of the staff which were made yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>Daniel told them once more, word for word. He had his evidence all
+ready for them. The cleaners could back him up. Detective Morat sat
+smiling as he listened.</p>
+
+<p>"What time did you get home that night?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Eight o'clock exactly."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you stay in all evening? Didn't you go up to your club?"</p>
+
+<p>"I stayed in. I was listening to the broadcast."</p>
+
+<p>Morat smiled again and rose to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>"I've an idea the cleaners must know the man who did the job," he
+said. "By the way, Mr. Callow, that was a fine programme we had on the
+wireless that night. I've got a one-valve set at home, and I heard Lord
+Halford's speech from the London studio as clear as a bell. Scientific
+stuff. Good, wasn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"You must be mistaken," replied Daniel Callow coldly. "There was no
+such speech the evening you refer to."</p>
+
+<p>Detective Morat looked disappointed.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe it was the previous night," he murmured. "All right, Mr. Callow.
+We won't trouble you again."</p>
+
+<p>Daniel went back to his counter, and his eyes glimmered as he took his
+stand.</p>
+
+<p>"The fool!" he muttered. "Calls himself a detective, and tries such
+a clumsy one! He wanted to see if I was really listening-in. Oh, and
+that's what they call a first-class detective!"</p>
+
+<p>He went home later than usual that evening, for it was the maid's night
+off and he would have found no meal ready for him. He dined and supped
+in the West End.</p>
+
+<p>When he arrived home, a strange sense of uneasiness swept over him.
+This sense struck him as soon as he switched on the hall light. He was
+suddenly seized with the suspicion that the house had been entered.</p>
+
+<p>He went into the dining-room. All was in order. He went through every
+room in the house. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed, yet he
+knew someone had been there. He could have sworn this, though he could
+not have proved it. He examined every cupboard, looked at the carpets,
+watched for the slightest disarrangement of the beds. He saw no sign of
+strange hands, yet every cupboard, every carpet, every bed shrieked a
+warning at him.</p>
+
+<p>Was this needless fear? Was it super-nervousness? Daniel Callow was
+too blasé to be afraid, too confident to be nervous. He experienced no
+pricks of conscience. He had planned the theft too carefully to leave a
+clue, but his home had been searched. Who had done this? There was only
+one answer. Morat!</p>
+
+<p>He hurried out to the garden. The rose-plot was undisturbed, the tall
+rose-bush which he had planted over the loot was there as he had placed
+it in the centre of the flower-bed. It was surrounded by the other
+roses.</p>
+
+<p>The light from his small drawing-room flooded this limited area
+and threw his shadow across the tiny dark lawn. He was in the act
+of stretching out his hand towards the rose-bush when he drew back
+quickly. Did he hear a sound from the fence at the bottom of the garden?</p>
+
+<p>He stood still, watching. The sound was not repeated. He lit a
+cigarette, and walked slowly up towards the pole he had erected for his
+aerial, pretending to tinker with the pulley by which he could lower
+the wire. In reality he was watching the fence. All was quiet. He went
+indoors.</p>
+
+<p>He lit the gas fire of the drawing-room, and sat down with his
+head-phones on his knee. He did not draw the curtains. If anyone was
+watching him from the garden fence, that person would have a full
+view. Daniel did not wish to hinder the spy. He would give him plenty
+of rope, but nothing to report.</p>
+
+<p>All the same, as he put the head-phones on he was not listening to
+the musical programme. He was thinking hard. Were the police after
+him? Morat had shown his suspicions when he made the clumsy remark
+about the speech. Morat was behind the search that had been made of
+the house: for that they had waited until the maid was out. Well, he
+was proof against their lumbering methods. The maid could prove that
+the rose-trees were on order several days before they arrived. The
+maid could prove that she had been instructed to clean the aerial. He
+himself had proved that he spent the evening listening-in. There was
+not a clue left at the bank pointing in his direction. The manager had
+placed entire reliance on him in every way.</p>
+
+<p>It had become a game of patience. Daniel knew that the police often
+adopted a wearing-down method of tactics when they were suspicious and
+longed for evidence. He was proof against that also. He would attend to
+his roses and wear down all suspicion. It was a game at which two could
+play. All he had to do was to be more upright in his actions than ever,
+more diligent in business than he had ever been. There was plenty of
+time. His roses would grow.</p>
+
+<p>The wireless programme had just concluded when a knock sounded on the
+front door, and the bell rang sharply. Daniel Callow did not hesitate,
+though his instinct told him who was on the other side of the door. He
+opened it without a fear. A man stood facing him.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you know me, Mr. Daniel Callow?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you are Detective Morat, aren't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>The two eyed each other steadily. Morat smiled and stroked his smooth,
+plump jaw.</p>
+
+<p>"May I have a word with you, Mr. Callow—about the burglary?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly. Come inside."</p>
+
+<p>Question and answer had come without hesitation, one after the other;
+both men appeared to be on the best of terms. They went into the
+drawing-room. Daniel Callow was perfectly cool. Not a flutter showed as
+he offered a chair to his visitor.</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry my wife is not at home just now, Mr. Morat. You find me
+handicapped somewhat."</p>
+
+<p>"It doesn't matter. I came to see <i>you</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Morat sat down, smiling still as he looked kindly towards Callow. His
+fat fingers fiddled with his hat, which he held on his knees. He looked
+into the fire thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" asked Daniel quietly.</p>
+
+<p>Morat asked him one or two questions—trivial questions about the
+routine of work at the bank—and pondered the answers so long that
+his silence became an irritant. The ticking of the clock on the
+mantel-piece sounded very loud. The hissing of the gas fire became
+like the noise of escaping steam from a locomotive. It took Daniel
+Callow all the restraint of which he was capable to endure the menacing
+silence between the slow questions. He felt like shouting at Morat to
+get on with it; but he held himself in check. This was the wearing-down
+process in action, he thought. All right, let Morat try it. And then,
+suddenly, before he was aware, the detective's tactics changed. He
+leaned forward and pointed a stubby forefinger straight at Callow.</p>
+
+<p>"We are on the track of a suspect!"</p>
+
+<p>"Who?" asked Daniel, without blinking.</p>
+
+<p>"You!"</p>
+
+<p>It was like the report of a pistol. But Daniel Callow met the
+accusation with the coolness of a dueller.</p>
+
+<p>"I know that. You searched my house to-night."</p>
+
+<p>Detective Morat withdrew his finger and sank back in his chair.</p>
+
+<p>"I had two men on that job," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"I knew it the moment I entered."</p>
+
+<p>"You've planted that money somewhere!"</p>
+
+<p>"If you think so, find it."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll find it."</p>
+
+<p>They looked at each other curiously. The smile had gone off Morat's
+face, but a smile had come on that of Daniel Callow. He knew where he
+was now. The gage had been thrown down.</p>
+
+<p>"You are a smart young man, Callow. You have worked well at the bank.
+The manager upholds you. He wouldn't listen to my suggestions. Yes,
+you're smart. But you'll make a mistake. I've met your kind before. And
+I've beaten them."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it part of a detective's job to insult people in their own homes?"
+asked Callow quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a detective's job to get evidence."</p>
+
+<p>"By these methods?"</p>
+
+<p>"By the methods he thinks fit the occasion. Are you personally opposed
+to my methods?"</p>
+
+<p>"Intensely so."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you know your remedy."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Start a law case against me, claiming damages for what I have said."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll think about that."</p>
+
+<p>"But you won't do it."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know?"</p>
+
+<p>"You daren't."</p>
+
+<p>"You think so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Positively."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>Detective Morat leaned forward again and looked into Daniel Callow's
+face.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell you. Because you are in a bad hole, Callow. You have been
+spending money too freely at your midnight clubs—you and your wife.
+You are in the hands of moneylenders. You are living above your income.
+You are in debt all round."</p>
+
+<p>"Has that anything to do with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"It has."</p>
+
+<p>"In what way?"</p>
+
+<p>"In this way. You are in a hole for want of money. Your wife doesn't
+even know your salary——"</p>
+
+<p>"You leave her out of it! How do you know she doesn't know my income?"</p>
+
+<p>"My men have asked her."</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"One of my men has seen her within the last twenty-four hours. He
+presented a bill on behalf of a firm, and asked for payment. She told
+him to give it to you. He asked her if she was sure it would be paid.
+She said you always paid. She does not know that you have unpaid bills
+in your pocket now, bills you cannot hope to pay on your income. I have
+not told your employers this—yet."</p>
+
+<p>Daniel Callow shrugged his shoulders, but he was uncomfortable.
+He knew what would happen if his manager found out that he was so
+overwhelmingly in debt.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you pay this bill if I present it to you?" asked Morat
+remorselessly, laying an envelope in Callow's lap.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't."</p>
+
+<p>"I knew that. And before you could start an action against me I could
+have you declared bankrupt. You know what that means."</p>
+
+<p>"It means I would lose my job, but your bills would not be paid. I
+don't see that would be any gain to you."</p>
+
+<p>"It might. It would give me a chance to complete the evidence I seek."</p>
+
+<p>"If you are so sure I stole the money, why don't you arrest me, or
+detain me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I want to produce the money as evidence, and I want you to
+tell me where you have deposited it. If I had you arrested or detained
+you would close your mouth. I haven't anything solid enough to go to a
+jury."</p>
+
+<p>"It will take you a hundred years to prove I am the burglar."</p>
+
+<p>"Not so long, I think."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I have had enough of your insults. I do not care to endure it
+any longer. If you have finished, you can go. And don't forget, I'll
+report this to the bank to-morrow morning and ask for protection from
+your uncouth methods."</p>
+
+<p>Morat rose and left.</p>
+
+<p>When he had gone, Daniel Callow smiled grimly to himself. He had met
+the famous detective, and he had beaten him in the battle of wits.
+Instead of Morat wearing him down, he had worn Morat down. Had the
+detective had anything like a clue, he would have arrested him, or
+detained him. His admissions proved that he was acting on nothing more
+than suspicion. Suspicion didn't get men arrested; and, if it did, it
+didn't get them convicted.</p>
+
+<p>What had brought Morat to the house at all? It was clear. He had come
+to make Callow commit himself by a stray word. He had come to test
+him by a deliberate accusation. This was the thing to guard against.
+Detectives often got their victims by a swift surprise. An unexpected
+slip, an unguarded remark, had sent many a man to prison. To refuse to
+be surprised into admission was the cue. So long as he remained cool,
+never being flurried or agitated, Daniel Callow believed he was safe.</p>
+
+<p>He saw his way, too, to cut the feet from Morat in the matter of the
+bill. He would go to a money-lender and borrow. The day would come,
+after the burglary had passed into the limbo of unsolved thefts, when
+he could pay back the money. If he was able to show that the bill had
+been paid, he need not fear Morat.</p>
+
+<p>He got the money and paid the bill next day, and he interviewed the
+manager, asking protection from Morat. In this he was successful. The
+manager promised that Morat's crude methods would be stopped. He was
+indignant that his smartest man should be so insulted. Daniel Callow
+came out of the manager's office feeling that he had scored again.</p>
+
+<p>There was only one item of the burglary that Callow had retained in
+his possession that would have given him away. He got rid of it that
+evening as he went home. This was the new key he had had made for the
+front door of the bank. He flung it into the Thames.</p>
+
+<p>Detective Morat came no longer to the bank. A week passed. Nobody was
+arrested. Nothing happened. The staff grew easier in their minds.
+Daniel Callow's wife returned from her holiday. They went to the
+night-club together, as of yore. They had their fun. They mixed with
+the members, old and new, all belonging to the set. Life resumed its
+care-free jollity.</p>
+
+<p>Daniel was proud of Irene. She was the life of the club. She was gay,
+irresponsible, beautiful. She went the pace more than ever. Men envied
+Daniel his wife. They did not know what she cost him.</p>
+
+<p>The one drawback to his new plunge into life was the number of
+bills and the call for money it occasioned. Daniel found that the
+moneylenders declined to let him have another advance. He had not
+mentioned to Irene that there had been a robbery at the bank. If she
+found this out he was always able to defend his lack of confidence
+by the fact that the staff had been sworn to keep the matter from
+the public. Nor did he tell her that the loot was buried under the
+rose-bush. He was waiting a favourable opportunity to lift the bag.
+He intended to circulate the notes in a way whereby they would not be
+traced to him. He could do this over on the Continent. A week-end trip
+was enough for this.</p>
+
+<p>He chose an evening for the job of lifting the bag—an evening when
+he would be alone. The maid was to be out. Irene, unable to be absent
+from the club, was going there alone, and he was to call for her
+later. He did not need to find excuses for not accompanying her. She
+asked for no reason so long as she was allowed to go the pace with the
+set.</p>
+
+<p>Darkness had just fallen when Daniel pulled on his garden boots. He was
+on his way to the back door when the bell of the front rang. He opened
+it, and faced Detective Morat.</p>
+
+<p>With Morat were two other men. Morat was smiling kindly, as usual, his
+hand smoothing his stout jaw.</p>
+
+<p>"I want a word with you, Mr. Callow."</p>
+
+<p>"Come inside. What do you want now?"</p>
+
+<p>Morat closed the door behind him and faced Daniel.</p>
+
+<p>"You are a good bluffer, Daniel Callow, but I see no reason to change
+my suspicions."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean about the bank robbery?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is what I mean."</p>
+
+<p>"Well? Have you come to insult me again? The manager promised——"</p>
+
+<p>"It's out of the manager's hands now, Callow. I have made a lot of
+inquiries, and I have gone over every yard of the case. I have come to
+the conclusion that the stolen money is here."</p>
+
+<p>"Find it!" scoffed Daniel Callow.</p>
+
+<p>They were bluffing each other. At least, that is what Daniel Callow
+thought; and his regard for this famous detective was very small. Had
+he not beaten him once?</p>
+
+<p>"I have a warrant authorising me to search the house. You raise no
+objection?"</p>
+
+<p>Daniel Callow's self-command was excellent.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going out to attend to my rose-trees," he said with a smile. "Call
+me when you've finished. I'm getting tired of this inquisition, and the
+daylight is fading fast."</p>
+
+<p>He turned and went out to the garden, leaving Morat stroking his smooth
+jaw thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>Ten minutes later, when Daniel was loosening the earth round his
+bushes, Morat appeared. He looked at the rose-trees and at Callow. The
+latter was laughing to himself. He stepped off the rose-bed and struck
+the mud from his boots.</p>
+
+<p>"Found that money yet?" he asked sarcastically.</p>
+
+<p>Morat stroked his smooth jaw softly.</p>
+
+<p>"Daniel Callow, what would you give to keep your wife out of this?"</p>
+
+<p>The question struck Daniel in the weakest link of his armour.</p>
+
+<p>"You keep her name out of this!" he cried. "You've mentioned her
+before——"</p>
+
+<p>Morat plunged his hand into his pocket and thrust a five-pound note
+into Daniel Callow's face.</p>
+
+<p>"And I'll mention her again," he retorted. "What if your wife tendered
+this at the club you frequent? Don't you know that all the numbers of
+the missing notes are known? Do you want her charged with being in
+possession of stolen money?"</p>
+
+<p>Daniel Callow's jaw dropped. He staggered back, his legs weakened
+under him, and his face went white as paper.</p>
+
+<p>"Where did your wife get this note?" thundered Morat.</p>
+
+<p>"It's impossible!" cried Daniel. "She didn't know where I hid the
+money!"</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the words were out, torn from him unexpectedly, he realised
+what he had said. But it was too late. Detective Morat turned to the
+two men who came out of the doorway at his signal.</p>
+
+<p>"He'll confess now," he said quietly. "Take him indoors."</p>
+
+<p>And Daniel Callow did confess; but it was not until afterwards that he
+discovered that Morat had bluffed him to the end. The five-pound note
+had never been in Irene's hands. Morat had brought it with him to aid
+his test.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_SEVENTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE SEVENTH CELL</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>The visitor had taken a great interest in the story of Daniel Callow,
+and when the Governor finished he spoke quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"I would not advise you to put Daniel Callow among your Intellectuals."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you. I think you are right in your judgment. He shall stay
+among the Intelligents. I have given you proof that certain men give
+themselves away under certain circumstances. I will now give you a case
+where Nature intervened and sent Robert Lyons to the seventh cell."</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>But for a caprice of Nature (continued the Governor), Robert Lyons
+would now be facing the scaffold. As it is, he has been for some time
+in hospital, and it is extremely unlikely that he will ever go outside
+these walls, or, rather, the confines of the prison, so long as he
+lives. Such is the sentence for his evildoing that a judge and jury
+have passed on him.</p>
+
+<p>Lyons was a gamekeeper and odd-job man, and one day, when he was out in
+the woods, he rested his rifle in the fork of a tree and took careful
+aim at a piece of granite formed in the shape of a chair that stood out
+of the scrub five hundred yards across the valley. There was murder
+in his heart, but it was not the wild, irresponsible desire to slay,
+which is often associated with the taking of human life, that swayed
+him. The murder he contemplated was deliberate, cold, implacable.</p>
+
+<p>In studying Lyons we are studying a man who is in many ways different
+from most men. His design to kill was clever, original, worthy of an
+Intellectual. As a matter of fact, I have thought that if Lyons had
+been in another sphere of life he would have made his mark, for he
+possessed many of the traits of almost genius. After all, brains are no
+monopoly of wealth or high birth.</p>
+
+<p>Lyons pressed the trigger of his rifle, eased the weapon from his
+shoulder as soon as he had fired, took a pair of binoculars from his
+pocket, and focused them.</p>
+
+<p>Above the irregular top of the granite block that took the form of a
+natural chair—in the locality it was known as the "Wishing Chair,"
+owing to some legend—he had fastened a target of wood shaped to
+represent a man's head. With the aid of his binoculars he observed that
+his .303 bullet had passed through this head. The observation convinced
+him that the way to final accomplishment of his intention was clear.
+His intention was to put a bullet from his gun through the head of his
+employer, Professor Roche; and he was going to do it without his hand
+or finger being nearer the trigger than the width of the valley.</p>
+
+<p>You will perhaps agree (said the Governor, in parenthesis) that within
+recent years a change has taken place in the methods of criminals
+quite as much as in their motives. A generation ago murder was usually
+committed because of some grudge, some grievance, some desire for
+revenge, or hope of gain. The murdered persons were almost always aware
+of their enemy, or enemies, and of the cause of the antagonism. In
+these days the victim is less often aware of having an enemy. Within
+the last few years the victims have been the friends, the benefactors
+sometimes, of their slayers in more than fifty per cent. of the murders
+committed. Does this indicate that humanity is retrograding instead
+of progressing? No one can answer definitely. Some have said that
+war revives in man the savage impulse to slay. The question is more
+complicated than appears on the surface. Why did Robert Lyons wish to
+slay his employer?</p>
+
+<p>It has become an axiom that to find the culprit of any breakage of
+the law it is necessary to find the motive. The old Frenchman was not
+infallible when he said, "Find the woman." The police first seek for
+a motive, and then trace the person involved. It is all a matter of
+team-work, all a business of routine. It is a process of elimination.
+So much for the police and their methods. Let us get back to Lyons
+and his intention. Motive played a part, as usual, fear another,
+greed another, and at base these were, singly, small enough, but when
+combined they were everything.</p>
+
+<p>Professor Roche was one of the savants who are to be found in the
+backwaters of English life. London is the home of active men. The
+provinces are as often the home of thinking men. Professor Roche was
+one of the most retiring, yet one of the most learned, men in this
+country. He had travelled widely in pursuit of his science. He was
+an archæologist, naturalist, conchologist. It was he who presented
+to our best museums the collections that are most prized. He had
+been all over Europe and America at the invitation of private and
+public organisations, aiding them in appraising and displaying their
+treasures. And yet this man, who could have had many honours given him,
+desired none. He was content to live away from the hub of things, and
+his pleasure was in his work. His collections were envied by curators
+of museums, who often begged them on loan. These collections had been
+gathered from the four corners of the world. Time after time he had
+been approached, indeed tempted, to sell some of his collections, but
+he had always refused. It was because Robert Lyons had overheard such a
+conversation between the professor and the representative of a museum
+that he became aware of the chance of making something for himself
+without much effort.</p>
+
+<p>Lyons acted as gamekeeper and handyman on the small estate. His duty
+was, among other things, to keep poachers away, and allow the wild life
+of the land to live to its natural fullness, so that the professor
+might study the habits of the creatures living above, on, deep in the
+earth. He accompanied Professor Roche on many tours, for he knew the
+ways of hares, squirrels, field animals, as well as he knew the ways
+of birds. He knew them from the woodsman's point of view, while the
+professor knew them from the scientific angle. Squirrels came to feed
+out of his hand, rabbits did not budge when he passed, rooks looked
+down on him from their nests unafraid. It was to be expected that such
+a sanctuary for wild life would attract poachers bent on killing where
+killing was profitable as well as easy.</p>
+
+<p>One step leads to another. Lyons was the man who made the cases in
+which the professor's specimens were kept. It was he who, under the
+professor's directions, arranged the preserved butterflies of many
+countries, the humming-birds of the Amazon, the rare shells of the
+tropics, the eggs of a thousand wonderful species.</p>
+
+<p>At first the value of the exhibits loomed only faintly behind their
+beauty. The conversation he had overheard turned his thoughts from the
+beauty to the value. He lacked the scientific enthusiasm which is above
+the consideration of money, and gradually he began to compare himself,
+a humble gamekeeper, with the wealth which he handled. He ended by
+coveting.</p>
+
+<p>He took another step. The professor did not miss the humming-bird Lyons
+put into his pocket and sold in London on one of his occasional trips
+to town. He found it comparatively easy to sell when he had satisfied
+the dealer that Professor Roche had commissioned him to dispose of the
+rare curio. He named a price and stuck to it. The dealer saw this man
+knew values, and paid the price.</p>
+
+<p>Other specimens went the same way, to other dealers. It was easy to say
+that the professor was getting rid of a few specimens quietly in order
+to obtain ready money, but this could not go on indefinitely. Lyons was
+perfectly aware of this, but he was already involved and could not turn
+back.</p>
+
+<p>There was one shell in the professor's collection which had attracted
+the attention of Lyons more than anything else. It nestled in a bed of
+plush, and was about six inches long, pale ivory in colour, overlaid
+with wonderful mosaic markings, and had a slender, tapering spire. Its
+label gave its name as "Glory of Coram—very rare." Lyons took the
+trouble, when in London, to find out that there were not half a dozen
+such shells in the world's museums. It was valued at many hundreds of
+pounds. Might he not take this as a final toll? He took it.</p>
+
+<p>Crime is like a steep incline. The criminal starts slowly, gathering
+speed and daring as he descends. This speed and daring are largely
+generated by the momentum of descent. At a given distance down the
+slope, stoppage is impossible without danger of a crash. Robert Lyons
+had reached this distance.</p>
+
+<p>The dealer in London to whom he took the shell examined it for a long
+time. He asked questions. Had Lyons been more business-like he would
+have known that rare shells are not sold over counters without the
+buyer's protecting himself by negotiation and written statements. He
+listened to the dealer telling him that he must have a note from the
+professor authorising the sale.</p>
+
+<p>"Give me a note and I'll get his signature," he said. The dealer gave
+him a typewritten note—such a one as is generally kept for reference
+when curios change hands. Robert Lyons left the shop, and returned to
+his home that evening realising that he had thrown a net about his own
+feet.</p>
+
+<p>His position was now one of peril. He had stepped beyond the bounds
+of petty theft. He spent a considerable part of that night in his
+little cottage trying to forge the professor's signature. His hand was
+clumsy, and could not form the letters well. He knew his forgery would
+be detected at once. As he sat pondering the situation the great idea
+came to him. He would get the signature, and make it impossible for the
+professor ever to say that he had been forced to sign.</p>
+
+<p>Curiously enough, he never thought of returning the Glory of Coram to
+its case. In this he was like the majority of criminals, whose brains
+do not harbour a thought of retreat. They must go on, driven by some
+force of their own making against which they cannot strive. If he
+retreated, there would be inquiries, and his other thefts would come
+to light. The dealer would probably write to Professor Roche, for
+the Glory of Coram was a treasure not often put into the market. All
+this meant prison, humiliation, the brand of the broad arrow. By the
+unusually cunning plan that had come to him Robert Lyons saw that the
+only other way was to blot out the life of Professor Roche.</p>
+
+<p>This alternative may seem to rational people to be an enormity. Is it
+any more so than the decision of the murderer to kill the girl who
+expected to marry him, so that he might marry another? Or more heinous
+than the poisoning of an old woman to gain the few hundreds of pounds
+for which her life was insured? Lyons, like other criminals, did not
+balance his proposed crime by the material gain it would bring him. He
+balanced it by his own safety.</p>
+
+<p>After he had satisfied himself that his rifle was capable of carrying
+out his plan he threw it over his shoulder, crossed the valley, and
+took down the target, all bullet-marked, and trudged back to his
+cottage. He put his rifle in a cupboard and took out an older weapon,
+which he stacked in the porch. This was part of his plan also. He had
+bought the newer rifle in London some days previously, and had brought
+it home after dark. It was of different bore from his old piece, which
+everybody in the neighbourhood knew he possessed.</p>
+
+<p>He brought out some pieces of wood, and a saw and hammer and nails. He
+measured the pieces carefully, and was busy at the work of carpentry
+when he heard a footfall approaching. He looked up. Professor Roche was
+coming up the gravel path to his cottage.</p>
+
+<p>"I heard your gun go off over by the valley, Lyons," said the
+professor. "Shooting at anything?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's them poachers, sir," replied Lyons, with an upward glance from
+under his shaggy brows. "It wasn't my gun that went off. Here it is
+here, loaded up, but I never see the poachers or I'd fire."</p>
+
+<p>"Not at them, I hope, Lyons."</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, above their heads, just to give 'em a fright. They've been
+poaching over by the Wishing Chair."</p>
+
+<p>"What are they after this time, birds or hares?"</p>
+
+<p>"Anything they can get, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"I'd have got the police to help you, Lyons, if you weren't against
+it——"</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind the police, sir. I can manage. When are we goin' over to
+continue the excavations?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was hoping to go to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"Make it to-morrow, sir. I'll spend the day clearin' out the poachers,
+and we won't be disturbed to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"All right, Lyons."</p>
+
+<p>The professor was looking dreamily at the pieces of wood which Lyons
+was fitting together carefully into a curious shape.</p>
+
+<p>"What's that you are making, Lyons?"</p>
+
+<p>"A cradle, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"A cradle?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, for my gun. The fore-end has warped through being laid on the
+damp ground, and that affects the barrel. I'm making a cradle so I can
+keep it off the ground when I'm resting, while I watch for poachers."</p>
+
+<p>The professor nodded and walked away slowly, his head bent and his
+hands behind his back. Lyons was well aware that his explanation
+had not been followed, for the professor was always thinking of his
+specimens and had little interest in anything else.</p>
+
+<p>When he had gone, Lyons bent over his task and worked fast. The cradle
+was finished by midday, and he went indoors to prepare his dinner. When
+dinner was ready he laid it on the table and piled a handful of nuts on
+a plate beside it. Then he stepped into his inner room and brought out
+a box two feet long by one foot high. He laid the box on the floor and
+shut his front door. When he sat down at the table he flicked open the
+lid of the box. A squirrel jumped out.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, Brownie," said Lyons. "I reckon I've starved you about enough
+for the job. Keep away from that plate of nuts."</p>
+
+<p>The squirrel had leaped to the table, but a blow from the hand of the
+gamekeeper sent it flying to the floor. It ran about the place, poking
+into corners, mounting the chairs, and always turning its little,
+sparkling eyes towards the table where the nuts were piled temptingly.</p>
+
+<p>Robert Lyons ate his dinner slowly, watching the squirrel all the time.
+Every time it came on the table he threw it off. When it jumped on his
+knee and poked its head upward towards his plate he allowed it to sniff
+the dinner; but when it tried to steal a morsel he threw it to the
+floor. This went on for quite a long time.</p>
+
+<p>After dinner, Lyons rose and put the remains of his dinner and the
+plate of nuts into a cupboard, taking one or two loose nuts in his
+hand. With these he tempted the squirrel repeatedly, making it believe
+that he was giving it one, and drawing away the prize when the animal
+ventured to seize it.</p>
+
+<p>There was something pathetic in the small eyes of the squirrel when
+this was repeated several times. At last Lyons changed his method of
+teasing the hungry thing. He tied a nut to a piece of string and let it
+hang from the table. Every time the squirrel dashed for it he drew it
+away. Finally he took the squirrel and put it into his capacious coat
+pocket, lifted his new gun and cradle, and went out, locking the door
+behind him.</p>
+
+<p>He walked straight down the valley until he came to a spot opposite the
+Wishing Chair. Near it was a large mound of earth which had been newly
+dug up. The professor had been making excavations in search of fossils,
+Lyons doing the digging while the savant searched.</p>
+
+<p>Robert Lyons went straight to the tree from which he had fired the
+shot in the morning. He fitted the cradle he had made into the fork,
+hammered it down with a few nails, laid his rifle in the cradle, and
+sighted it for the Wishing Chair.</p>
+
+<p>Next he took a nut from his pocket, and tied it with a piece of twine
+to the trigger of the gun so that it dangled in the desired position.
+He then brought the squirrel out, and let it see the nut and play with
+it; but when the little animal made any attempt to bite it, Lyons drew
+it out of reach. He held the squirrel in his hands all this time.</p>
+
+<p>After some time he descended the slope into the valley and climbed to
+the Wishing Chair. He sat down in the stone seat. Once more he brought
+the squirrel out of his pocket. But this time he did not tease it. He
+set it on the ground and let it go. As soon as it bounded off he ran
+after it. He knew where it was going.</p>
+
+<p>The squirrel led him back to the spot where he had left his rifle. When
+he arrived, the animal was seated on its haunches nibbling at a nut,
+and the loop which dangled from the trigger of the gun was empty. Lyons
+examined the rifle. The spring had been released. He tested the sights
+without touching the weapon. The aim was truly laid for the Wishing
+Chair.</p>
+
+<p>He took another nut from his pocket, offering it to the brown squirrel.
+It came timidly, but the gamekeeper did not tease any more. He let the
+squirrel take the nut and eat it, as he held it in the crook of his
+arm. When it was finished with the nut, he returned it to his pocket
+and went back home. He left the rifle in the cradle fastened to the
+tree-fork.</p>
+
+<p>It had taken Robert Lyons a week to train the squirrel to run across
+the valley from the Wishing Chair to the spot where the rifle was now
+placed; and he had accomplished the training by the method which is the
+first to break-in any animal—starvation. Who would ever suspect such a
+death-trap?</p>
+
+<p>Robert Lyons was up early next morning to meet his employer. The latter
+came down to the cottage soon after breakfast, and was pleased to see
+that the gamekeeper had every tool in readiness for their excavations.
+They proceeded to the site at once.</p>
+
+<p>Lyons did not talk as they marched ahead. The morning was dull, the sky
+was heaped with cumulus clouds, the wind was rising.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid it isn't too promising for work, Lyons," said the professor
+as they descended into the valley. "If it rains, we can return and
+arrange some specimens indoors."</p>
+
+<p>"We'll see," replied Lyons, grimly smiling to himself. "This is the
+very weather for poachers."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think they'll be about?"</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe. We'll see."</p>
+
+<p>They reached the Wishing Chair on the top of the hill, and Lyons threw
+down his tools. The professor sat down on the stone seat, as was his
+habit, and drew out a handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from his
+face. It had been a stiff climb up the slope.</p>
+
+<p>Lyons stepped behind the Wishing Chair, pretending to look at the
+landscape beyond; but his hands fumbled about his waist. In a moment he
+had uncoiled a length of thin rope, at the end of which was a running
+noose. Before the innocent professor was aware, the noose was thrown
+over his shoulders and the gamekeeper circled him twice, tying him to
+the stone seat. Professor Roche was a prisoner.</p>
+
+<p>He tried to rise, shouting to Lyons to loosen the rope, shouting
+indignant orders, but Lyons did not heed his employer's words. His face
+had become grim and dark, and his jaws were set as if clamped by iron
+braces.</p>
+
+<p>"If you howl, I'll gag you," he said viciously. "It's time we had a
+talk. You're going to sign this first."</p>
+
+<p>He shoved under the bewildered professor's nose the typewritten
+declaration which the dealer had given him.</p>
+
+<p>"What's all this? What's the meaning of this treatment, Lyons? I cannot
+see what is written on the paper——"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll read it to you."</p>
+
+<p>Robert Lyons read it, slowly and distinctly. It was to the effect that
+the Glory of Coram, being the property of Professor Roche, was being
+offered for sale by that person, who was willing to take a certain sum
+for it.</p>
+
+<p>In vain the professor protested that this was robbery with violence;
+the look in the grey eyes of the gamekeeper proved that both men were
+in a new situation just then. Their past knowledge of each other was
+gone for ever, and in its place was something terrible and menacing.
+The professor sat very still, staring across the valley, trying to
+convince himself that he was not dreaming. He found out soon enough.
+Lyons hit him savagely in the face.</p>
+
+<p>"Sign!" he cried.</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't a pen."</p>
+
+<p>"But I have. It is your own fountain one. I brought it on purpose."</p>
+
+<p>"I missed it a week ago," murmured the professor thoughtfully. "Is it
+only the Glory of Coram you wish, Lyons?"</p>
+
+<p>"Is there anything more you'd like to give me?" sneered Lyons. "I've
+had a few things out of the cases lately, but you haven't missed 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"You have been stealing my goods?"</p>
+
+<p>"And selling 'em, professor. When I sell the shell I'll have as much
+money as I need."</p>
+
+<p>"But if I sign this it is still possible that you will repent it. The
+money will be paid into my bank——"</p>
+
+<p>"It won't. It will be paid into my hand. I've made all that secure. It
+will be paid by to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"But you will be caught as soon as I give the alarm!"</p>
+
+<p>"You will not give an alarm."</p>
+
+<p>"No?"</p>
+
+<p>"You will be dead. They'll find you to-morrow, maybe. Who is to prove
+that poachers haven't been here to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>A shiver passed through the professor's frame. He raised his head and
+looked about for aid. All was bare, wild country, the nearest house
+being his own home, over two miles off. Up the valley the rising wind
+came steadily, increasing in volume every minute. The huge clouds above
+were driving from the southwest. That meant rain.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you intend to kill me?" he asked, after a pause. There was a hint
+of the scholar's curiosity in his question.</p>
+
+<p>"I do."</p>
+
+<p>"Might I ask how?"</p>
+
+<p>"Since it won't help you, I'll explain," said Lyons, "but you got to
+sign that slip first."</p>
+
+<p>The professor gravely took the pen and signed. His hand shook a little,
+and the paper fluttered on his knee, but his face was serene as he
+handed the sheet back to Lyons. The latter held the signature to the
+wind until it was dry, then pushed it into his inside pocket. With his
+eyes on Professor Roche, he brought the squirrel from his coat pocket
+and held it aloft.</p>
+
+<p>"This little fellow is going to kill you," he said. "He's the one who
+is going to clear away every clue. Ain't you, Brownie?"</p>
+
+<p>"This is very curious," said Professor Roche. "How is he going to do
+it?"</p>
+
+<p>"This way. Over the valley, in that clump of trees, is a rifle, loaded
+and laid straight for your head. It is five hundred yards away. The
+bullet in that rifle is a .303, which will kill at a much greater
+distance. Hanging from the trigger is a nut. This squirrel is going
+to snatch that nut. You won't have any pain, I assure you. I've had a
+target often enough where your head is."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you will hang," said the professor.</p>
+
+<p>"I won't. The rifle will be buried in the valley within an hour of it
+being fired. My own gun isn't a .303. Everybody in the house knows that
+you and I are working at these excavations. Our trail shows we came
+here. I have worked it all out."</p>
+
+<p>The wind was coming in gusts, so that Lyons, who was standing to
+leeward, had to bend forward to hear the professor's reply to his
+boast. To his surprise, the professor merely wrinkled his brows and
+bent his head. Lyons placed the squirrel on the ground ready to let him
+free. Professor Roche's voice spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you laid the rifle true for me, Lyons?" he asked. "Are you sure?"</p>
+
+<p>"True and straight, as I have laid it every day for a week. You can't
+escape the bullet."</p>
+
+<p>He threw the squirrel from him with a savage laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"Say your prayers!" he cried. "Nothing can save you now!"</p>
+
+<p>The professor's eyes were on the disappearing squirrel, now bounding
+towards the clump of trees in which the gun-trap was hidden.</p>
+
+<p>"Lyons," he said, "I have no prayers to say, but since you bound me in
+this natural Wishing Chair I have been wishing—and thinking. I believe
+my wish will come true. Come nearer to me. The wind makes it difficult
+to talk."</p>
+
+<p>Lyons moved from the windward to the leeward side of the chair. He
+admired the gameness of the old professor.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it you want to say?" he asked. "Hurry! The rifle will go off
+any moment."</p>
+
+<p>"One of the things I have studied, Lyons, is the question of velocity.
+We have been having good weather of late——"</p>
+
+<p>"What are you talking about?" roared Lyons. "Gone mad, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not quite, Lyons. Stand a little nearer and listen closely. I have had
+my wish. The wind is very strong. Hark!"</p>
+
+<p>From the clump of trees across the valley the crack of a rifle broke
+out, and a tiny puff of smoke arose swiftly. Robert Lyons jumped back
+from the Wishing Chair, but as he leapt something smote him in the
+chest and stretched him unconscious on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>Professor Roche was able to undo the fastenings that bound him, and
+he went for the police, who took Lyons to hospital. He has just been
+tried, and sentenced to imprisonment for life. It was indeed a wonder
+he was not killed by the bullet he intended for the professor.</p>
+
+<p>You see, the wind always takes a bullet off the target at five hundred
+yards' range. Three feet at that distance is an average wind allowance.</p>
+
+<p>Robert Lyons had forgotten the rising wind.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_EIGHTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE EIGHTH CELL</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>As the Governor finished his seventh story, the visitor shrugged his
+shoulders and glanced at the window, where the fog was swirling up
+against the glass.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you do not find it too cold," said the Governor politely.
+"Shall I turn up the gas stove to its full capacity? It is rather a
+large stove, but we can regulate it——"</p>
+
+<p>"I find it warm enough, thank you," interrupted the visitor. "I was
+merely taking note that the fog is becoming denser than ever."</p>
+
+<p>"Naturally," agreed the Governor, "you are interested in the fog, for
+reasons we shall not discuss; and mention of fog reminds me that in my
+eighth cell is one who relied on just a similar density of atmosphere
+to escape from this very prison. He has just been sentenced to an
+additional term for that escapade."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you admit that it is possible to escape from your prison?"
+inquired the visitor quickly, eager to make a point.</p>
+
+<p>"It is possible to do almost anything, but every action has its
+consequences. We seldom escape the consequences after we have committed
+the act. If a prisoner behaves himself and gives the impression that
+he is willing to accept the punishment which the law has given him,
+we do not make his punishment more of a torture than we can help. In
+other words, we give prisoners some slight benefits, some privileges.
+These help to mould their characters. But Harry Sarlon, I am afraid,
+took advantage of the privileges given him. As there is an element of a
+certain kind of humour in his case I am sure you will be interested to
+hear of his case. The fog makes it definitely apposite."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor then proceeded:</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Harry Sarlon had broken out of prison quite easily. He stood bracing
+himself against the rough wall of the archway, knowing that he was
+being sought, knowing that the warders were on his trail.</p>
+
+<p>At his feet were a paint-pot and two brushes, the materials with which
+he had been working when he escaped. His convict dress was hidden by
+a loose smock which, though prison property, was a disguise for his
+prison clothes. In his right hand he held a heavy stone which he had
+picked up from the ground.</p>
+
+<p>The fog swirled past him, thick and heavy; so thick that he could not
+see objects a few yards away. It was because of the fog that he had
+escaped.</p>
+
+<p>The scrape of a foot on the ground sounded near his hiding-place. A
+man's form appeared in the strange gloom, woolly and indistinct. A
+lantern, blurred and ruddy-yellow, swung slowly to and fro.</p>
+
+<p>"Sarlon, you had better surrender if you are there! You can't get away!"</p>
+
+<p>The voice was a challenge, besides being an order. It was the voice of
+Warder Tully, the man of all his guards whom Sarlon hated and feared
+most.</p>
+
+<p>For just one moment Sarlon hesitated. He felt that the warder was in
+the act of sounding his whistle. He heard the barking of a dog some
+distance off. The lantern moved towards him. Then Sarlon leaped.</p>
+
+<p>The warder had no chance, for Sarlon was upon him like a panther. He
+bore Tully to the ground, hitting him with the stone. Tully was knocked
+unconscious and lay still.</p>
+
+<p>It is possible, with imagination, to appreciate the wild, passionate
+desire for freedom that urged the convict to attack. The discipline and
+strict regulations of a place of detention arouse, in some natures,
+a ferocity against restraint which at times becomes ungovernable.
+There are men in prisons who can never be trusted beyond the ordinary
+routine. But Sarlon had seen to it that he was not regarded as of that
+type. He had deliberately suppressed his rebellion in order to make his
+escape. Therefore it was all the harder for him to admit defeat when
+challenged at that moment. He was in the full flush of belief in his
+ability to escape from Mincester gaol.</p>
+
+<p>From the beginning of his term he had stifled his resentment, his
+hatred of prison and gaolers. He had done this to outwit them. This
+shows that he was a man of great self-control, yet he could not control
+his criminal leanings; a strange paradox. He could control himself in
+order to retaliate in time; there was something in him of the nature of
+the cat tribe. A tiger can lie still, waiting to catch its prey. Caged,
+it cannot keep passive.</p>
+
+<p>Burglar, crook, law-breaker, he had run the whole gamut of crime with
+the exception of the capital charge. And now that he had visited his
+vengeance on Warder Tully he was aware that he must run.</p>
+
+<p>By trade Sarlon was a house painter. He had attained to the position
+of a first-class convict because of his good behaviour. He had given
+no trouble at all, and had seemed to accept his punishment as the
+inevitable result of his lawless acts. As a result of this good
+behaviour and in an endeavour to reclaim him as a useful member of the
+community, he had been allowed to use his trade abilities. He had, in
+short, with another man, been put to the job of painting the windows
+of some outbuildings. This suited him very well. From the top of his
+ladder he had a view of the world beyond the prison. There is an old
+parish church, as you may have noticed, not very far off, on the
+steeple of which workmen were then engaged in repairs. The steeple was
+shored up by beams that slanted from the ground almost to the top; and,
+at stages, scaffolding framed the square tower in regular platforms.
+Sarlon knew that these workmen were engaged in tearing out the inside
+of the tower preparatory to re-buttressing it. This work was but one of
+the instances where local authorities were attempting to preserve the
+relics of England for future generations.</p>
+
+<p>Sarlon had seen this work, and the sight helped him to make his plans.
+Only one thing was needed to obscure his escape. That one thing was
+night—or fog. He could not escape during the night, so he hoped for
+fog. There is a saying that the Devil looks after his own. The fog came.</p>
+
+<p>The fog had swept down from the north suddenly, and, from the top of
+his ladder, Sarlon had watched it coming. This district is liable to
+get fogs at certain times of the year, as is well known. When the
+foremost fringe of the mist touched the prison wall and floated into
+the yard, the warders sounded the signal to stop work. Sarlon at first
+pretended not to hear; then, when he could keep up the pretence no
+longer without arousing suspicion, he acted as slowly as possible.</p>
+
+<p>He came down the ladder, leaving his paint-pot on a window-ledge. He
+had to go back for it. This time he left a brush on the window-sill. He
+had to climb again for the brush. He was playing for time. The warders
+urged him to hurry, all unsuspecting his motive.</p>
+
+<p>By this time all was indistinct and shadowy in the yard, and the fog
+was getting thicker every minute. When he descended the second time
+everything was in his favour. The yard was dense with mist. The fog
+had come quickly, as fogs generally come in marshy districts. Sarlon
+heard the other convicts being marshalled, though he could no longer
+see them. He saw a warder waiting for him at the foot of the ladder.
+With a quick movement he kicked the warder in the chest, sending him
+sprawling; then he took the ladder in his muscular hands, rushed across
+the yard with it, flung it against the wall and swarmed to the top.</p>
+
+<p>He was astride the wall when the warder he had knocked down appeared
+below him. Sarlon kicked the ladder away and heard the warder's cry of
+alarm as he fell. Sarlon jumped to the other side of the wall. He was
+outside the prison.</p>
+
+<p>His paint-pot, which was fastened to the top rung of the ladder by a
+hook, had fallen beside him. He picked it up as he started his flight.
+His paint-brushes were in his pocket. Why did Harry Sarlon take the
+paint-pot and his paint-brushes with him? All part of his scheme. If he
+met any civilians he could easily pretend that he was merely a painter
+on his way home. He threw away his prison cap. Who was to know that a
+convict had been using paints? By the time the circumstances of his
+flight were known to the public he reckoned he would be safe.</p>
+
+<p>He ran through the fog until he reached the canal, which was to be his
+guide-rope. It would lead him towards the centre of the city and the
+place where he wanted to hide. He waded into the cold, muddy water
+which reached to his waist, and as he waded he held his smock high so
+that it would not be soaked, for it was his disguise. Climbing back to
+the bank, he ran on until he reached the rear of the parish church. He
+scaled the wall of the cemetery and was crawling among the tombstones
+when he heard a sound and saw a lantern moving towards him. Someone was
+on his trail.</p>
+
+<p>Sarlon crouched behind a tombstone and waited. He saw the lantern
+pass in the fog and disappear. He wondered, in a moment of terrific
+concentration, if all his efforts were to be frustrated. The minutes
+passed. From somewhere to the right he heard another sound that set his
+teeth on edge. This was the baying of a hound.</p>
+
+<p>Sarlon knew where the dog was at that moment, and he knew the dog was
+on his track. Two dogs are kept in this prison, in a yard shut off from
+the sight of every inmate; but every prisoner knows that these dogs are
+kept should an escape be made. I ought to say the idea of the dogs was
+mine.</p>
+
+<p>Every day the dogs are exercised by the warders; and it was to throw
+the dogs off the scent that Sarlon had entered the canal. He argued
+that if he threw them off until he was deep in the city he would be
+safe. But, on the other hand, there was the fact that the very scent
+the dogs were following was his disguise. The dogs were following the
+smell of the paint which clung to his boots, his smock, his clothes.
+He dared not remain behind the tombstone, so he crept out and found the
+shelter of the archway. It was when he was here that the lantern came
+out of the mist again and the voice of Tully challenged him. There was
+nothing left for Sarlon except to surrender or attack. He clamoured for
+liberty; so he attacked. The dogs were not with Tully.</p>
+
+<p>Sarlon found some satisfaction in attacking Tully. The latter was the
+one warder on the staff who could not be bluffed or deceived. He was
+the warder who had tried to prevent Sarlon from escaping by the ladder.
+He had rushed out, before the dogs had been loosed, to search on his
+own. Finding that the dogs took the road to the canal, Tully had struck
+away from it.</p>
+
+<p>It was like Tully to argue that Sarlon had not crossed the canal and
+made for the open country, because Tully was the clearest-headed
+warder of the staff, the most relentless in pursuit as he was the
+most suspicious in his daily dealings with prisoners. No convict ever
+asked a favour, or made a request, which Tully did not suspect; he had
+acquired the habit of disbelieving every plea, every complaint! he was
+always on the alert to suspect excuses to evade rules. His duty became
+a sort of perpetual query mark. He was the most feared, as well as the
+most hated, warder.</p>
+
+<p>He was as remorseless as iron and as merciless as logic. If a prisoner
+went sick he treated it as a feigned ruse until he saw the man
+collapse. He even regarded the doctor's examinations of prisoners
+as too gentle and as erring on the side of leniency. He grudged the
+hospital diet which patients were given. To his mind a convict was
+no longer a man but a number—a number which still constantly strove
+to evade punishment. There was no pity in Tully. He was incapable of
+compassion. But he believed he was just. His duties were, to him,
+part of a large organisation for the protection of organised society.
+"Prisoners," he once said to a Commission which sat to gather evidence
+on crime and criminals, "are the weeds in God's garden. Prison is the
+refuse heap of that garden." He took his work seriously, as became a
+grave and unimaginative nature.</p>
+
+<p>Harry Sarlon in many ways justified Tully's words. His idea of freedom
+was to do as he liked—selfish to the core—without any sense of shame.
+His idea of law was that which restricted his raids on civilisation.
+But prison had shown him that to do as he liked he had to blind the
+law and hoodwink it when he could. To escape from prison was, to
+him, a duty to himself, any means justifying the end. To trick the
+authorities, to lie to them, to deceive them, was merely his way of
+"getting his own back." Rules and restrictions were a challenge to him.
+He had no sense of honour. He would have killed Tully with as little
+compunction as he would have told a lie or trod on a worm.</p>
+
+<p>A mutual mistrust and antagonism had always existed between the two
+when they came into contact. It was the clash of opposites.</p>
+
+<p>As he stood in the archway looking at the fallen man, Harry Sarlon,
+thinking he had killed Tully, was glad Tully was out of his way; but
+the baying of a dog came to his ears, and he knew that he must act
+quickly. It was only a matter of time before the dog, or dogs, found
+his trail again. Tully, he was aware, had taken a short cut ahead, and
+the dogs would come too. Quick as thought, Sarlon stripped off his
+smock and threw it beside his paint-pot and brushes. He had no use for
+these things now.</p>
+
+<p>He took off his prison clothes also and left them in a heap beside his
+smock. He stripped the uniform off the warder, who had been so battered
+by the stone that he had every appearance of being dead, and found to
+his delight that there was some money in the warder's pockets.</p>
+
+<p>He extinguished the lantern, clapped the warder's cap on his head, and,
+seizing the warder by the heels, dragged him into the cemetery over the
+heaps of earth. He knew where he was going and what he intended to do.</p>
+
+<p>From his ladder in the prison yard he had observed the deep excavations
+that had been made around the tower of the old church; deep holes had
+been dug for the shoring timbers, and much of the foundations of the
+building had been exposed. Into one of these excavations Sarlon threw
+the warder. He intended to bury the man, and he had already started
+with hands and feet to push earth into the trench when once more he
+heard the baying of the hound. He dared not finish his ghoulish work.
+The other warders were on his trail and were coming fast. Sarlon leaped
+to his feet, and ran towards the church tower.</p>
+
+<p>He had to go right round the tower before he found an entrance, and
+he gave a queer little laugh as he looked above the Gothic stone that
+frowned over the porch. It reminded him of the entrance to the prison
+he had just left; the stone was the same grey colour, the heavy doorway
+was the same design, the builders having evidently erected both from
+similar plans. It seemed funny to Sarlon that a church and a prison
+should be of the same construction—the one a sanctuary, the other a
+tomb to his hopes.</p>
+
+<p>He found himself in a wide, open space beyond the doorway, and knew
+that he was at the base of the tower. It took him some time to find the
+ladder leading aloft, and when he climbed up to the top he was aware
+that he was on the first scaffold. He walked carefully round the narrow
+platform on the outside of the square tower and came upon another
+ladder. It was the way to the second scaffold higher up. He climbed
+slowly and carefully, found the third scaffolding and mounted it also,
+to find a fourth. This brought him to the opening into the belfry. He
+crawled through the window and lay on the beams that were laid under
+the huge bell. Keeping his head out of the window he looked below,
+watching and listening.</p>
+
+<p>The indistinct, muffled voices of men came up to him. The fog was too
+thick for him to see anything. He lay still, listening, wondering if
+his pursuers would mount the scaffolding. Half an hour passed. The
+voices were no longer heard. His enemies had gone.</p>
+
+<p>Lying up there, Harry Sarlon began to take stock of his position and
+prospects. He guessed that it was now late in the evening. The workmen
+who were engaged on the tower had ceased work with the coming of
+the fog, so that he would be safe from their interference until the
+morning. But he did not intend to wait until the morning, for the fog
+might then be cleared off and that would make his escape all the more
+difficult. He must get away as soon as possible. The money he had taken
+from Tully's pockets supplied the means if only he could get to the
+railway station.</p>
+
+<p>"It's got to be done soon," he muttered. "If I stay here the town will
+be raised against me. They may have offered a reward by now for my
+capture, but I'll beat 'em with a little bluff."</p>
+
+<p>He descended slowly to the ground and walked out into the roadway. The
+fog was still very thick, so that it was almost impossible to see more
+than a yard or two, but while this was a benefit to Sarlon it was
+also a drawback. He did not know the town very well, and he realised
+the danger of losing his way. Adjusting his cap and dusting down his
+clothes he marched forward.</p>
+
+<p>People passed him like ghosts, silent and mysterious. He walked on
+until he observed the glimmering lights of shops. The smell of a
+cookshop's wares made him pause. He was hungry. He opened the door and
+stepped into the shop.</p>
+
+<p>It was a small place, such a one as is used by workmen; a few customers
+were seated at tables beyond the counter, and a stout man, in soiled
+apron and shirt-sleeves, was frying potatoes on a coke fire.</p>
+
+<p>Sarlon would have enjoyed nothing so much as to sit at a table and
+order a meal, but he dared not risk this, even if he was dressed in
+warder's uniform. He contented himself with buying several sandwiches,
+and the stout man leaned over the counter confidentially as he wrapped
+the food up.</p>
+
+<p>"Say, mate, is it true one of your fellows has got away in the fog? A
+policeman tipped me off not long ago, but no sane convict would ever
+come in here, now, would he, not if he was starvin', poor devil?"</p>
+
+<p>Sarlon was counting out the money for the sandwiches, and paid no
+attention to the man's talk; but the latter went on.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, I know it's against the rules to talk, but the escape ain't
+official yet, or the town would know it. They haven't sent out the
+signal, because some of you warders are still looking for him. He ain't
+a desperate character, him that's got away, is he?"</p>
+
+<p>"How much for the sandwiches?" asked Sarlon quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"One and six, boss. Rotten night, ain't it? Rather you were doin' a
+search than me in this fog. Of course, I know it ain't official about
+that escaped convict, or they'd hev sent out the signal——"</p>
+
+<p>Sarlon picked up the parcel of food and swung out of the shop, glad
+to escape into the gloom of the street. He had felt the eyes of every
+customer on him while he stood at the counter. He trudged on, eating
+the sandwiches ravenously.</p>
+
+<p>He heard the tramcars moving slowly along the street. Flares were
+lit at the corners. At a crossing he stood to think matters out. He
+wanted to get to a railway station. The plan he had formed was a bold
+one. Originally he had hoped to make his way to one of his pals, but
+now that he had money he decided on a better plan. He knew the police
+would search his usual haunts for him. He saw that he would be safer
+at his home, where his relatives would hide him. He was not a Londoner
+by birth. If only he could get on board an express he would be safe.
+His warder's dress would carry him past the ticket-collector at the
+barrier; especially since the news of his escape was not yet officially
+broadcast he would be free from suspicion.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped a pedestrian and asked the way to the station. He was
+directed to follow the trams, then take certain turnings. The station
+was within an hour's walk at ordinary times.</p>
+
+<p>Sarlon strode along exultantly. His disguise had carried him through
+so far, and he had little fear for the next steps. He experienced a
+strange uplift as he walked. People shuffled past him, coughing and
+peering about them. Buses and traffic moved very slowly in the middle
+of the road, crawling furtively, with glaring headlights that came and
+went in ghostly procession. The lighted windows of the shops glimmered
+in the yellow fog.</p>
+
+<p>He had walked for well over an hour when he heard the shriek of a
+railway locomotive, followed by the bang of a fog signal. He knew he
+was near the railway station at last.</p>
+
+<p>He approached it cautiously and found the entrance, a dully lit tunnel
+in which people were moving about like gnomes of the night. He made
+his way towards the booking office and was almost at it when someone
+touched his arm. He turned to find a policeman at his elbow. The sight
+almost unnerved him.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the news, mate?"</p>
+
+<p>"The news?" stammered Sarlon; then, getting a grip on himself, he
+answered steadily enough: "There ain't any news."</p>
+
+<p>The policeman shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"I expect you had an idea that your man would come this way, but I
+give you my word he hasn't showed up, nor anybody like him. I've been
+on duty here for over an hour, keeping an eye on everybody. Some of
+our plain-clothes men are on the platform too, and we're watching the
+siding so that he won't get aboard a train."</p>
+
+<p>"Is that so?" said Sarlon.</p>
+
+<p>"You bet. The prison people telephoned to our station and we were sent
+out at once. By the way, do you know that you men are being called in?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, is that so?"</p>
+
+<p>"We have been told to notify any of you we meet to return to the
+prison. The Governor wants to interrogate every warder before he sends
+out an official call."</p>
+
+<p>The policeman rubbed his hands together and stamped his feet.</p>
+
+<p>"That runaway will get it in the neck when he is nabbed," he went on.
+"After what he did to one of your men."</p>
+
+<p>"What did he do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Haven't you heard? He nearly killed a warder named Tully—expect you
+know him——"</p>
+
+<p>"I know him."</p>
+
+<p>"I heard at the station just before I left. They found this warder
+in a trench over by the church. He had been battered badly. The dogs
+found him, led by the smell of paint. Tully must have found the escaped
+convict and been attacked. I don't know the particulars, but they say
+that the convict has crossed the canal. We've notified every barge
+owner and expect he'll come this way before the fog lifts."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I see."</p>
+
+<p>"So that's why the job is out of your hands now, mate. It's a police
+job, beyond your jurisdiction. The dogs have been called off and it's
+up to us."</p>
+
+<p>Sarlon passed his hand over his face thoughtfully. He was very cool,
+yet he was very alert.</p>
+
+<p>"What's you people's idea of his likely way of escape?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, they've put us to watch the railway and sidings. He won't stay
+about this district if he can get away, and he can't get away by
+walking the streets. The inspector believes he'll get out of town,
+maybe make for a port. He could change his clothes somewhere——"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I suppose it isn't any use me hanging about if we are called
+in," said Sarlon. "They'll think I'm lost if I don't report. So long."</p>
+
+<p>He turned on his heel and walked out into the fog once more. Once
+outside, he strode swiftly along the street, his brain active and
+searching for a way out. His disguise as a warder had saved him, or
+perhaps it was his nerve, but he had had a narrow shave. Had the
+policeman not spoken to him he would have bought a ticket and then he
+would have had to explain. He ground his teeth at the thought of having
+been balked; but he was thankful for the policeman's talk all the same.</p>
+
+<p>What was his position now? He dared not go back to the railway station.
+He dared not risk walking about, lest he meet other policemen. But he
+had to get away. He considered anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"There is a workmen's train in the early hours that will take me to
+some station beyond the city," he muttered. "I'll go back to the church
+steeple and wait until it's about time to catch the workmen's train.
+There won't be any police at the station then. Anyway, I'll have a rest
+in the church steeple and think it out."</p>
+
+<p>With the thought of returning to this excellent hiding-place came
+another. How was he to get back? He had been walking in the fog so much
+that he had lost sense of direction. He stood still wondering which way
+to turn.</p>
+
+<p>Just then, as he pondered, there came a sound that sent a reassuring
+thrill through him. His luck was holding after all. A bell was booming
+out above and through the fog.</p>
+
+<p>"Evensong!" he exclaimed. "The church bell!"</p>
+
+<p>He could find his way to the church by the clanging of the parish
+bell. It was the only bell that rang during every day of the week, and
+he blessed the fog and the bell and the church as he plodded towards
+the sound, a voice calling to him to come and be hidden, ringing its
+message, its invitation to sanctuary indeed.</p>
+
+<p>As he walked, he thought out his plan. He would not go into the church
+while the people were there. He would slip round to the back and climb
+to the tower as soon as the congregation had settled to worship. Once
+there he could think out his next step without the harassing need to
+avoid people at every step.</p>
+
+<p>Gradually the sound of the bell drew nearer. He was walking down the
+side street towards the church now. He pictured the scene as it was
+on fogless days; but his reckoning sometimes was out, because he was
+not too well acquainted with the streets; but he was happy—grimly
+triumphant.</p>
+
+<p>The bell's notes began to dwindle. Its clang softened, its call faded.
+Harry Sarlon saw the dim outline of the stone porch silhouetted in the
+fog by a light beyond the Gothic structure.</p>
+
+<p>He waited some distance from the door until the bell was stilled. Then
+he walked forward, pushed the iron gate open, and passed into the porch
+and so through—as he thought—the square tower.</p>
+
+<p>But at that moment a lantern was swung behind him, its light flashed
+into his face.</p>
+
+<p>A man's voice, gruff and menacing, challenged him.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, there! We were told all you men had returned. I was just
+locking up the gate. What's this? Oh, I say——!"</p>
+
+<p>A hand pulled off Sarlon's cap and a pair of strong arms pinned his
+arms to his sides while the man shouted an alarm.</p>
+
+<p>"Help! Quick! I've got Sarlon!"</p>
+
+<p>Harry Sarlon did not struggle in the grasp that held him, nor did he
+make any attempt to escape. He felt suddenly sick at the trick the bell
+had played him.</p>
+
+<p>He was not in the porch of a parish church. What he had heard was the
+prison bell signalling officially to the wide world that a convict had
+escaped; and he had walked back to prison, guided there by the alarm.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_NINTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE NINTH CELL</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>"I think," said the visitor, when the Governor had completed the
+eighth story, "that this man Sarlon made his mistake because he was
+unacquainted with the district near his prison."</p>
+
+<p>"Precisely—up to a point," admitted the Governor, who was about to add
+something else, when he was interrupted.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not a mistake <i>I</i> shall make," remarked the visitor grimly. "And
+I frankly tell you that I am aware one of the Big Five of Scotland Yard
+has been interesting himself in my movements of late."</p>
+
+<p>"It is no secret that your capture has been much desired," returned the
+Governor. "It may not be fog that will lead to your undoing at last.
+It may not be a mistake on your part; but something, somewhere, will
+happen, I assure you, and you will be caught."</p>
+
+<p>"If it pleases you to think so, please continue in your error,"
+responded the visitor. "In the meantime, now that I have listened to
+your stories, may I press the question that I came here to put to you?
+Are you willing to act in either of the two ways I have suggested
+regarding the condemned man?"</p>
+
+<p>The Governor seemed lost in thought for a moment; but presently he
+lifted his head and smiled at the man who sat opposite.</p>
+
+<p>"We have still plenty of time to come to a decision on that matter, and
+your mention of the Big Five has interested me. Most people—that is,
+most people in the general public—are under the impression that the
+final details relating to the capture of criminals are in the hands
+of a Big Four whose headquarters are at Scotland Yard. Now, since you
+mention a Big Five, I take it that you are including that able officer,
+Detective Seed?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am. But——"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, how curious! You know, our thoughts evidently run parallel
+on quite a number of lines. The fact is that Detective Seed was
+responsible for the occupant of my ninth cell being in my prison
+to-night. I do not know if you ever met, or heard of, a most notorious
+burglar named Sockem?"</p>
+
+<p>"You are not going to tell me that Sockem is in your prison!" sneered
+the visitor suddenly. "He is dead. I have seen his grave. He was
+drowned up the Thames."</p>
+
+<p>"That is where you are wrong, I assure you. He was not drowned at all.
+But he is dead all the same, and it is of the manner of his death that
+I would like to tell you. The man who occupies the ninth cell was a
+mere cipher in the story of Sockem's end, but he was an agent for a
+receiver of stolen property named Eckhardt, of whom I shall have a
+word or two to say very soon. Mackintosh is the name of this man in
+the ninth cell—a cautious man who came from Aberdeen, an elder of a
+Scottish church, an ex-soldier. Ah, well, he is insignificant, but he
+is in the ninth cell to-night, and to tell you how he came to be there
+I must tell you the truth of Sockem's final flutter in crime. There are
+points that will interest you, believe me."</p>
+
+<p>"It interests me to hear that Sockem was not drowned," remarked the
+visitor. "He was no ordinary man. Pray proceed, but don't make it too
+long."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall be as short as possible in my recital, but one must do justice
+to facts as well as to dead men, and I am a stickler for etiquette.
+Besides, I happen to know more about Sockem than most people, even
+his friends. To begin with, Sockem was not his name at all. But I am
+anticipating. Let us first set the stage for the drama."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, as if to
+recall the story he was about to relate. Only the ticking of the clock
+sounded in the room.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>One must admit [so the Governor began, after a short space] that Jimmy
+Sockem had pluck. But a burglar cannot always work alone, and when Ben
+Foss, who had for a long time acted as his "scout," turned to honest
+ways, Jimmy had either to find another scout or work by himself. He
+tried to find a helper, and did not succeed. None that he employed on
+his raids on society was so pliable as Ben Foss. Then he tried working
+alone. That did not do either, for a second man is useful. You will
+admit the truth of this.</p>
+
+<p>So, then, one night Jimmy Sockem might have been seen (or, rather,
+might not have been seen) climbing a water-spout in the West End of
+London. There were two objects in his mind as he climbed. The first was
+to get certain jewellery in a flat. The second was to compel Ben Foss
+to give up honesty and return to lawlessness.</p>
+
+<p>So far as Ben Foss was concerned, there is no doubt that he wanted to
+be free of Sockem; but, not having the strength of will to defy Jimmy,
+he shrank from heroic measures. In a word, he was afraid of Sockem.</p>
+
+<p>With his finger-tips on the edge of the window-sill and his left hand
+grasping the drain-pipe, Jimmy paused for the final effort. He had
+climbed more than forty feet from the back garden of the block of
+flats. Someone was down below him. He could hear feet crunching the
+gravel path with hesitating steps; but the thin fog that rose from
+the earth was his protection, as ground mist has so often been the
+protection of London burglars ever since there was London, or fogs.</p>
+
+<p>From the street beyond the building he heard the rumble of the traffic,
+the roar of the buses, the hooting of motor-horns. He listened
+attentively, hanging, spread-eagled, against the wall like a gigantic
+beetle. The movements beneath him became blurred and indistinct, then
+gradually faded away. He was safe.</p>
+
+<p>From his pocket Jimmy Sockem took his favourite and only tool, and dug
+it into the mortar between the bricks. It was an extra-long horseshoe
+nail, made of steel, bright and polished, pointed and sharpened like
+a rapier. On this nail he rested his knee, then his right foot, and
+finally raised himself and swung over to the sill, on which he knelt.</p>
+
+<p>He withdrew the nail from the mortar and slid it up between the frame
+of the window and the catch. A sudden twist was all that was required.
+The window opened. Jimmy put his leg over the sill and stepped into the
+dark room, drawing the heavy curtains behind him.</p>
+
+<p>He crouched low as his quick ear detected a footstep outside the
+door. He heard the door open, a light was snapped on, and he saw a
+silver-haired, elderly man standing on the threshold. He faced Jimmy
+before the latter had time to hide behind the furniture.</p>
+
+<p>"The cat burglar! Put your hands up!"</p>
+
+<p>Jimmy did not answer the accusation. His eyes were glancing about the
+room. The elderly man was pointing a revolver towards him.</p>
+
+<p>"You disturbed an alarm when you opened the window," he said quietly.
+"Put your hands above your head. My man will tie you until——"</p>
+
+<p>It was then that Jimmy attacked. His gloved hands rose as if in
+obedience to the order, but as his right came up it caught, in its
+swing, a heavy bronze statuette from a small table and launched the
+missile with the accuracy of a practised thrower. The crack of the
+revolver and the crash of the bronze on the elderly man's head were
+simultaneous.</p>
+
+<p>Both men dropped to the floor; the attacker, because it was his usual
+stratagem, the other for quite a different reason.</p>
+
+<p>Then, swiftly, one leaped upright. It was Sockem. The man who had fired
+the revolver was down and out. A great, bleeding wound on his head
+showed where he had been struck.</p>
+
+<p>Jimmy crept over to where his victim lay and peered at him grimly.</p>
+
+<p>"Serve him right!" he muttered. He was under the impression that he had
+killed his man, but it did not trouble him—much.</p>
+
+<p>A sound behind him caused him to wheel. He found himself face to face
+with another man, but this individual did not, to him, constitute an
+enemy. It was Ben Foss.</p>
+
+<p>"That you, Ben? I done your boss in."</p>
+
+<p>"You've killed him, Jimmy! Why did you come?"</p>
+
+<p>"Anybody else around?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, there was just him and me. An' he was a decent sort."</p>
+
+<p>"I wrote you that I was comin', didn't I? You didn't have the window
+open. I had to bust the catch."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't want you to come, Jimmy! I wrote back askin' you not to. I'm
+on the level now. He fixed the alarm a while ago——"</p>
+
+<p>"And I fixed him, see? Serve him right! You thought your letter would
+keep me away? What are you standing there shakin' like a jelly for?
+Let's take the jewellery and get off quick."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>We?</i> You said <i>us</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course. You're comin' with me. We were pals before we went to
+Parkhurst, weren't we? We'll be partners again."</p>
+
+<p>"Jimmy, I was tryin' to run straight. I was his servant."</p>
+
+<p>"Huh! Birds like us can't turn over a new leaf. An' don't you try to
+double-cross me either. You know my name, see?"</p>
+
+<p>Unthinkingly Ben stooped and picked up the bronze, but a shout of
+derision from Jimmy made him drop it.</p>
+
+<p>"You've done it now, Ben! You've got to come!"</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>He shrank back with a shudder as the other flung out a gloved hand and
+pointed to the bronze figure.</p>
+
+<p>"You've put your finger-prints on it! If you stay, the cops will arrest
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>Ben started at the words, and stretched out his hand for support.
+His fingers gripped the edge of a table, and a laugh burst from the
+mocking lips of the burglar.</p>
+
+<p>"An' now you've planted your whole hand on a polished surface! With
+bloodstains! Oh, Ben, ain't you giving them evidence to hang you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Stop that, Jimmy! I didn't do it!"</p>
+
+<p>"There's the evidence, Ben!"</p>
+
+<p>The two men presented a striking contrast in every particular. Jimmy
+Sockem was thin, small, dark-skinned, black-haired. The other was above
+medium height, stoutish, ruddy, bald. Jimmy was cool, alert, waspish.
+Ben was flurried, confused, lumbering.</p>
+
+<p>"They couldn't say it was me," he rumbled, staring from his hands to
+the table. "It wasn't me. I've run on the level since I came out of
+Parkhurst."</p>
+
+<p>"You've been there, and that's against you, Ben!"</p>
+
+<p>"It was you as did it."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm wearin' gloves. Them finger-prints say it was you!"</p>
+
+<p>"He was a decent boss. I wouldn't 'ave harmed him."</p>
+
+<p>"He's dead, Ben, and can't talk!"</p>
+
+<p>"It was Detective Seed as got me the job."</p>
+
+<p>"I've got a better one for you!"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want to be your partner again."</p>
+
+<p>"But I came for you! I need a scout!"</p>
+
+<p>"I told Seed I'd run on the level. He said honesty was the best
+policy."</p>
+
+<p>"It don't pay! As my partner you'd be rich now!"</p>
+
+<p>"Seed knows I'm tryin' to run straight."</p>
+
+<p>"Seed couldn't stop your arrest!"</p>
+
+<p>"I could tell 'em it wasn't me as did this."</p>
+
+<p>"They wouldn't believe you! Your record's bad!"</p>
+
+<p>"But it's the truth that I didn't do it!"</p>
+
+<p>"You daren't say it was me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I'd kill you if you did! See?"</p>
+
+<p>Ben groaned. He knew that this little, dark-skinned man would carry out
+his threat. He was in a cleft stick, but he fought feebly at his last
+ditch, his heavy mind clinging to the central fact that was his only
+hope.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't do it! I didn't do it! Supposin' you went away, I'd not
+mention your name!"</p>
+
+<p>"Then they'd hang you! Come on, get the swag and we'll be off."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no. They wouldn't hang me! I don't want to be your partner again!"</p>
+
+<p>"I need you. I'll make you come!"</p>
+
+<p>"You can't."</p>
+
+<p>"All right. Listen!"</p>
+
+<p>Footsteps were coming along the corridor outside the front door of the
+flat. The bell tinkled. Someone was seeking admittance.</p>
+
+<p>"That's settled it, Ben," whispered Jimmy in a hoarse voice. "That's a
+cop. I heard one down in the garden. He's come up here to get me. They
+know I usually go out by the front door."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's tryin' this door first. Then he'll go up to the flat above,
+maybe. All I have got to do is open that door and invite him in. I can
+say you killed your boss to collar the swag for yourself. My word's as
+good as yours. Your finger-prints! You'd swing, sure! They couldn't
+hang me, see?"</p>
+
+<p>"Jimmy!"</p>
+
+<p>"Get the stuff together quick and we can hop off. I'll wipe out the
+prints while you collect. Hurry! Or else——"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm beat!" groaned Ben. "I'll come, you fox!"</p>
+
+<p>Thus this smaller man of the two, the greater criminal, constituted
+himself the leader, the counsel, the judge of both. He triumphed in
+that he was able to make his very crimes of use to him. In other men
+their misdeeds would have been an anchor, a drag on their brains,
+clogging their thoughts and chaining them with unseen manacles. In him
+these considerations were absent. He was most dangerous when he was
+cornered.</p>
+
+<p>Who was this man? His real name was not English, though he was a native
+of Limehouse. He was the son of a Japanese waif who, after having been
+a housebreaker in Tokio, took to the sea because his own country sought
+to punish him for lawlessness. Before he had been a housebreaker this
+father had been a fireman. The change from the one profession to the
+other is not so strange as it might appear. The Japanese fire brigades
+are famed for their acrobatic skill. They can climb to dizzy heights,
+bearing ladders on their shoulders; they can leap from one point to
+another with a daring that can only be acquired after long practice.
+This man had become a burglar owing to the temptation offered after the
+Tokio earthquake some years ago.</p>
+
+<p>He joined the <i>Gorotsuki</i>, the thieves' brotherhood. This organisation
+gave endless trouble to the authorities of Tokio and Yokohama and other
+cities. These men disdained to use gloves, jemmies, or flashlamps. They
+depended on their swift action and their daring. Their movements were
+like lightning. Many of these men ultimately came to England. Jimmy
+Sockem's father was among them.</p>
+
+<p>When this individual came to England he mated with a woman of the
+East End. When they presented the world with a son they added another
+criminal to the population. This son, who inherited peculiarities
+from both parents, in fact owed them nothing socially valuable save
+life. He seemed to duplicate his father in everything—certainly in
+wickedness. He lived about the docks, he climbed rigging, he stole from
+seamen as well as from his own companions. None could compete with him
+in ability. His inventiveness was as great as his sense of honesty
+was deficient. He could swarm up water-pipes like a monkey, and he
+challenged the seamen of sailing-ships to go to the top of the masts
+before he was in his teens. Fortunately—or unfortunately—he was never
+caught, or he might have been sent to Borstal.</p>
+
+<p>In this youth a psychologist would have observed the meeting of the
+Orient and the Occident. He had never been to Japan, yet he was more
+Japanese than English in habit. Once or twice he went voyages in
+sailing-ships to the European countries, but he objected to the sea
+because he was confined to shipboard. He ultimately declined any offer
+to leave London. He became the first "cat" burglar.</p>
+
+<p>His mind was a moral chaos. In this he resembled his father, who died
+in a brawl; and he revered his father's memory with Japanese tenacity.
+His father had found no refuge in his own land, and had never adapted
+himself to the point of view of the West, being incapable of such
+adjustment. He had objected to all law because it was a restraint. The
+only law he bowed to was the law of the jungle. The result was that his
+son, Jimmy, was not so much his son as he was a cub.</p>
+
+<p>Strangely enough, the West that was in Jimmy Sockem aided him to
+outrage its ideas of conduct. The English strain in him struggled
+vaguely in his youth to assert itself above the abnormalities of the
+old <i>inkyo</i> tradition, but it was smothered because the latter were the
+stronger. The mind-substances of his parents could not blend in him.
+They warred.</p>
+
+<p>Because of his mixed blood he became the object of indiscriminate
+charity administered by emotional people who visited Limehouse. He was
+invited to the West End houses, and there exhibited as an example of
+race blending. As a boy he did not object to this; he was rather proud
+of it. But as he grew he saw the gulf between the East End and the West
+End. He could not reason things which, to him, were unreasonable. He
+flung a bridge across the gulf with Eastern fixity of purpose. As a
+burglar he might take what he could never otherwise handle. He left the
+shipyards and became a night marauder. The boy had become a man.</p>
+
+<p>The name which his father handed down to him was lost in the tempest
+of his activities. That name was Sok-Emm; but, with that remarkable
+facility which the East End possesses for making a nick-name proclaim
+a man's character, his companions had extracted its foreign meaning
+and had endowed it with a grim, local significance. Sok-Emm to them
+was nothing. Sockem was everything. The word preserved his pitiless
+savagery. His career was marked with episodes of jungle ferocity.
+Physically he was an engine of destruction. Mentally he was cunning as
+a leopard. He had been guilty of maiming, and was suspected of murder.
+But he had brought into human life that quality of elusiveness, that
+protective resemblance to surroundings, which makes it difficult to
+tell where the forest ends and the tiger begins. Both physically and
+mentally he had the characteristics of a chameleon. In a word, he was
+a monster.</p>
+
+<p>With all his cleverness, however, he had been caught. Ben Foss had
+been his partner, the man who acted as scout on big jobs. It was Foss
+who hung about mansions, hotels, shops, when a burglary was planned.
+It was Foss who collected the information necessary before the blow
+was struck. When all was ready, Sockem struck the blow. But on their
+previous expedition he had struck too quickly. Both he and Foss had
+made a mistake. They had been captured and sent to prison.</p>
+
+<p>Foss, because he was not so dangerous as Sockem, had been given a
+shorter term, but the grind of prison life had wrought changes in both.
+Foss had been shaken to the roots of his pliable nature. He had emerged
+from his confinement with his nerve broken, a scared man. His mentality
+could take punishment up to a certain limit before it collapsed. The
+sentence exceeded this limit. Repentance had come through fear.</p>
+
+<p>On Jimmy Sockem the prison life had had another effect. He had gone
+to his cell snarling. He came out silent. His spell, which would have
+broken ordinary men, hardened him. While still enduring the punishment
+society had inflicted on him, he planned future crimes against society.
+He did this out of a twisted idea that clamoured for revenge.</p>
+
+<p>Foss was clay when he went to prison. Like some clay subjected to
+pressure, he at first rebelled. The clay became brick. The limit of
+resistance to the pressure was reached and passed. The brick broke into
+fragments of rubble.</p>
+
+<p>Sockem endured the pressure without breaking. He was like the
+one-celled animals called protozoa. He became flint.</p>
+
+<p>Having fixed his purpose, he sought the old partnership when he
+re-entered the world. He wanted to lose no time in carrying out his war
+against organised order. But Ben Foss had shrunk from his old habits;
+he had obtained a post as manservant to a wealthy connoisseur of
+<i>objets d'art</i>, a bachelor and a philanthropist. To steal from this man
+became doubly attractive to Sockem.</p>
+
+<p>It is not every burglar who can be a "cat." It is not every "cat"
+who can be a burglar. Sockem could be both—and more. He could be a
+murderer with the same lack of compunction as he could be a thief. The
+one idea which dominated his acts supplied at once the excuse and the
+reason for his cold ruthlessness.</p>
+
+<p>At first he had suspected Foss of taking the position in the flat so
+that he could steal its treasures easily, but the truth was now clear.
+Foss was no longer his partner; he was a danger unless he was involved.
+Fear of prison had to be overcome by fear of something else. To save
+himself, he had to make Foss a criminal once more.</p>
+
+<p>He stood watching Ben as the latter moved about the room, collecting
+what valuables were worth taking and handing them to Sockem. The latter
+was as cool as ice. The door-bell tinkled once more. Sockem smiled, and
+stepped over to a gramophone, selected a record, and set the instrument
+going.</p>
+
+<p>"Hurry!" he whispered. "That will blind him for a minute."</p>
+
+<p>He wiped the bloodstained bronze with his handkerchief and took the
+marks off the polished table.</p>
+
+<p>To Foss the whole affair seemed a kind of dream. He moved as he
+was ordered, doing as he was bid without protest. He had once more
+surrendered what remained of his personality into the hands of his
+master in crime; he had again become the jackal to the lion. Fear had
+driven him towards crime as it had driven him away from it.</p>
+
+<p>They left the light burning and the gramophone playing. The door bell
+was ringing as they slid over the window-sill. Everything had been done
+swiftly, deftly, as experts work. Sockem had provided for emergencies.
+Half way down the drain-pipe they swung across a branch pipe that
+brought them to the roof of a smaller building. From this they landed
+into a side-lane.</p>
+
+<p>They were gone some way along the main road, through the thick fog,
+when Foss found his tongue.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are we going? The cops will come to the old place."</p>
+
+<p>"I've found a new one."</p>
+
+<p>They walked out of the fog into Waterloo Station. Something of the old
+thrill of bravado stirred in Foss's blood as they passed close to the
+platform policeman. He experienced the old elation, or a hint of it, as
+they mingled with the theatre crowds on their way home. Who could trace
+them in the surge of hurrying figures? Who would pick up the trail
+which the fog had covered?</p>
+
+<p>At the booking office, Sockem bought a ticket for Foss and handed it to
+him. Foss saw the name of a riverside station on the slip of cardboard.</p>
+
+<p>"Jimmy, why are we goin' there?" he asked in surprise. He had expected
+a ticket for Southampton.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll see," replied Jimmy grimly.</p>
+
+<p>They journeyed with other passengers, and emerged at their destination
+in a heavy drizzle. The fog had given way to rain. The drizzle gave way
+to heavy torrents as they trudged along a country road. In an hour they
+had struck off the road into a lane. A few minutes brought them to the
+bank of the river.</p>
+
+<p>In spite of the questions that Foss constantly asked, Sockem did not
+answer. His mind was filled with one object. He began to search among
+the bushes by the bank. At last he found what he wanted. It was a rope
+hitched to a sapling. He unhitched the rope and began to haul it in. A
+dinghy came out of the misty rain and bumped against the bank.</p>
+
+<p>"Get in, Ben."</p>
+
+<p>Drenched and sodden, Foss obeyed and sat down in the stern. Sockem took
+the oars and pulled out into the stream. Practised rower as he was, he
+made no noise with the oars as he pulled against the tide. The rain
+was coming down in torrents when he ceased rowing and turned to peer
+through the thick atmosphere.</p>
+
+<p>"Here we are!" he announced triumphantly. "Our place!"</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"A house-boat. Hold on to the stage. Bill Hemsey ought to be here."</p>
+
+<p>In another moment they were alongside the dark river dwelling. They
+landed on the floating stage, and Sockem tied the boat to a rail, then
+led the way inside, opening the door with confidence. He knew his way.</p>
+
+<p>"Bill Hemsey hasn't got back yet," he said. "He is coming—ought to
+have been here now. He was getting stuff on his own. I put him up to a
+job."</p>
+
+<p>Hemsey was one of a small gang who kept more or less close company with
+Sockem—a snatch-thief who posed as a sportsman.</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't this safe?" Sockem cried, as he lit a lamp in the centre of the
+apartment. "It's one of them boat-houses used in summer, but left to
+itself during the winter. Wasn't it a good idea?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was, if it's safe."</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody comes, I tell you. I've watched this place for weeks. It's
+derelict. I boarded up the windows so's the light won't show. Hemsey
+is coming to-night, too. And Mackintosh, who gathers the stuff for
+Eckhardt, the fence, is due to-morrow. We're safe as houses. You can't
+tell me how to cover our tracks. Look!"</p>
+
+<p>He pointed to a ring in the floor at their feet.</p>
+
+<p>"My safe! The river hides our loot."</p>
+
+<p>He bent and pulled at the ring. One of the floorboards came away. On
+its under side a large screw hook had been fixed, and from this hook a
+thin rope hung down into the black depths. Sockem hauled at the rope. A
+sack, dripping with water, came into view.</p>
+
+<p>"Put the stuff in the sack," he said, grinning.</p>
+
+<p>They deposited the goods they had brought into the canvas sack, where
+other valuables were already placed, and Sockem lowered it again and
+slammed the floorboard. There was a flush of pride on his face as he
+stood up.</p>
+
+<p>"And supposin' the cops come here, what would they find?" he demanded.
+"All they could give us is a week or two for breaking into the boat. We
+could say we came for shelter. Who'd think that thousands of pounds'
+worth of stuff was swinging in the bilge below our feet? Most of these
+craft collect water in winter."</p>
+
+<p>He laughed and slapped Foss on the shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"And Bill Hemsey is coming with more to-night. He ought to have been
+here now. You know Bill, don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I remember him," said Foss. "What's he after?"</p>
+
+<p>"Money. Ready money. He's getting the rents of a certain party. The
+money and what we've got will make the biggest haul we've made yet. The
+money will take us abroad. What are you looking so dismal about?"</p>
+
+<p>"Seed told me honesty was the best policy," mumbled Foss hesitatingly.
+"I gave him my word——"</p>
+
+<p>"That don't matter, Ben. You've joined me now. And I want you to start
+work to-morrow. Bill will bring us news."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you want me for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Same as you did before. Scouting. There's a village less than a mile
+off. You'll fetch us grub until the coast is clear."</p>
+
+<p>"But if I'm caught?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then Bill or I will go. If you're caught we'll know the cops are
+about."</p>
+
+<p>The truth was out, and the shock of it drilled through Foss.
+Alternately he had been swayed between fears of capture and the
+possibility of escape. Now he saw that he was being made use of. He was
+the shield, the protection, the bait, the foil. A sick smile passed
+over his face.</p>
+
+<p>"You needn't get caught unless you're careless," said Sockem, as he
+wrung the water from his coat. "And we'll be rich now. I'll tell you
+why I came to the flat. They said you had reformed."</p>
+
+<p>"Who said it? I promised Seed——"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Hemsey told me. And I needed you as a scout. You know my ways,
+and I know yours. See? And Mackintosh, the agent for the fence, is
+due to-morrow to make a deal. He's a Scot, is Mackintosh. Works for
+Eckhardt, the big fence. We'll get away maybe to-morrow night. You'll
+get your share."</p>
+
+<p>"How much?"</p>
+
+<p>"We'll see what Mackintosh gives us for the stuff."</p>
+
+<p>"And after that?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is arranging a passage to Cherbourg for me. You, too, can come.
+We'll get a ship for America there. There's enough in that sack to keep
+us for years. You couldn't make that amount in a lifetime by honesty,
+see?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a scanty store of provisions, which had been brought by
+Sockem, in the house-boat, and they ate a cold, frugal supper in
+silence. Then they retired for the night. The only bedding available
+was a couple of old mattresses which had been left by the owner of the
+house-boat. There were no blankets or coverings, but to men who had
+been in prison this was not a great hardship.</p>
+
+<p>Sockem occupied a small room on one side of the alleyway; Foss had
+one opposite. The lamp was extinguished. Only the beating of the rain
+on the roof above their heads and the swish of the river broke the
+stillness of the night.</p>
+
+<p>But, if Sockem slept well, the reverse was true of Foss. He lay
+tossing on his mattress, tormented and restless. The silence and the
+darkness brought fears that grew big and fantastic. He wanted to go
+back. He remembered the vow he had made to the detective who had
+obtained the job for him. He remembered the kindnesses of his late
+employer. He remembered the security with which he had gone to bed in
+the flat—security because he was not being hunted, because he was not
+opposing the law, but was protected by it.</p>
+
+<p>The hours passed slowly. The rain increased. It fell with relentless
+monotony, lashing on the house-boat and streaming down the windows. The
+structure swayed with the fury of the rising wind. The tide cradled
+it violently. Dawn broke grey and dull. And there was no sign of
+Mackintosh, or of Bill Hemsey.</p>
+
+<p>Sockem was in the kitchen when Foss rose and joined him.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't think what's keeping Bill Hemsey," growled Sockem. "He promised
+to be here. Anyway, Mackintosh will come. Bill, too, after the rain."</p>
+
+<p>They broke up some chairs for firewood and started a fire in the stove.
+The atmosphere was cold and clammy. The roof leaked.</p>
+
+<p>"We ain't got any grub, Ben. Our supper was the last I had. You'll have
+to go out and get something. Bill was to bring some eats. He's got a
+girl. That's where he was going after his stunt. Girls are the devil.
+Well, you've got to go."</p>
+
+<p>Foss moved to the landing-stage sullenly, with the intention of looking
+for the boat they had moored the previous night. It was not there. He
+looked across the tumbling river. Over by the opposite bank, fifty
+yards down, the boat was caught by a fallen tree. It had been swept
+away by the rising river, which during the night had reached flood
+point. The water was overflowing the banks, and swirling down in a
+heavy, brown billowy mass. The house-boat was tugging at the chains
+that moored it. They were marooned.</p>
+
+<p>"We can't get any grub, Jimmy. We're too far from the banks."</p>
+
+<p>Something like dismay came into Jimmy Sockem's eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I broke down the shore gangway," he muttered. "It spanned a dozen
+yards from the bank."</p>
+
+<p>"We're twice that distance now, Jimmy."</p>
+
+<p>"Can you swim?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Can you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>A silence fell on them, broken at last by Sockem.</p>
+
+<p>"It means we'll wait here until the fence comes. He'll find the boat
+and bring it along."</p>
+
+<p>They went back to the sitting-room, where two aged cane chairs
+remained. These Sockem broke up and burned in the stove. They picked
+the last crumbs off the supper-plates. Sockem took his horseshoe nail
+from his pocket and began to sharpen it on a small hone. He hummed a
+tune as he worked. The rain became heavier than ever.</p>
+
+<p>By midday the river had risen still more. Not a sign of anything living
+appeared along the streaming banks. Drip, drip, drip; slash, slash,
+slash; rumble, rumble, rumble—the first from the leaking roof, the
+second from the whipping rain, the third from the rising river—these
+were the only sounds that came to the two men in the house-boat; these,
+and the constant honing of his large steel nail, which Jimmy Sockem
+kept up until the weapon shone like a knife-blade.</p>
+
+<p>No receiver of stolen property came that day. They went to their
+mattresses hungry, cold, miserable. They no longer spoke to each other.
+The rain increased. The wind rose to the strength of a gale. When they
+woke the next morning the waters were crested with small breakers. The
+rain was worse than ever. The roof leaked everywhere.</p>
+
+<p>The second day passed as the first, the third came as the second. They
+looked out and saw, not a river, but a real flood. The water had spread
+into the adjoining meadows, and had formed a huge lake, which was ever
+increasing. Their boat had been driven away in the spate. In the midst
+of this desolation the house-boat floated, dragging at its foundations,
+its stage under water. The two men were helpless.</p>
+
+<p>That day Sockem fished up the sack of loot and went over the valuables
+like a miser counting his hoard. Foss, who watched him in silence, saw
+the water ooze in under the floorboards. The truth struck him like a
+blow. The rising river was driving them from their shelter.</p>
+
+<p>The afternoon made this definite; both of them saw it. Foss had reached
+the limit of his endurance. Sockem was now tigerish and unapproachable.
+Cowed and afraid though he was, Foss spoke his thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>"Seed said honesty was the best policy. It is true."</p>
+
+<p>"It is a lie," thundered Sockem. "Is not this sack proof I am right? I
+can break any law I wish to. We are rich."</p>
+
+<p>"We are poor. We are starving."</p>
+
+<p>"That is your fault. I have supplied the loot that makes us rich. You
+must supply the food to keep us till the floods go down. I have been
+thinking. You have to be driven. I shall drive you."</p>
+
+<p>"How?"</p>
+
+<p>"You are the scout. Why don't you scout? You must be forced. Listen. I
+am going to make a raft from the timber of this house. On that raft you
+will pole your way to the village and bring back food."</p>
+
+<p>"I daren't. I should be drowned."</p>
+
+<p>"If you don't go I shall kill you."</p>
+
+<p>His face assumed the horrible cunning peculiar to his nature, and he
+stretched out his hand for the shining, dagger-like nail which lay on
+the table.</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you go yourself?" cried Foss in desperation.</p>
+
+<p>"Because I must not. Seed knows I climbed to the flat that night I
+killed your boss. It was he who came to the door. I heard him in the
+garden as I climbed. He has been on my heels for days. You can go for
+food. You must. Or else——"</p>
+
+<p>He shrugged his shoulders and turned to the work he had indicated.
+He worked with savage ferocity while Foss watched him, shivering and
+biting his lip. He was scared. He saw Sockem, by prodigious efforts,
+and with the aid of a hammer taken from the kitchen, beat down a large
+section of the wall. It fell across the flooded staging, and lay ready
+to be launched.</p>
+
+<p>"That's my job finished," announced Sockem. "It is up to you. Go—or
+say your prayers."</p>
+
+<p>He laughed wolfishly and went to his room, banging the door and bolting
+it.</p>
+
+<p>Foss was alone with his thoughts. His thoughts chilled and roasted him
+alternately. It was death to go and death to remain. Dusk had fallen.
+Away in the distance he saw the twinkling lights of the village. The
+rain had slackened, but the river rushed wildly on its course.</p>
+
+<p>An hour passed. The darkness deepened. Foss stirred. An idea had come
+to him. He crept towards the room in which Sockem had locked himself
+and listened at the keyhole. From the room came regular breathing.
+Sockem was sleeping, tired out with his labour.</p>
+
+<p>Foss went back to the raft. His idea was to take his chance with the
+floods. He repented having given in to Sockem. Why should he not try to
+save himself and leave this savage to his fate?</p>
+
+<p>He had laid hold of the raft when a glimmer of light pierced the
+darkness far down the river. He looked, and saw it become bigger. It
+was a light from a boat. Already he heard the "chug-chug" of a motor.
+Someone was coming up in face of the racing tide—evidently rescuers
+out to aid river-dwellers caught in the storm.</p>
+
+<p>Here was a chance indeed! He could escape from the terror that
+was Sockem. He would go to Seed and explain all. He would ask for
+protection against Sockem's vengeance. Seed knew he had tried to run
+straight. Honesty was the best policy. If a man was honest he need
+never have these fears and despairs that had gripped him and terrorised
+him since Sockem had come back for him.</p>
+
+<p>The boat was now almost level with the house-boat. It would pass
+without seeing him. With a cry he thought of a way out.</p>
+
+<p>He ran to the kitchen and took the lantern, lighting it hurriedly. Then
+he came back to the stage, waving it to and fro. But the waters drove
+him in again, lashing against his legs. He dared not shout lest he
+wakened Sockem. A voice came over the floods.</p>
+
+<p>"Keep steady! Give us a chance to get you!"</p>
+
+<p>Ah, the light must be steady! Foss dashed back to the kitchen. On the
+table was the long, steel nail, Sockem's one tool. He picked up the
+hammer and ran out to the staging again. Muffling the head of the nail
+in his handkerchief, he drove it into the wooden wall. It sank through,
+met an obstruction half way, but a blow fixed it securely. He hung the
+flickering lantern on the nail and waited.</p>
+
+<p>The boat came towards him. Its motor chugged so loudly he was afraid
+Sockem would hear. Out of the darkness the boat glided, and a man
+sprang on to the submerged staging.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo! Floods held you prisoner—Foss!"</p>
+
+<p>The man who had spoken was Detective Seed.</p>
+
+<p>He took hold of Foss's shaking frame and looked into his scared eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Steady up, Foss! You're all right with us! Have you found Sockem?"</p>
+
+<p>Ben gulped hard, but his tongue could not utter words. His hand jerked
+towards the room behind him.</p>
+
+<p>"All right, Foss, you've had a hard time, but we're the river police,"
+said Seed quickly. "Lucky Sockem didn't kill you. I suppose he's
+barricaded himself in. By the way, your boss told me you had gone after
+the burglar——"</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't he dead?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, but he got a bad rap on the head. He's recovering all right. He
+knows you're straight. Well, we've caught Sockem's receiver of goods,
+Mackintosh. We got him as we were coming up. He's confessed that Sockem
+was here, but we'd have passed you but for your lantern. I knew Sockem
+had a nest on the river. Don't worry. We've got him now."</p>
+
+<p>He drew a revolver and approached the door of the room, and at his
+heels went two men from the motor-boat. They burst the lock open. One
+man switched on a flashlamp.</p>
+
+<p>"Get up, Jimmy Sockem! I'm arresting you for burglary——<i>Ah!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Seed moved forward suddenly, and looked at the prone figure in the
+narrow bunk.</p>
+
+<p>"Look!" he cried, pointing to the wall against which Sockem's head
+rested.</p>
+
+<p>The long, shining horseshoe nail which had been driven through
+the wooden partition had caught Jimmy Sockem as he slept, and had
+penetrated to his brain.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>The Governor bent forward as he finished his story and tapped the edge
+of his desk with his forefinger.</p>
+
+<p>"So you see that Jimmy Sockem was not drowned. He was buried in the
+East End, and I don't doubt that you have seen his grave. As he had no
+relatives, the police paid for his funeral, after an inquest had been
+held very quietly. The verdict was 'accidental death.' And Ben Foss
+went back to his job. He has never again been tempted, or bullied,
+back to lawless ways. As for Mackintosh, the agent for Eckhardt, the
+receiver of stolen goods, I think I have already informed you that he
+is just now occupying the ninth cell below us."</p>
+
+<p>The visitor remained silent for some time, thinking over what he had
+heard.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I ought to be thankful to you," he remarked, "for telling me
+the real nature of the famous 'cat's' end. The story current in certain
+circles is that he was drowned in his bunk during the flood. But there
+is one point which your narrative leaves undetermined."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why was it that Bill Hemsey did not come to the house-boat when he was
+expected?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," smiled the Governor, "that is still to be explained, and in
+order to elucidate that matter I now propose to give you the story of
+the occupant of the tenth cell, who is none other than Bill Hemsey
+himself."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_TENTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE TENTH CELL</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>I am living in hopes (said the Governor) that one day—though I may
+not see it (at this the visitor slightly inclined his head and laid
+his hand on his revolver)—criminals will realise that crime does not
+pay. For the time being, however, the difficulty is that whenever one
+man is taken and sent to prison another seems to step into his place.
+Thus crime appears to be continuous, though it could be proved by
+analytical discussion that it is not so. However that may be, it was
+evident to those whose duty it is to observe such things that Eckhardt,
+the receiver of stolen property, must find a crook to take the place of
+Mackintosh.</p>
+
+<p>Up to this point, mark you, Eckhardt was merely under suspicion. The
+law could not lay its hands on him for lack of evidence—that is,
+evidence that would produce a conviction in a court of law. There was
+plenty of suspicion against Eckhardt, all the same, but suspicion is
+not evidence. But it was noticed that Eckhardt did find somebody else
+to do odd jobs for him, jobs that never brought him into conflict with
+the police, but were again suspicious.</p>
+
+<p>This man was a young member of an East End company of loafers and
+hangers-on. His name was Tommy Conn. He openly boasted of being
+a burglar, but he took care that boasting was all that could be
+said about it. After he became friendly with Eckhardt he ceased to
+boast—itself a circumstance worth noting.</p>
+
+<p>Conn will interest us after we have dealt with Bill Hemsey, for Conn
+occupied, in some ways, the same position in relation to Eckhardt as
+Bill Hemsey did in regard to Jimmy Sockem. That is to say, both were
+minor crooks who worked under the directions and suggestions of their
+leaders.</p>
+
+<p>It was Jimmy Sockem who had put Hemsey up to the idea of taking the
+rent money of old Luke Kohl, the Jew who owned property in the lower
+reaches of the Thames. And so, on the evening that he was expected to
+reach the house-boat, we find Bill Hemsey on his business of annexing
+these rents.</p>
+
+<p>Bill was not high up in the scale of criminal cunning, but he was high
+enough to know that he could lift the money belonging to Kohl if he
+worked properly. As a matter of fact, he found the actual theft easier
+than he had imagined it would be. He went to Kohl's house prepared for
+some sort of opposition, and he found none.</p>
+
+<p>I think you will remember that Jimmy Sockem, during his talk with Ben
+Foss on the house-boat, grumbled because Bill Hemsey had said he was
+going to see his girl that same evening. The truth was that Bill needed
+his girl's help to get away with the swag, but she did not know it;
+or, rather, one ought to say that Bill needed the help of his girl's
+father, but neither did the father know it. They were not the sort of
+people who would have aided him had they known.</p>
+
+<p>All these things come out at trials, and the trial of Hemsey resulted
+in him losing more than his liberty, much as he prized that.</p>
+
+<p>Here, then, we have Bill in possession of the bag of money, and
+standing in the small back shop of Kohl, listening intently for sounds
+from above. No sounds came. Bill had entered the shop by the back door
+when Kohl was upstairs at tea. He had found the bag on the top of the
+safe. He opened it to make sure that the money was there. It was all
+there in notes and silver. Bill sighed with delight.</p>
+
+<p>He snapped the catch and was on the point of leaving the shop when he
+thought he heard a step on the stairs. He braced himself, prepared for
+a struggle. But it was a false alarm. Nobody came downstairs. Hemsey
+did not wait. He took a firm grip on the handle and walked out by the
+door which he had forced in order to enter.</p>
+
+<p>He went over the yard wall, and turned towards the main thoroughfare
+feeling that he wanted to laugh. It had been so simple that he could
+hardly believe it. Yet there was the money in the black handbag, the
+small canister of pepper which he had intended to shoot towards Kohl's
+eyes was in his pocket, unused, and not a soul had observed his way
+of entry. He had left no finger-prints on the door or anywhere about.
+He still wore the leather gloves he had drawn on his hands before he
+committed the crime. And he was nearly two hundred pounds richer than
+he had been a few minutes previously.</p>
+
+<p>It all proved, he told himself, how easy things could be done if one
+took the trouble to lay the scheme beforehand. In this case he had
+certainly been very careful. With care comes success, in crime as in
+respectability. Honesty and lawlessness both require consideration.</p>
+
+<p>Bill Hemsey had known about how old Kohl collected his rents for some
+time, though Bill did not belong to the district. There had been more
+than one attempt by the roughs of the riverside streets to waylay
+old Kohl and grab his money-bag, but these attempts had always been
+frustrated because old Kohl, if he was feeble and rich, was also
+decidedly suspicious. He knew that the bad men of the Thames wharves
+were anxious to purloin his money in the dark corners through which he
+had to pass when he collected the rents; but those who had tried to
+snatch his bag found it was fastened by a light, strong, steel chain to
+his waist. Thus a thief who wanted the bag and its contents must take
+Luke Kohl also; and no thief wanted his screaming accuser to accompany
+the loot.</p>
+
+<p>Besides the chain, Luke Kohl had another means of protection. This was
+a police whistle, and on the occasions when he had been molested he
+had sounded his whistle while the would-be robbers tugged at the bag.
+They had been captured before they had run the length of a street, for
+the police were generally in the vicinity, thanks to Kohl's anxious
+requests for their services.</p>
+
+<p>These were difficulties which Bill Hemsey had to overcome before he
+could possess the rent money of Luke Kohl, but Bill had found a way to
+beat the opposition. If Kohl was crafty, Bill was more crafty. He found
+the weak link in Kohl's armour. That link was Rachel, the old man's
+daughter.</p>
+
+<p>Rachel lived with her parents in rooms above their small bric-à-brac
+shop. She was neither beautiful nor the reverse. She was "homely,"
+getting on in years for a maiden. She met Bill Hemsey at a local
+dance-hall. It was not an accidental meeting so far as Bill was
+concerned, for he had come to the hall with the distinct intention of
+becoming acquainted with Rachel. He met her several times afterwards,
+he spent money taking her to the cinemas, to local music-halls, to
+various places where cheap amusement was to be found up West. He walked
+out with her two evenings a week for a month, and by that time he
+had wormed his way into her affections and knew the whole routine of
+her father's business, even down to where he placed his bag with the
+rent money when he brought it home. The bag was placed on the top of
+the safe in the back shop while Kohl locked the front door and went
+upstairs to tea; after tea the bag was put, with the till, into the
+safe.</p>
+
+<p>The taking of the bag was Bill's supreme crime. It was to be his final
+one. Working with Sockem, his business was to lift the ready money,
+take it up the river, and in return he was to get a share of Sockem's
+loot. This trading of stolen goods is done quite often, helping to
+baffle the police and making the real source of a robbery difficult to
+trace.</p>
+
+<p>As for Rachel, she was not the girl to whom Sockem referred. Rachel
+was merely a pawn in Bill's game. Indeed, her friendship with Bill had
+been a little troublesome to him. She presumed more than he intended,
+and she had asked him on more than one occasion to come home and meet
+her parents. These invitations had always been side-tracked by Bill,
+who had no desire to step into what might be a trap for himself; he did
+not want to meet Luke Kohl, who might then be able to identify him at
+a crucial moment—for instance, when the pepper was being thrown into
+his eyes. So that Rachel might be well out of the way, Bill had written
+to her asking her to meet him at a point up West, and he had seen her
+start for the rendezvous. Exit Rachel from Bill's life.</p>
+
+<p>As he walked along, Bill felt confident, and had not any anxiety.
+Nobody had seen him take the bag, nobody could accuse him of entering
+by the back door, not a soul knew that he was a petty thief and
+had been one for years. Between his "jobs" in crime he conducted a
+perfunctory street-corner business of bookmaking, a cloak for his
+other activities and a means of getting the information to enable
+him to carry them out. It was as a book-maker that his friends knew
+him; even Rene Toler, his real girl, whom he intended to marry almost
+immediately, regarded him as a sporting person. It was to her rooms
+that Bill Hemsey was now making his way.</p>
+
+<p>He left the main thoroughfare and took to side streets, past one of
+the blocks of flats which Luke Kohl owned, the flats the rents of
+which were in the bag he carried. Tall dismal buildings, these were
+situated near the riverside, and let out in mean dwellings of single,
+double, and triple rooms. They were peopled by the casual workers of
+the docks, labourers of the river, the families who hung on to life by
+short spells of work sandwiched between periods of unemployment. It was
+because of this unreliability of income that Kohl collected his rents
+regularly, never allowing arrears to accumulate.</p>
+
+<p>From the streets behind the river were many dark, narrow passages,
+sombre and badly lit by scattered street lamps. In front of the houses
+was the river front, a narrow flagged pathway. No railing or fence was
+erected by the river's edge, and here and there lonely barges from
+Gravesend and Tilbury squatted on the sticky mud that was squelchy as a
+quagmire when the tide was out. This ooze, three feet deep, was covered
+at full tide with sufficient water to float the barges and the boats of
+the water-men up to the wall of the river front.</p>
+
+<p>During the daytime the "esplanade," as it was called by courtesy,
+was the rendezvous of loiterers and bargemen. By night the place was
+deserted save for an occasional boat that crossed the river as an
+unofficial ferry, since the nearest bridge was a considerable distance
+away. It was Rene's father who worked this spasmodic ferry.</p>
+
+<p>Rene did not stay with her father. She worked in a laundry on the same
+side of the river as Bill had rooms, and she had given Bill proof of
+being able to look after his wants in the future by doing his washing
+and pressing his suits in her spare time. Pretty, hard-working, and
+capable, she was as straight as a fiddle-string, and Bill knew that she
+would make an ideal wife. She had no silly ideas of romance about her.
+Her one strong point was her profound common sense. It was because he
+was fond of her that Bill had made the raid on Luke Kohl's money; this,
+he told himself, was to be his last excursion into crime.</p>
+
+<p>As she opened the door in answer to his knock, he was met by a rush of
+hot atmosphere from the apartment.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo," said Rene. "You're early."</p>
+
+<p>"Better early than late," replied Bill, grinning. "What you busy at?
+Same old stuff, hey?"</p>
+
+<p>He sat down on a chair and looked at the heap of washed clothes on
+the table at which she had been ironing. His reception had not been
+as cordial as he had hoped, but Rene was never demonstrative. Bill
+chuckled to think that he had now enough money to set the two of them
+up comfortably.</p>
+
+<p>"Give us a kiss, Rene," he said.</p>
+
+<p>He rose and advanced towards her, but she waved him aside and returned
+to her ironing table.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter, Rene?"</p>
+
+<p>She turned on him quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"There isn't anything the matter with <i>me</i>," she flashed.</p>
+
+<p>Her tone startled him for a moment, but he quickly dismissed his fears.
+She could not possibly know that he had money in the bag and that he
+had stolen it.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, don't be funny," he grumbled, watching her all the time. "I told
+you I was coming over home with you to-night. I want to talk things
+over with your dad. Ain't you glad to see me? I've got an appointment,
+but I'll be back late."</p>
+
+<p>"What things are you going to talk over?"</p>
+
+<p>"About you and me. I was thinking we might get married soon."</p>
+
+<p>"You said that a while ago."</p>
+
+<p>"I know I did. But I hadn't the money."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you got it now?"</p>
+
+<p>He smiled. This was his great secret, the winning card he held up his
+sleeve.</p>
+
+<p>"More'n you think, Rene. I'll show you what I've got all in good time.
+And your dad too. Did you ask him to bring his boat over for us, same
+as I said to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I told him."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, stop working and let's go."</p>
+
+<p>"There's plenty of time yet. Besides, I've got these things to iron,
+and the suit you left me has to be pressed. I promised I'd do it by
+to-night."</p>
+
+<p>He gazed at her cunningly.</p>
+
+<p>"How long will it take you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be finished in an hour."</p>
+
+<p>"Mind if I stay here to watch you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Please yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter with you, Rene? I come here to give you a pleasant
+surprise and you're hardly civil."</p>
+
+<p>"If you found that I'd been flirting with other men you'd be mad too."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>He began to see the reason for her coldness. But before he could say
+anything she glanced at him from the hot iron her eye was following.</p>
+
+<p>"You needn't deny it. You were seen."</p>
+
+<p>"Who saw me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I did."</p>
+
+<p>"You're jealous, Rene, and there's nothing to worry about; honest,
+there ain't. I give you my word."</p>
+
+<p>She was ironing determinedly, her lips straight and tight.</p>
+
+<p>"It was only a business affair," he began.</p>
+
+<p>"Business?" she scoffed.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm telling you, Rene. It was business. A man has to be friendly with
+them that bring money to him."</p>
+
+<p>"Has he to take them to the theatres?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's good for business——"</p>
+
+<p>"Or to dances?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's good for——"</p>
+
+<p>"Or buy them chocolates?"</p>
+
+<p>"Aw, you needn't be jealous. There was nothing in it."</p>
+
+<p>"Funny way of doing a betting business," she answered bitingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Rene," he began, but stopped; for to make her understand he was bound
+to tell everything, and he dared not tell everything. The crime was his
+one secret which he must keep to himself, even if it was to be his last.</p>
+
+<p>"It ain't the first time," she added. "You've been with her lots of
+times."</p>
+
+<p>"I won't again, Rene."</p>
+
+<p>"How do I know you're speaking the truth?"</p>
+
+<p>"I give my oath on it. It was only business."</p>
+
+<p>"What would you say if I started gadding about with men?"</p>
+
+<p>He had not seen it this way, and the idea struck him forcibly, for he
+was fond of Rene in his way.</p>
+
+<p>"What would you do?" she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>"You wouldn't do that, Rene?"</p>
+
+<p>"What if I did? Ain't I got the right to go to the cinema with a boy,
+if you go with a girl?"</p>
+
+<p>He did not answer, but the look in his face was dour and ominous. She
+suddenly became afraid of him.</p>
+
+<p>"It was only business," he muttered. "Just business."</p>
+
+<p>He was standing at her elbow as she laid out his suit for the ironing
+process. There was something menacing in his attitude. Man-like, he did
+not understand her mental injury nor appreciate her point of view; his
+environment had never taught him that women had any right to question,
+yet he longed in a dull way to probe the suspicion her words had
+raised. She seemed to sense this, for she spoke quietly without looking
+at him.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't do it," she said simply. He breathed deeply, as if relieved.</p>
+
+<p>"How long will you be at this job?"</p>
+
+<p>"A bit yet."</p>
+
+<p>"What about a drink of something?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't leave this. There's time enough before dad comes. You can go
+out for a drink. Come back in half an hour."</p>
+
+<p>She glanced at the clock as she spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"All right," he said, as he picked up his cap and kicked the leather
+bag under his chair. "I'll bring a bottle back for your dad. He can
+take it home with him."</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't you say he was to meet us by the esplanade? He won't come up
+here——"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'll give it him in the boat."</p>
+
+<p>He clumped downstairs with something of his usual complacency gone
+from him. He had never been suspicious of Rene before. He was angry
+that she should want to know the reason he had been friendly with
+Rachel Kohl; and he dared not tell that. Even if he was forced to tell
+something of the truth, he had to hide his crime, for then Rene would
+tell her father, and her father would deny him the use of the boat.
+Bill Hemsey needed the boat that night. He could not chance taking a
+bus, or be seen walking in the streets with the bag. Kohl would have
+discovered the theft by this time and would have told the police. The
+police would be on the watch, and the only way to evade them was to
+get down to the dark esplanade and cross the river by boat. He would
+destroy the bag when he got to his rooms.</p>
+
+<p>In fifteen minutes he returned to Rene's room, hugging three bottles
+of stout. He pushed the door open with his foot and entered. He heard
+voices. A young man about his own age was in the room.</p>
+
+<p>"All right," he was saying, "I don't need to see you home if that's the
+case."</p>
+
+<p>Bill Hemsey blundered in and placed the bottles on the tables. The
+stranger said he would be going. He went out, and Rene lifted from the
+table the coat she had been pressing. Bill wheeled as the door closed.</p>
+
+<p>"Who was that?" he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>"Jim Harlek. He lives next door to dad——"</p>
+
+<p>"So that's why you asked me to go out and fetch a drink? You expected
+him here and thought I was better out of the way. He slunk off when he
+saw me. He came here to see you home——"</p>
+
+<p>He shouted his accusations at her, giving her no chance to answer him.
+For the moment he was seeing red. All his suspicions were returned,
+flaming high. He saw it all. He had been duped, misled, deceived. He
+seized her shoulder in a fierce grip.</p>
+
+<p>"So it's Jim Harlek! He came to see you home. Don't deny it. Up here in
+your room. That's why you said I was early. You expected him. You sent
+me out so's you could warn him I was here. Tit for tat, hey? That's
+because you were jealous. Thought you'd pay me out——"</p>
+
+<p>"Bill, you're hurting me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hurting you! I'll hurt you more. Mine was business. You can't say that
+about Jim Harlek. And you said you hadn't done anything like that——"</p>
+
+<p>"Let go!" she cried, wriggling from him; but he pursued her, anger
+raging and flushing his face.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll teach you," he cried. "Playing that trick on me."</p>
+
+<p>"What about the trick you played on me? What about Rachel Kohl? What
+about the theatres and the dances and the letters you wrote her?"</p>
+
+<p>"That was business, I tell you."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe it."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe you'll say that Jim Harlek came here on business? I'll find out
+about you and him. I'll teach you——"</p>
+
+<p>"Let go! Let go!"</p>
+
+<p>She struggled to free herself from his grasp, and the more she
+struggled the more he raged at her. The very resistance she made seemed
+to his inflamed brain to be proof that she was guilty of deception.
+And because he was then incapable of reason he kept up a torrent of
+accusation, a cataract of threats and insinuations, the words pouring
+from him as he shook her. He beat down the opposition she had at first
+shown. He silenced her by the ferocity of his wrath; and then he flung
+her into a chair.</p>
+
+<p>"From now on," he cried, wagging a finger at her, "you ain't going out
+of my sight. You get your things on and come home. We'll see what your
+dad has to say when I tell him. You women all need to be broken in.
+I'll break you in. Come on, get on your hat."</p>
+
+<p>She sat white and trembling, but there was a gleam in her eyes that he
+had never seen before.</p>
+
+<p>"Get on your hat," he thundered.</p>
+
+<p>She obeyed him, biting her lip. A change had come over her. She no
+longer tried to answer him. She put on her hat and coat while he packed
+the suit she had pressed. They went downstairs, he carrying his bag and
+his suit in a parcel. He was still muttering to himself.</p>
+
+<p>At the street corner she was about to walk towards the main
+thoroughfare, but he growled at her:</p>
+
+<p>"Not that way. You're going down to the river."</p>
+
+<p>"But——"</p>
+
+<p>"Shut up and don't answer. I know your game. You'll do as I say, or
+I'll make you. Think I don't know what I'm doing? I don't want any
+talk. It's me that's seeing you home, not Jim."</p>
+
+<p>"If you let me explain——"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want explanations. Not yet, I don't. That's enough. Not
+another word."</p>
+
+<p>He saw what she was after, did Bill. Once out on the main street, where
+the traffic was, he would not be able to handle her. He knew that he
+must keep the mastery.</p>
+
+<p>"If you cross me again I'll give you worse than I gave you up in your
+room," he growled grimly. "I ain't finished with you yet, Rene. You've
+got to know that I'm boss. See?"</p>
+
+<p>She gave a queer little laugh at that; a laugh that stung Bill more
+than any accusations or defiance. It spoke to him of contempt, it was a
+sneer, a ridicule that cut him to the quick. He dropped his parcel and
+struck her, sending her staggering against the wall.</p>
+
+<p>"That'll learn you," he said, glowering at her. "I'll break you in, I
+will. Come on, or I'll give you more."</p>
+
+<p>She stood leaning against the wall, panting and holding her cheek. In
+her eyes there was a swift gleam that died as he looked at her. She
+was at his mercy, and she knew it as well as he.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on," he ordered.</p>
+
+<p>She obeyed without a word of protest.</p>
+
+<p>He kept beside her as they turned down a side street, glancing at her
+now and then from under his brows, knowing by her silence that he had
+conquered.</p>
+
+<p>Down through dark, narrow passages he marched towards the river bank.
+There were few lamps now and the mist from the river thickened the
+gloom. Bill welcomed the mist and the darkness. It hid them from
+prying eyes and thus made his escape with the stolen loot easier. Rain
+came—heavy rain.</p>
+
+<p>Once the shadowy form of a policeman appeared across the street, and
+Bill feared that Rene would seek his protection; but she marched on
+without taking notice of the policeman if she saw him.</p>
+
+<p>Soon they were in the black regions of the river. The cold damp from
+the water came to them in a murky breath. All was silent and black, and
+wet. The rain was steaming now.</p>
+
+<p>Bill's eyes tried to pierce the thick atmosphere. He was looking for
+the boat and the light that would be fixed at her stern. He moved
+across the flagged front of the esplanade, peering intently. And just
+then he felt a pair of hands on his back. He was pushed forward. He
+could not help himself. He uttered a loud shout—and then stepped into
+space.</p>
+
+<p>His bag and parcel flew from his hands as he fell, crashing against
+the stones and following him downward. He dropped straight into the
+three feet deep ooze that held him as he floundered. He felt himself
+sinking as he struggled. The more he struggled the more he sank. The
+sticky mud hindered his movements; and as he at last found bottom there
+came to his ears the voice of Rene Toler tauntingly:</p>
+
+<p>"If you'd let me explain, Bill Hemsey, you'd have known that Jim Harlek
+came with a message from dad to say he couldn't come in the boat
+because the tide ain't full yet. I've had enough of you and your lies!
+You and your business meetings with Rachel Kohl! You forgot to take her
+love-letter out of your pocket when you gave me your suit to press, so
+you can go back to your Rachel Kohl, and don't ever come near me or
+I'll give you in charge."</p>
+
+<p>And then, as she moved away, a little compassion perhaps stirred her.
+She called again.</p>
+
+<p>"But I'll send a cop down to get you out of your mess in the mud. And
+if you want to know, I was out with somebody. It was Tommy Conn."</p>
+
+<p>That was the last Bill Hemsey heard of Rene that night; but she kept
+her word. Five minutes later a policeman strolled down to see if it was
+really true a man had fallen over the "esplanade" into the mud.</p>
+
+<p>He flashed his lantern on Bill Hemsey, still fighting his way ashore;
+and the blaze of the lantern showed a burst bag and numerous notes
+lying about the quagmire.</p>
+
+<p>Of course this led to inquiry; and inquiry led to a charge; and a
+charge led to the Old Bailey.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>The Governor paused.</p>
+
+<p>His visitor smiled and shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"And the Old Bailey led to the tenth cell?" he said.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor nodded, stroking his chin.</p>
+
+<p>"Bill Hemsey didn't have much of a chance with the jury," he said
+dreamily. "Not so much as even the police expected he would have.
+Eckhardt, apparently, promised that he would pay for a defence. But he
+didn't. Neither he nor Tommy Conn took much interest in Bill Hemsey."</p>
+
+<p>"How was that?"</p>
+
+<p>"In order to understand the full circumstances," replied the Governor,
+"you ought to know the story of the next cell's occupant."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_ELEVENTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE ELEVENTH CELL</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>"At any rate," said the visitor to the Governor, "there can be no doubt
+as to the category in which you will place Bill Hemsey. He does not
+appear to have much hope of getting higher than the Illiterates."</p>
+
+<p>"I agree with you. Hemsey belongs to the grade you have mentioned. His
+place is fixed for the remainder of his term. His case—so far as his
+trial is concerned—reminds me of the biblical injunction not to put
+our trust in princes. Eckhardt was certainly one of the chiefs of the
+profession he had chosen. He was known among the criminal fraternity as
+the Prince of Receivers, though how he came to the title I have never
+been able to find out exactly. It may have been because he was rich,
+and appeared to be above the law."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor cleared his throat and folded his arms on his chest as he
+bent a thoughtful gaze on the carpet.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Among the acquaintances of Tommy Conn (he began) was one who was,
+to some degree, a man who was his rival in crime. This man's name
+was Billiter. The two were rivals, although they worked by different
+methods. Conn was a burglar who lifted goods without opening safes;
+Billiter was an expert at safe-opening. These different methods
+originated in the early training of the men. Conn had never learned a
+trade. Billiter had been an engineer and mechanic before he became a
+burglar. Each believed his method the safest.</p>
+
+<p>Let us take the case of Conn first, and see where it led him, and how
+he came to forget, not only Bill Hemsey, but even Rene Toler, within a
+week of Hemsey's arrest.</p>
+
+<p>Tommy Conn was a burglar who possessed resource and was capable of
+quick decision. He often said that the last lap on a job was the only
+one that counted. Eckhardt, the receiver, had the knowledge of a
+connoisseur. Combine these qualities, and you have the most dangerous
+union at war with the law.</p>
+
+<p>Conn entered a large house one night—a house in Park Lane—on what was
+perhaps the biggest job in his career. He stood in the large gallery
+listening for a sound that might betray his presence to the owners of
+the valuables he had come to steal. All was quiet save for the distant
+and indistinct movement that told him he had timed his visit well.</p>
+
+<p>All was dark in the gallery, but a yellow line showed at the bottom of
+the door. Conn stepped over on tiptoe and turned the key in the lock.
+Thus he put a barricade between himself and anyone who might try to
+enter.</p>
+
+<p>He was not afraid. He was careful. In the cases lined under the massive
+pictures on the walls were the valuables he had come to steal. He set
+to work at once. The family who possessed the goods were at dinner.</p>
+
+<p>Only once or twice did he use his flashlight, and then he used it to
+make sure that he was taking what he had been instructed to take. From
+under his coat he produced a small cotton sack half filled with down.
+Into this sack he deposited the loot, one article at a time, gently and
+with care.</p>
+
+<p>It was easy to insert his jemmy under the lids of the cases and give a
+slight upward wrench to the locks. While he did so he covered the locks
+with a soft scarf, to deaden the sound of splintering wood. This was
+child's play to Conn. Not a single lock gave more than a faint groan
+when he gave the twist needed.</p>
+
+<p>There were valuables of all kinds—jewels, gold, pearls, ivory and
+onyx, diamonds and rubies. Most of them were set in exquisite form,
+paired and graduated in small antiques. There were tiny statuettes,
+treasures from the four corners of the world, all of which had been
+gathered by past generations and had been handed down as heirlooms;
+treasures that were too precious for public museums to buy.</p>
+
+<p>Tommy Conn did not need his flashlight to direct his hand towards the
+best of these valuables. The sparkle of the gems guided him. He went
+through every case, taking the best; then he stepped towards the door
+again, unlocked it, and tiptoed to the window.</p>
+
+<p>He was on the first floor of the house, not a great distance from the
+garden. He went out as he had entered, took care to close the window
+after him as he hung on to the gutter-pipe that was within easy reach,
+and slid down to the ground. He landed on the gravel path and stepped
+on the lawn. Across this he sped, and leaped for the top of the wall
+that separated the grounds from a side-street. He had to wait a few
+moments before the road was clear; a policeman was strolling down
+towards the main thoroughfare. When the policeman was gone, Tommy Conn
+clambered over without making a noise. He walked round the corner into
+the main road and approached a small two-seater car that was drawn up
+by the gutter.</p>
+
+<p>The lights of this car streamed down the road. The general traffic was
+streaming past it. The policeman who had come down the side-street was
+standing not far off. Tommy Conn walked up to the car from the rear,
+lifted the luggage grid and deposited his bag of loot in the space
+underneath, tipped the loafer who had been watching it for him, and
+took his seat.</p>
+
+<p>It was not a new car, but it was a swift one, powerful and capable of
+tremendous energy. As he was about to start he saw the policeman's eye
+on the car, taking in its proportions. Tommy signalled to the policeman.</p>
+
+<p>"I was told there was a garage up that street," he said, "but I can't
+find one. Can you tell me where I may get a supply of petrol? I must
+get to Oxford to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"There's a garage at the top of that street, sir," answered the
+policeman, "but it's a long way up. A nearer one is straight ahead, ten
+minutes' walk from here."</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks, I'll go that way. Good night."</p>
+
+<p>"Good night, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Tommy operated the self-starter, and the car slid forward. He felt the
+policeman's eyes on his number-plate at the back of the car. That did
+not worry him. The number-plate had been changed before he started on
+his job, and the number he showed would take a great deal of tracing.
+He forged his way among the moving vehicles and put on a little speed.
+The garage to which he had been directed flared at him as he passed it.
+He swept up the first turning beyond it, dodged into Oxford Street,
+came down through Piccadilly Circus, and headed south. He was bound for
+Southampton.</p>
+
+<p>Why did Tommy speak to the policeman? He did it because he had learned
+by bitter experience that to take the bull by the horns is safer,
+if bolder, than to let the bull take you. The burglary he had just
+committed had been done as many of his burglaries had been done—on
+commission. He regarded himself as an efficient burglar, just as
+a man might regard himself as an efficient plumber, or tailor, or
+stockbroker. He worked for clients. In Conn's case, the client for whom
+he worked most was Eckhardt. He was working for Eckhardt now, driving
+Eckhardt's car, going to the rendezvous on which they had agreed. When
+he reached the place he would receive his fee, hand over the car to
+another of Eckhardt's servants, have the number-plate changed, and
+depart. All clues had been covered, all suspicion could be met, all
+inquiries answered.</p>
+
+<p>It was one of the biggest hauls he had ever made. The idea had been
+Eckhardt's, the planning of the theft had been Eckhardt's, the loot
+would be Eckhardt's—Tommy Conn's percentage was his fee. In this Conn
+was cunning. He did the work and let Eckhardt dispose of the proceeds.
+Eckhardt was able to do this because he was a dealer in valuable
+antiques, with a reputation in America and Europe. It is true that
+his reputation was shady, but he was always careful in his deals, and
+he knew that in antiques there are always collectors whose love of
+possession overtops every other consideration. Watch a salesroom during
+an auction of famous treasures and the truth of this will become very
+apparent.</p>
+
+<p>At first Tommy Conn had protested to Eckhardt that the risk of breaking
+into Lord Calcott's private gallery was too great. It was known in
+burglarious circles that a policeman was constantly near the house, day
+and night. The mansion had become a kind of point duty, because Lord
+Calcott had great influence in political quarters and it was expected
+that at his death he would leave many of his valuables to the nation.</p>
+
+<p>To all Conn's objections Eckhardt had a reply. The greatest risk was
+in getting away with the loot. Late at night, when the occupants of
+the house were asleep, burglar alarms would be working. The obvious
+thing to do was to get the goods when the alarms were not fixed up for
+the night. The best time to attack the house was when the family were
+elsewhere. Dinner! That was the time.</p>
+
+<p>How to get away swiftly? Eckhardt had a car. He offered to lend it to
+Conn. The latter had been in the car often enough, and he knew how
+to handle it. A burglar in a car was sufficiently uncommon to escape
+remark. A burglar who had a car such as Eckhardt's might laugh at any
+pursuing taxicab. To disguise the car the number only need be changed,
+for it was of a popular make, seen daily in the West End.</p>
+
+<p>For the job Conn was to receive three thousand pounds in notes. These
+were to be handed over to him at Southampton, on board a small petrol
+yacht-fishing-boat which Eckhardt had hired for the purpose of escape.
+This vessel was of the type often let out to amateur yachtsmen at
+south coast resorts. In reality, they are converted fishing-craft, but
+they have the appearance of stodgy private yachts of heavy beam, and
+look worth twice their actual value. Eckhardt was taking one of these
+vessels over the Channel to a French port; from there he could get a
+ship to America.</p>
+
+<p>The United States was Eckhardt's ultimate destination, because he could
+get a big price for his loot in that country. He intended to get a big
+price. He had tapped his market already. He had secured an offer for
+most of the stolen pieces. Receivers of stolen property have their own
+markets.</p>
+
+<p>The master stroke of all Eckhardt's arrangements was that by which
+he was able to give Tommy Conn minute instructions and descriptions
+of the articles he was to extract. Eckhardt had paid a visit to Lord
+Calcott, pretending to act on behalf of a "client" who was prepared to
+offer a large sum for a certain medallion. Lord Calcott had politely
+declined to sell, valuing his collection as he valued the names of his
+ancestors who had brought it under one roof; but, seeing that Eckhardt
+knew his business, he permitted him to view the collection for a few
+moments. Eckhardt peered into every case, complimented the peer on his
+possessions, and left. He had seen enough. A month later he called on
+Tommy Conn, and the crime was discussed.</p>
+
+<p>As he drove the small, powerful car through South London on his way to
+Southampton, Tommy Conn was under no misapprehension as to the value
+of the jewels hidden under the luggage grid behind him. He was able to
+appraise and judge such things. He estimated that he was carrying loot
+worth at least a hundred thousand pounds.</p>
+
+<p>A lesser man might have been tempted to make the error of keeping
+the whole for himself, considering that he was being paid but a
+small fraction of the value of his burglary. Conn knew better than
+be tempted. For a lone burglar to sell the jewels would be suicidal.
+Burglars cannot approach principals in such deals. On the other hand,
+to have taken the gems from their settings, to have dug them out of the
+gold, and to have melted down the glittering statuettes and ornaments,
+would have been to reduce the value to vanishing-point. The truth was
+that only one receiver in London was able to take the risk, or had
+the facilities to make it worth while assuming the responsibility, of
+disposing of them. That receiver was Eckhardt, the dealer in antiques,
+who knew every avenue by which treasures could be sold, as he knew the
+worth of every piece he saw. After all, thought Tommy Conn, the main
+risk was on the shoulders of Eckhardt. When Eckhardt had paid him his
+three thousand, the deal was closed so far as he was concerned. He was
+safe, too, for Eckhardt dared not give him away. Their partnership
+covered too many transactions for one of them to point the finger of
+accusation at the other.</p>
+
+<p>Conn kept the car at an easy pace, taking a circuitous route—the
+one which had been mapped out by him when he had detailed his plans
+to Eckhardt. He went through Bromley, swerved into Croydon, speeded
+through Sutton, and passed Epsom at twenty miles an hour. It was just
+nine o'clock when he swung up Dorking main street and headed for the
+ridge known as the Hog's Back. As far as possible he had avoided the
+towns, and had not put on headlights when he was in the country. He
+reckoned that, by putting on speed, he would be in Southampton shortly
+after midnight.</p>
+
+<p>He was over the Hog's Back and well on his way when he saw, glimmering
+faintly in the distance, the lights of an inn. He knew the inn. It
+was one used by those discriminating motorists who prefer quiet and
+good cooking rather than bustle and feeble imitation of West End
+restaurants. He was beginning to feel hungry, and wondered if he might
+stop at the inn for a meal. The matter was decided for him as he was
+sliding down a slope with his foot on the brake. From immediately
+behind him a loud report filled his ears, and almost deafened him for
+an instant.</p>
+
+<p>Tommy Conn's nerves were strong, but for an infinitesimal period of
+time fear shook him. Presently he smiled. It was not a gun he had
+heard. He was not being held up. The report had been one of his tyres
+bursting. He jammed the brakes on, and came to a standstill.</p>
+
+<p>When he dismounted, and looked at the rear tyre which had exploded, he
+bit his lip. This was no ordinary puncture. The tyre had been cut by a
+piece of broken bottle and was embedded in the cover. He pulled it out
+and looked at it curiously.</p>
+
+<p>Taking a lamp, he walked back, flashing his light on the ground. Forty
+yards from his car he saw a broad band of jagged pieces of glass.
+Someone had deliberately laid down broken bottle-glass in the path of
+motorists.</p>
+
+<p>Luckily, the inn was not far off. He decided to go there and see if he
+could get someone to fix on his spare wheel while he had some supper.
+He mounted his seat, and rode to the inn on three tyres and a rim,
+taking the car into a wide yard behind the square building.</p>
+
+<p>There was no mechanic on the staff capable of fitting his spare wheel,
+so he had to tackle the job himself. To save time, he ordered a meal to
+be ready for him in the dining-room. He was jacking up his car when the
+landlord came out, carrying a lantern.</p>
+
+<p>"This will help you, sir," he said, putting the lantern down so that
+the light fell on the number-plate, which he scanned. "I dassay you'll
+be surprised if I said a friend expects to get you here."</p>
+
+<p>Tommy Conn gripped the jack tightly, but kept his head down and his
+back to the landlord.</p>
+
+<p>"Expects me? Someone expects me?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's so, sir. I suppose he'll be back for you by the time you've
+finished supper."</p>
+
+<p>There was geniality in the man's tone, but Conn was in no mood to
+appreciate geniality. He turned with a snarl.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose it was you that laid a trap of broken beer-bottles on the
+hill?" he cried. "I'd have passed your beastly inn but for my tyre
+going phut!"</p>
+
+<p>"Beer-bottles, sir? Why, that would be the gentleman who came to look
+for you. He was anxious to find you, he was. I'll send a lad up to
+clear the glass off the road at once. That's dangerous, sir, that is."</p>
+
+<p>He bustled into the house, and Conn heard him giving directions. Tommy
+Conn was no coward, but the landlord's words set his heart leaping. Who
+had laid the line of broken beer-bottles on the road? It had been done
+with a definite intention. Through his mind there flashed the thought
+of the policeman who had stood near his car just after the burglary.
+The policeman had seen the number beside the rear lamp. There was time
+for them to find out about the burglary and wire outlying stations. Was
+it possible——?</p>
+
+<p>His thoughts were disturbed by the return of the landlord. The man was
+frowning.</p>
+
+<p>"Who was this gentleman who was looking for me?" demanded Tommy Conn.
+"What was he like?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I couldn't tell you that, sir, seeing as he kept inside his car
+while he spoke to me. He druv up and asked if you had called here."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know it was me he wanted?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, sir, he told me the number of your car!"</p>
+
+<p>"What was his name?"</p>
+
+<p>"He didn't give one, sir. Just said it was urgent for him to see you;
+and then he asked for half a dozen bottles of beer. He said he'd make
+sure of gettin' you, if you hadn't come this length by that time."</p>
+
+<p>"What time was that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Barely half an hour ago. He said you would be on the road somewhere.
+He asked me to keep you if he patrolled the road towards Winchester."</p>
+
+<p>"Asked you to keep me, did he?"</p>
+
+<p>"That he did."</p>
+
+<p>"And you intend to do it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, he said he'd come back to see if you'd arrived. I fancy
+he laid them broken beer-bottles up there to puncture your tyres. He
+laughed funny when he bought the beer-bottles, sayin' as how they would
+make sure you called here. His joke, maybe; but if other motorists find
+it out I'll get into trouble, sure as fate. You can't blame me for the
+burst tyre, sir, can you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no. Is my supper ready?"</p>
+
+<p>The landlord bustled off to inquire. Tommy Conn crouched beside the
+wheel, thinking hard. There was only one explanation. The policeman
+in London had noted the number of his car. The burglary had been
+discovered. The telephone wires had been working. It was the police,
+beyond a doubt, who were after him. Who but a policeman would use the
+word "patrolled"? It was a local detective who had been sent out to
+intercept him. The landlord had been asked to "keep" him. That was a
+localism for "detain." And the broken beer-bottles on the road—that
+was a mean trick to stop him, a dodge to block his path.</p>
+
+<p>"They haven't got me yet," muttered Conn between his teeth.</p>
+
+<p>He worked feverishly, unscrewing the nuts and bolts. He had the spare
+wheel almost fitted when the landlord came back again.</p>
+
+<p>"Your supper's ready, sir. Just come upstairs for a wash first.
+Bathroom is first to the right on the landing."</p>
+
+<p>"All right."</p>
+
+<p>"Can I give you a hand?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Leave me alone. I can manage."</p>
+
+<p>The landlord went indoors—hesitatingly, as it seemed to Tommy Conn.
+The latter had made up his mind. He would give them the slip yet. His
+car was a fast one. He knew the main roads. The route had been well
+planned.</p>
+
+<p>When the wheel was fixed he pushed the car out to the front of the inn,
+mounted the seat, and started. He did not look back, though he heard
+the landlord calling something after him. The answer Tommy Conn gave to
+the shout was to give the car more speed. He whirled out to the main
+road and let her go. Speed limits had no terrors for him now.</p>
+
+<p>He had not covered a mile when he was aware that another car was
+rushing towards him. There were no headlights on his approaching car,
+but the lamps gleamed brightly—too brightly. Conn glanced at his
+speedometer. He was going at thirty miles per hour. He opened up, and
+saw the indicator move to thirty-five, then forty, then fifty. More
+than that he dared not venture on the dark road, which was not wide.</p>
+
+<p>As the two cars came near each other Tommy Conn saw a head pushed out
+of the window behind the driver. He smiled to himself. It was a hired
+car of the taxicab type—just the kind of car the police used. He had a
+glimpse of a white face and waving arms thrust out from the window. A
+voice roared something at him. He did not heed. In a flash and a roar
+he was past and away.</p>
+
+<p>He sat grimly at the wheel for several miles. He whirled past cottages
+by the roadside. He saw a policeman's lamp in the middle of the road
+ahead. This was one of the famous spots where the police had a trap. He
+took no notice of the warning winking of the policeman's flashlamp. He
+hurled his car at the darkness. The policeman leaped aside just in time.</p>
+
+<p>Through more than one village he swept, reducing his speed only
+at corners. When he was on the stretch he let the car go at her
+utmost—faster than an express train. Once he was compelled to stop
+altogether. He had reached a level crossing, and the gates were against
+him. He sat in the panting car grinding his teeth. Minute after minute
+passed. He rose and looked back. A car was coming on his heels. He
+recognised the lamps as those of the car he had already passed. The
+driver had turned and was chasing him.</p>
+
+<p>The desperate resolve to charge the gates of the level crossing was
+in Conn's mind when he heard the rumble of a train. It came sweeping
+round the bend and roared between the gates. Conn glanced behind once
+more. The pursuing car was within a hundred yards of him. He pressed
+his hand on his hooter, to stir the signalman in the box above him. The
+signalman looked out, saw him, waved his hand, and nodded. A moment
+later the level-crossing gates began to move. Conn's car was moving as
+soon as the gates.</p>
+
+<p>He had bumped over the railroad track and was gathering speed when he
+heard a voice shouting to him. The cry came indistinctly above the
+running of his engine:</p>
+
+<p>"Stop! Conn! Stop!"</p>
+
+<p>Tommy did not even turn his head. Was it likely that he would allow
+himself to be arrested when there was still a chance of escape?</p>
+
+<p>The two-seater bounded forward into the night. Only once did Tommy
+Conn glance behind. He saw the car still pursuing him, but he was
+gaining ground slowly. He had underestimated the going power of the
+taxicab behind. It hung on to his trail doggedly, its hooter constantly
+sounding a call to him to stop.</p>
+
+<p>Tommy Conn realised that he must do more than run away from his
+pursuer. The lights of Winchester were in the distance, but he dared
+not fly through the town. For all he knew there might be other cars
+there ready to block his path, or to take up the chase. He resolved to
+skirt the city, keeping to the open roads. His task now became one not
+only of straight running flight. He had to employ cunning as well as
+fleetness.</p>
+
+<p>First he put on as much speed as the car was capable of. This had to
+be done carefully, for the night was dark. He was constantly switching
+his lights on and off. He turned up side-roads which were strange to
+him. He took chances that no ordinary driver would have taken. He had
+to take them. There was no alternative save the arrest that was on his
+heels.</p>
+
+<p>In one of these side-roads he was almost shaken out of his seat. The
+car bumped over large rocks, over mounds of earth. A flash of his
+headlights told him that he had run into a new road; about him were
+heaps of stones, barrels containing tar, and mounds of gravel. He
+glanced over his shoulder—cautiously this time. The car was still
+pursuing, but it was some distance away. Now was the time for a final
+act. Tommy Conn drew his car into the hedge, switched out the lights,
+and dismounted.</p>
+
+<p>He went round and put out the tail-light. He stopped his engine. The
+darkness around him was intense. His car was almost hidden by a high
+line of bushes. He gritted his teeth and ran towards a pile of stones
+and rubble.</p>
+
+<p>There was murder in Tommy Conn's brain at that moment. It was his only
+chance of getting a fresh start. He had but one thought, and that was
+to escape arrest. If only he could gain Eckhardt's yacht at Southampton
+he would be free. Eckhardt and he were going over to France together.
+The idea had been that Conn would return to London as soon as he
+received his fee; now he saw that he must do something which would keep
+him away from London. He did not mind that. With three thousand pounds
+he could get along in a foreign country.</p>
+
+<p>Besides, it was either his freedom or—this arrest, this pursuing fate
+that was driving him to desperation. The police had always been his
+foes. He did not hesitate.</p>
+
+<p>He rolled a barrel of tar into the centre of the roadway. He lifted
+large blocks of stones, intended to line the edge of the footpath, and
+dragged them over also. He threw boulders beside them. Already he had
+piled a heap beside the barrel when he heard the hum of the car. It was
+turning into the new roadway.</p>
+
+<p>Tommy Conn ran back to the cover of his hedge. He crouched there while
+the pursuing car came up the road at thirty miles an hour. He heard the
+driver loosen up to a greater speed. Then he heard the shock.</p>
+
+<p>It was like the explosion of a bomb. What damage was done Conn could
+not guess. He did not care. He heard the crash, listened to the
+splintering of glass and wood, the sudden scream of bursting metal,
+heard the report of the engine, and saw a tongue of flame shoot up into
+the air. Simultaneously with the explosion, flames burst out around the
+doomed vehicle.</p>
+
+<p>Tommy Conn was in the seat of his own car by this time. He was gone by
+the time the tumult died down. Looking back, he saw a figure outlined
+against the furnace; then he turned his head, grinning to himself. He
+had checked his pursuers decisively. He did not look back any more.</p>
+
+<p>Less than an hour later he drove steadily, and well within the
+speed limit, into Southampton. Dawn was coming. He had changed the
+number-plate of his car again, and now it bore the proper registration.
+He garaged the car in town, giving the name of Eckhardt for the
+receipt, took his sack of loot from its hiding-place, and walked
+towards the docks.</p>
+
+<p>Had the car belonged to him, Tommy Conn would have plunged it into
+the sea, or sunk it in a river, so that all traces of it would have
+been lost. In garaging it he was not risking himself. His brain was
+one divided into two compartments. In one he thought of what he was
+receiving; in the other of what he was giving. He had agreed to accept
+his fee for the burglary. The risk of the chase was not included in the
+bargain, therefore the risk lay with Eckhardt. It was up to Eckhardt to
+instruct the man he had engaged for the return journey how to get the
+car back to London. Since Conn was delivering the goods as promised, he
+had carried out his part of the agreement. Eckhardt never gave anything
+for nothing. Why should he?</p>
+
+<p>He found the boat lying near the steps of one of the docks, as he had
+expected, and he went on board. A seaman was swabbing the deck. He
+saluted Conn.</p>
+
+<p>"You're the gentleman from London we're waiting for, I suppose," he
+said. "I'm ready to move as soon as Mr. Eckhardt gets the clearance
+papers."</p>
+
+<p>"He can get them as quick as he likes for me," replied Conn with a
+smile. "I'm dog-tired. Show me where I can sleep."</p>
+
+<p>He was given a small, poky cabin, along one side of which was a berth.
+He shut the door, put his sack on a table, and turned in at once.</p>
+
+<p>He woke with the sunlight streaming through the porthole. He was
+conscious that he was not alone. A man was standing by his bunk.</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry to wake you, but I came to inquire about the garaging of Mr.
+Eckhardt's car."</p>
+
+<p>"All right, I know. What time is it? Nearly midday. I'll give you the
+receipt for the car. You're the one to take it back to London for
+Eckhardt, aren't you?"</p>
+
+<p>The man took the receipt, and was looking at it as Conn climbed to the
+floor, stifling a yawn.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll give you a tip, mate," Conn said suddenly. "Be careful on the
+return. I had a rough trip down, but I beat 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"Beat who?"</p>
+
+<p>"The cops. Oh, I'm not going back to London for a bit, I tell you.
+They laid broken beer-bottles on the road to stop me. One tyre was
+punctured, but I put on the spare wheel and got away. Then they chased
+me, so I built a pile of rock in the middle of the road, and their car
+charged it and blew up. We'd better get away. Isn't this boat moving
+yet?"</p>
+
+<p>"What's all the stuff in the sack?" asked the other.</p>
+
+<p>"That's the loot for Eckhardt——"</p>
+
+<p>Tommy Conn stopped and peered into the face of the stranger. Something
+in the man's eyes glimmered.</p>
+
+<p>"What's it got to do with you?" he challenged.</p>
+
+<p>"A lot. I am a police officer."</p>
+
+<p>Conn gasped, and fell back a pace.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Eckhardt?" he cried. "Has he squealed?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Eckhardt didn't squeal. But what you've just told me links things
+up."</p>
+
+<p>"Links what up?"</p>
+
+<p>"A few things that puzzled me. Last night I called here to request
+Eckhardt to come to the police station. We knew he had hired this boat.
+Instead of calling, he went ashore and hired a car to go inland. And
+then, when we found his own car garaged this morning——"</p>
+
+<p>"He's bolted! Saved his own skin!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he tried to save yours, evidently. The driver of the car
+Eckhardt hired tells me it was Eckhardt who strewed the broken bottles
+on the road."</p>
+
+<p>"What's this?" demanded Conn hoarsely.</p>
+
+<p>"The driver of the car has made a statement. He says Eckhardt was
+chasing his own car, trying to stop it from coming down. He must have
+been frightened by the request to call at the police station. He kept
+following his own car until they ran into the obstruction. Luckily the
+driver wasn't hurt, but Eckhardt was inside the vehicle and hadn't a
+chance. He was killed. As you've stated that you drove that car, you'll
+be charged with the affair. Your name is Cohen, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"My name is Conn," gasped that individual. "I didn't guess—tell me,
+what were you charging Eckhardt with?"</p>
+
+<p>"We weren't charging him with anything," replied the officer. "We
+merely wanted him to sign the clearance papers to let this boat sail.
+Hold out your wrists. I advise you not to say anything until I have
+gone through this sack and examined the contents."</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>"And that," said the Governor, "was the reason Tommy Conn and Eckhardt
+were unable to help in the defence of Bill Hemsey, as it was also the
+reason for the sudden and desirable termination of the rivalry between
+Conn and his friend Billiter, the clever criminal who boasted that he
+always erected a perfect defence. Each, as I have said, was of the
+opinion that his own particular method was the best. Alas, is there
+ever a best in crime?"</p>
+
+<p>"Billiter seems to have proved it," said the visitor with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"And yet," replied the Governor, "there is an answer to your theory
+even there. The answer will be found in the twelfth cell in the row.
+I have Joseph Billiter under lock and key at this moment, and I shall
+tell you at once how he arrived at that position."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_TWELFTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE TWELFTH CELL</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>I have already decided (continued the Governor), and I think you will
+agree with me, that Conn's place is among the Intelligents. But I am
+going to put Joseph Billiter into the class above that. He is certainly
+one of the Intellectuals. I have more than one reason for coming to
+this decision.</p>
+
+<p>Joseph Billiter was a student at one time at a public school. He was
+intended by his parents for one of the professions, but his whole
+inclinations were in the direction of engineering and mechanics. He
+went to one of the big universities, took honours in his examinations,
+and then came to London to seek a career. He became a teacher in a
+school demonstrating the sciences. At one of his lectures he stated
+that it was possible to defy any apparatus that civilisation had ever
+erected, or could erect, to protect itself against criminals.</p>
+
+<p>That lecture was widely quoted and commented upon. The result was that
+one of the biggest firms of safe-makers in the country offered to stake
+a certain sum of money that it was impossible to enter one of their
+safes within a given space of time. Frankly, I believe the offer was
+made in order to calm the unrest that had been caused in financial
+circles by Billiter's declaration. It was felt that his remarks might
+tempt the criminal fraternity to increase their activities, and,
+in any case, it was stated over more than one conference-table that
+Billiter had been most indiscreet in telling openly what had been
+feared privately. Really the blame, perhaps, ought to have been put on
+the newspapers who gave prominence to his challenge; but these things
+are so complicated, and their threads run under and about so many
+interests, that it is difficult to trace blame, or to define what a man
+may or may not declare.</p>
+
+<p>Briefly, then, it was admitted in inner circles that if what Joseph
+Billiter had said was true, it would be a bad thing for the safe-making
+industry; and, on the other hand, the safe-makers would not sit down
+to such a challenge, which meant loss of business and lack of faith
+in their wares. You observe how commerce is delicately balanced, and
+how even a lecture may cause a flutter in finance! At this stage the
+newspaper which had given most prominence to the lecture conceived
+the idea of staging a test. It was a great idea that came to the news
+editor of the journal in question. He was not a rich man.</p>
+
+<p>The safe-makers were approached. Joseph Billiter was approached. The
+test was arranged, but there was one condition imposed by all the
+clients of the safe-makers. These clients included firms on the Stock
+Exchange, jewellers in the West End, even banks in the city. They
+combined in protesting against the test unless it was made in secret.
+After many discussions this was agreed to. And all the readers of the
+newspaper ever heard of the affair, in spite of their optimism and
+their hope of seeing photographs of the scientist at work as a burglar,
+was a small paragraph which stated that the test had taken place and
+that its results were "satisfactory."</p>
+
+<p>The truth was that its results were satisfactory to only one of the
+parties. That one was Joseph Billiter. He had cut through the strongest
+safe made as if it were cheese.</p>
+
+<p>How had he done this? you may ask. Simply enough. It is a scientific
+fact that any safe made by heat can be destroyed by a greater heat. And
+after he had bored his way into that safe he gave the small company
+another lecture, in which he made one admission. It was to the effect
+that the only place that was burglar-proof was a specially built bank
+vault, and then it beat the average burglar because it had several
+doors and an outside gate, and to get through these required time.
+In reality, it was time that beat the criminal, not the actual vault
+itself.</p>
+
+<p>Now, the safe-breaker is certainly the most efficient of all criminals.
+One cannot be a safe-breaker unless one possesses patience, ingenuity,
+knowledge. Billiter demonstrated several methods. He used a powerful
+electric drill, operating it by tapping the cable in the building and
+showing how a modern burglar could thus add insult to injury if he knew
+his business. Then he used an oxy-acetylene burner. These burners give
+an intensity of heat of 3,000 degrees Centigrade—sufficient to cut
+through the hardest steel as if it were butter. The drawback to this
+method is the transportation of the oxygen and acetylene cylinders
+needed.</p>
+
+<p>There was, again, the dynamite and nitro-glycerine method which he
+showed, and he gave the spectators much information that was new even
+to the police, representatives of whom were also present. He showed
+how, by boiling several sticks of dynamite for a certain time, the
+"grease," as it is called in the profession, is prepared. This "grease"
+is actually the stuff used so that there will not be too much noise. It
+can be carried to the scene of operation in a bottle, and, after a hole
+is drilled in the safe, it is filled with this "grease," covered with
+soap, and a fuse is inserted.</p>
+
+<p>Joseph Billiter's demonstrations were very conclusive, and proved what
+the police have known for many years, namely, that the safe-breaker is
+the very top-notch man of crime. But success went to his head. He was
+still young, and he was very conceited, while he was very able. We do
+not know exactly what incident proved the downfall of Billiter. I fancy
+it was a woman, or women. It may have been wine, but that was not his
+failing originally. I seem to remember that he got tied up with a fast
+set up West, a set that frequented night-clubs and cabaret dancers'
+haunts. At any rate, he was discharged from his post. He did not get
+another.</p>
+
+<p>For a time he disappeared from this country. It was said that he went
+to America; but one thing is certain; when he was next heard of he had
+turned crook. It is more than likely that he adopted this profession
+when he was abroad, for he felt very bitter at his discharge, and
+constantly declared that if Society would not give him the opportunity
+to live he would have his revenge—a sort of Bolshevik theory of
+injustice and injury turned to rebellion.</p>
+
+<p>There were several safes burgled in and around London that caused
+the police to suspect a master craftsman such as he could be. He was
+shadowed, watched, suspected, but he was never caught red-handed. He
+always had an alibi, always a perfect defence. But everything pointed
+to suspicion of him. He married a girl who lived with crooks long
+before he became a criminal—that is, lived among them and knew their
+ways and their works. She was one of his assets.</p>
+
+<p>Carney, the detective whose duty it was to investigate these
+burglaries, was convinced that they were the work of Billiter and no
+other. This belief almost became an obsession. He tried time after time
+to catch Billiter. He had him questioned; he questioned the people who
+supported his alibis; he kept on his trail; but he was always defeated.
+Billiter never seemed to make a mistake.</p>
+
+<p>One evening Billiter went out on what he anticipated would be one of
+his best raids. It was a jeweller's shop within a hundred yards of
+Charing Cross. To see how he worked, let us observe him coming up from
+the cellar where the safe of his firm was kept.</p>
+
+<p>The job had been done, and Joseph Billiter crept up the stone steps.
+The goods he had stolen were in his pockets and in the special belt
+strapped round his waist. He had placed over a hundred gold watches in
+this belt, in little compartments, every one worth a considerable sum,
+for he never took cheap goods. In his pockets were pearls, pendants,
+rings, brooches, necklaces. Taking him as he stood he was, at that
+moment, worth a few thousands of pounds sterling.</p>
+
+<p>He closed the trap-door gently, and, stooping low, crossed the shop
+floor and made his way upstairs to the next storey. All was dark here.
+The single light which cast a dim glow through the shop on the ground
+floor had been his one danger, for from the street it was just possible
+that an inquiring policeman might peer through the slit in the iron
+shutter at exactly the moment Joseph was to be seen. Yet, even then, he
+would not have identified Billiter; but he would have raised an alarm.
+This passage from the cellar trap-door to the stairs leading aloft was
+the one risk Billiter faced.</p>
+
+<p>As will be understood, the opening of the safe was not, to such an
+expert craftsman as himself, a real risk. He had made no noise, and he
+wore rubber gloves, which were thin and did not hamper his fingers
+as ordinary gloves might. There was also another advantage of rubber
+gloves. Some of the owners of safes had lately taken to leaving live
+electric wires in positions so that a burglar might be tempted to grasp
+them, and get shocks that would throw him into a state of panic. It
+would not, of course, kill him; but to a man like Billiter all these
+things were child's play. He knew how to evade such traps as well as
+the best.</p>
+
+<p>Having negotiated the space between the cellar and the staircase,
+Billiter had still much farther to go. He never rushed. Standing in
+the darkness that enveloped the upper showroom and the offices of the
+firm, he listened intently. From the Strand came the distinct hum of
+taxicabs and the occasional scream of their hooters. The buses were
+thundering past. In a short time the streets would be crammed with the
+crowds coming from the theatres, and, by joining these crowds, Billiter
+had planned to make his escape without observation. For the present
+he was not merely listening to the traffic. He was anxious to hear if
+the policeman on the beat had seen him as he crossed the ground floor
+downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>He thought he had heard a footstep under the back window. He tiptoed
+over to the window-sill and peered down obliquely. Yes, there was
+someone underneath. Had the policeman been watching? He prepared for
+flight.</p>
+
+<p>Billiter was not afraid that he had been recognised, for he still wore
+the mask he had donned when he entered the premises. Nor was he afraid
+of being caught. His entrance had been by a way that was anything but
+direct. An ordinary burglar would have come into the shop by the back
+door, or by the side window. A very daring one might have bored his
+way through the wall from the premises next door, which were under
+repair at the time. But Joseph Billiter was not an ordinary burglar,
+even if he was a daring one. He had come to the store by a circuitous
+route, and he was making his exit the same way—a route that proved his
+superiority over usual methods.</p>
+
+<p>It was because he had entered in this round-about fashion that he did
+not fear capture. A policeman, seeing an intruder, would go to the back
+door; he would call a colleague or two, and they would block likely
+exits before they entered to search. But by that time Billiter would be
+gone, without leaving a single clue for them to follow.</p>
+
+<p>He moved back from the window and noiselessly opened a door that led
+to the top floor. He closed the door after him, locking it with one of
+his skeleton keys. He went up the narrow staircase without a sound. He
+was now in the workshop of the store, a small apartment in which were
+several benches, polishing wheels, and racks littered with the repair
+jobs of the firm. This room was really an attic, with one dormer window
+leading to the tiles. Billiter had left the dormer window open when he
+entered. He now made his exit by it, and pulled it down slowly as he
+lay with his feet braced against the coping-stone.</p>
+
+<p>He crawled for some distance along the coping on his hands and knees
+until he reached a flat roof, in the middle of which a square glass
+studio was built. He was now two doors away from the jewellery shop.
+Once more his long skeleton key went to work in the lock of the door.
+He slipped into the studio, once more locking the door behind him.</p>
+
+<p>He knew quite well where he was; he had studied every yard of the
+way he had travelled. He was just about to leave the studio by going
+downstairs when he stopped and drew back. Someone was coming up.</p>
+
+<p>He retreated behind a large piece of furniture and pulled a small
+revolver from his pocket. He had never used his gun on any of his
+burglarious expeditions, but he always carried it, nevertheless. He did
+not want to kill; but a gun was always handy to intimidate, to menace,
+to scare. He told himself that all he needed to do was to put the fear
+of death into whomsoever was coming up to the room, manœuvre towards
+the door, and dash out, locking it from the outside. It was a simple
+enough plan; such a one had served him previously. As he crouched
+behind the furniture the opposite door of the studio opened, there was
+a faint "click," and the room was flooded with light.</p>
+
+<p>"Put out that light!"</p>
+
+<p>Billiter's order whipped across the apartment like the crack of a whip.
+By the door stood a man in his shirt-sleeves, his hands wet, as if he
+had been washing them. Billiter slid from behind the piece of furniture.</p>
+
+<p>He knew the room quite well. He saw around the shelves were several
+bottles and jars; pictures were hung on the walls, large and small
+photographs. From the centre of the ceiling a large, powerful arc lamp
+was suspended, but this was not the light that was illuminating the
+studio. The arc lamp was controlled by a hanging pear-switch, the other
+by a switch on the wall next the door.</p>
+
+<p>The man in the shirt-sleeves was standing on the threshold, startled
+and hesitating. The sight of a masked burglar had, for the moment,
+unnerved him.</p>
+
+<p>"Put out that light!"</p>
+
+<p>This time Billiter's revolver was raised. The man obeyed instinctively,
+without a word; and as the light was extinguished another bored a small
+circle through the darkness and fell on the figure by the door. This
+second light came from an electric torch which Billiter held in his
+left hand.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you doing here?" demanded the man at the door. "This
+studio——"</p>
+
+<p>"Cut that out! Step over here and I won't harm you!"</p>
+
+<p>Billiter jerked his torch in the direction he wished the man to walk;
+but just then the other seemed to overcome his surprise and fright.
+He stooped, and raised the first thing that came to his hand and
+threw it with all his force at the gleaming torch. What he threw was
+inoffensive enough. It was a cushion taken from a chair near the door;
+but it caught Billiter full in the face, making him drop his torch and
+bringing an oath to his lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't move!" he cried swiftly. "If you make a step I'll shoot!"</p>
+
+<p>The warning halted the man by the door. He did not see, in the gloom,
+that his missile had torn the mask from Billiter's face just then; but
+he saw it a moment later, when Billiter stooped to regain his torch,
+the light of which, as he lifted it, suddenly flashed across his
+features.</p>
+
+<p>"Stand away from that door!" roared Billiter harshly.</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke he threw the torchlight full on the man once more, jerking
+it commandingly. He did not want to shoot, angry though he was. He knew
+the consequences of shooting, and he shrank from murder; besides, the
+noise of the shot might disturb others. Billiter was playing his game
+of bluff, of menace, confidently. He saw, by the changing expression on
+the man's face, that his mind was a prey to swift and changing emotions
+and ideas. But Billiter held the winning hand. If it came to a fight,
+he could always shoot; but he would shoot only to frighten.</p>
+
+<p>The man moved hesitatingly from the doorway. Billiter took a step
+towards it. It was like a game of draughts, each man taking a step,
+cat-like, watching his opponent, the one gliding towards the interior
+of the apartment, the other towards the exit.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the man seemed to lose his nerve, and ran forward to hide
+behind the heavy piece of furniture which was placed, easel-like, under
+the hanging arc lamp, and was covered by a dust sheet. Billiter knew
+then that he had won. The man was scared stiff. But a scared man may
+be dangerous, and as Billiter threw his torchlight on the spot he saw
+the man's hand go up as if to reach the pear-switch. Billiter aimed and
+fired at the hand.</p>
+
+<p>There was a smash of glass, a cry as one of the bottles on a distant
+shelf crashed down, and then a blinding flash filled the room. The
+glare made Billiter's eyes sting. He could no longer see things, but he
+dashed for the door, switching out his torch. He reached the door and
+closed it at his heels, and turned the key in the lock. Then he stood
+blinking in the darkness of the landing.</p>
+
+<p>"Some of his blinking chemicals," he muttered. "I hit his hand too.
+That will be a lesson to him not to try tricks. One thing, he never saw
+me properly, so he can't identify me."</p>
+
+<p>He went down the stairs, confident still, his eyes a little misty, but
+they soon cleared and he was able to see normally. He no longer feared
+pursuit, since he had locked the door behind him. He reached the ground
+floor, put his mask in his pocket, and went out.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes later he was in the Strand, one of the crowd that was
+moving along. He was safe. All he had to do now was to present an alibi
+with which to face the police.</p>
+
+<p>He knew they would make inquiries. He knew Carney would come to see
+him, as he always came. The same old things would be said, the same old
+questions asked and answered. He had begun to laugh at the suspicions
+the police had of him. He had grown used to being suspected. But
+suspicion is one thing and evidence is another. He never gave them
+evidence.</p>
+
+<p>In this case he had worked with his usual caution and luck. He
+reflected, as he walked along, that he had just fired the shot in
+time. The intruder had hoped to throw his big light on him; perhaps he
+had intended to attack as soon as the studio was lit up. The shot had
+prevented this, as it had also prevented any chance of his own identity
+being discovered.</p>
+
+<p>It had taken Billiter some time to work out this burglary. First he had
+observed the position of the store. He had never dreamed of entering it
+by its own doorways. He had observed the premises on either side. One
+was a small teashop of the kind that provides light suppers and quick
+lunches. It remained open until after the theatres closed, so that
+entrance could not possibly be made that way.</p>
+
+<p>Billiter found his means on the other side of the store. Next door
+to the jeweller's was a sweet-shop, with offices above. Next the
+sweet-shop was an outfitter's, occupying two floors. The third floor
+was used as a photographic studio—one of the kind where passport
+portraits are turned out in a hurry. Because this studio was erected on
+a flat roof Billiter chose it as his line of advance.</p>
+
+<p>He had visited the place to get information, as he pretended, about
+prices; but as he held the assistant in conversation his eyes were on
+the flat roof beyond the glass studio. He found out when the premises
+closed at night. Then he made his raid.</p>
+
+<p>The appearance of the photographer just when Billiter was making his
+escape was but one of the incidents that could not have been foreseen,
+a risk that had always to be taken; and it was because he was aware
+of such unexpected possibilities that Billiter carried his revolver.
+Without it he would have no advantage over an antagonist—a fatal
+condition for one whose great problem was always escape.</p>
+
+<p>Billiter did not loiter in the Strand. He mounted a bus at Aldwych and
+rode on the top eastwards. Just beyond the limits of the City proper
+he got off, and hurried to the destination where he desired to dispose
+of his loot—the house of a receiver of stolen property. A price was
+offered and accepted, and Billiter received the hard cash he wanted.
+He knew that in a few hours the jewellery would be dissected, the gold
+would be in the melting-pot, and all traces would have vanished.</p>
+
+<p>Having thus dealt with the proceeds of the robbery, the next step
+was to provide an alibi with which to face the police, and especially
+Carney, the man-hunter whom Billiter hated (and perhaps feared a little
+too) more than any other. You see, Carney, if not brilliant, was
+dogged. He had looked up Billiter's career, and knew his descent, step
+by step. That descent was curious, for not only had Billiter adopted
+the manner of criminals; he had adopted the speech of the ordinary East
+End crook, whose mentality he despised and whose habits he loathed.
+Indeed, it appeared that he was not only at war with Society, but was
+also annoyed at his own failings and weaknesses.</p>
+
+<p>In the present instance he had taken Carney into his calculations as
+usual, and had made provision for the detective's moves. He found
+everything set as he anticipated when he reached home, which he entered
+just before midnight. His wife was preparing a late supper, and in the
+mean sitting-room were several acquaintances. They greeted his arrival
+with eagerness.</p>
+
+<p>"Everything all right?" asked his wife, a heavy-featured woman who had
+once been pretty.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. What was the show like?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fair. We're newly home. Supper's ready."</p>
+
+<p>As they ate the meal, Billiter handed money to each. It was their pay,
+for they worked to his plans, ready to swear an alibi when asked.</p>
+
+<p>When his guests had gone, Billiter hid his tools and most of the money
+under the floorboards. His wife watched him curiously.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure everything's right, Joe?"</p>
+
+<p>"What's frightening you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Carney. The last time he was here he said he'd get you. He said you'd
+make a mistake some time."</p>
+
+<p>"Aw, Carney couldn't get me, nor anybody else, with the defence I've
+raised. Ain't we able to put forward plenty of witnesses? He wasn't
+on duty last night. I know his hours. Give me that half-ticket of the
+show."</p>
+
+<p>She handed over the torn portion of the entrance ticket to the theatre,
+which she had retained. He put it into his waistcoat pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't that proof?" he grinned. "Carney can't get over that. I'm going
+to bed. If he comes at all, he won't come before morning."</p>
+
+<p>His knowledge of police routine was sound; they had just finished
+breakfast, and Billiter was reading a newspaper, when a knock sounded
+on the door. Joseph glanced at his wife knowingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Let him in. I'll bet it's Carney."</p>
+
+<p>It was Carney, and with him was another man in plain clothes. They
+entered quietly, and Carney sat down on a chair facing Billiter.</p>
+
+<p>"There was a burglary in the Strand last night," he announced quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"I was just beginning to read about it in the paper," answered
+Billiter, glowering. "Go on, get the questions over. I know you've
+come to try to pin it on me."</p>
+
+<p>"It looks like your work, Billiter."</p>
+
+<p>"Aw, you've said that before about other things. It makes me tired. I
+suppose the cop on the beat saw a man, and you jumped to it that it was
+me, same as you have done before? And then I've to show you that it
+couldn't have been me. You've got a down on me, Carney, that's what."</p>
+
+<p>"The burglar last night got away with a lot of stuff," went on
+Carney, taking no notice of the indignation of Billiter. "He entered
+a jewellery store by crawling along the roof. As for the policeman on
+the beat, he didn't see anybody. But the burglar got clear away after
+shooting at a man who tried to stop him."</p>
+
+<p>"Humph!"</p>
+
+<p>Billiter was as cool as usual. He suppressed a smile. He had asked the
+question about the policeman on the beat as a feeler; he wanted to make
+sure if he had really been seen, or if he himself had guessed right in
+regard to the figure under the window in the yard. The answer relieved
+him immensely. He now knew that the figure under the window must have
+been that of the worker coming up to the studio.</p>
+
+<p>He folded the newspaper on his knees and faced Carney.</p>
+
+<p>"Well? Spit it out. You've been after me long enough."</p>
+
+<p>"I've always hoped to get you—you and your friends."</p>
+
+<p>"Keep on hoping, then."</p>
+
+<p>It was a jeer, but they knew each other well enough to dispense with
+formalities. The duel had begun again.</p>
+
+<p>Carney was a big man, heavy and rotund—a contrast to Billiter, who was
+wiry and agile. The detective seemed too deliberate for Billiter. He
+was on edge to get Carney away; he wanted to hurry the examination.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you come to prove that I did it?" he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you prove that you didn't?"</p>
+
+<p>"You bet. I'll give you an alibi that'll satisfy any magistrate."</p>
+
+<p>"In that case you will be able to tell me where you were between the
+hours of nine and eleven last evening. I'd like a statement."</p>
+
+<p>He made a motion to the plain-clothes man beside him, and the latter
+prepared to write in his note-book. Billiter felt amused. He had
+seen the same performance on previous occasions. It was always the
+same—questions and answers, then inquiries to prove the statements,
+and after that nothing happened. This time Billiter did not wait for
+the questions. He brought the torn theatre ticket from his waistcoat
+pocket and threw it on the table.</p>
+
+<p>"That'll tell you where I was."</p>
+
+<p>Carney looked at the ticket, examining it thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"You were at this theatre?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's what I'm telling you. Some friends were with me. I'll give you
+their names, if you like."</p>
+
+<p>"We'll take them down right away."</p>
+
+<p>The plain-clothes man wrote the names and addresses down as Billiter
+gave them. The latter's wife stood behind the writer, biting her lip
+as she watched his pencil glide across the paper. Carney looked up and
+caught her eye.</p>
+
+<p>"Were you with your husband at the theatre?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she snapped.</p>
+
+<p>Carney rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then turned to his colleague.</p>
+
+<p>"Better go along to these people right away and take their statements
+and signatures. Mrs. Billiter will go with you to direct you. And
+notify them to come to the station before midday."</p>
+
+<p>"Going to question them there?" snarled Billiter bitterly. "Maybe
+you'll want their finger-prints too. You officials give me a pain."</p>
+
+<p>He pulled out his pipe and began to fill it from a tobacco-jar held
+between his knees. His wife and the plain-clothes officer departed
+as he was striking a match. The first puff of smoke had just escaped
+Billiter's lips when Carney rose to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>"And now," he said, "I think you'd better be coming along."</p>
+
+<p>"Where to?"</p>
+
+<p>"The station."</p>
+
+<p>"Same old routine, Carney. I know all about it. I go there, and you
+write out a long rigmarole, and I sign. And then I walk out until the
+next time you get a hunch——"</p>
+
+<p>"Not this time, Billiter. You won't walk out this time."</p>
+
+<p>Billiter threw his match down with a gesture of protest.</p>
+
+<p>"You can't detain me," he cried. "You haven't got a charge, and I've
+given you a perfect alibi."</p>
+
+<p>"The alibi doesn't work on this occasion, Billiter. It is too perfect.
+Listen to me. The photographer's assistant who came back to the studio
+to develop some prints has given us a statement. The burglar tried
+to keep the studio in darkness so as to escape, but as he was making
+for the door he passed the screen usually used for portraits, and the
+assistant reached for the hanging switch that controls the camera."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" cried Billiter.</p>
+
+<p>"The result was that a flashlight picture of the room was taken, and we
+have a portrait of the burglar with his mask down about his neck. Here
+it is."</p>
+
+<p>He threw on the table a large print, in which Joseph Billiter was shown
+in the very act of firing his revolver.</p>
+
+<p>"As for the alibi your friends helped you to make up," went on Carney,
+"I expected that defence, as usual, from you, but I'll rope them in on
+a charge of making false declarations. Now will you come quietly?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll come," said Billiter hoarsely. "You've got me at last, Carney."</p>
+
+<p>And Carney marched him off.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>The Governor paused, and glanced at his visitor.</p>
+
+<p>"I daresay," he remarked, "you have noticed how events of importance
+sometimes have a way of treading on each other's heels, so to speak.
+It was while he was making arrangements at the police station for the
+disposal of Joseph Billiter that Carney came into touch with the last
+case that interested the celebrated Dr. Caffyn, criminologist and
+pathologist. It was he who had so often advanced his theory of a cure
+for murder——"</p>
+
+<p>"A cure?" interrupted the visitor.</p>
+
+<p>"That is what Dr. Caffyn called it. A case had just cropped up that
+enabled him to apply his tests finally in front of Carney, who, as
+you know, was opposed to theories. It was a curious case, and baffled
+investigators greatly."</p>
+
+<p>"Did Dr. Caffyn find a cure?" asked the visitor scornfully.</p>
+
+<p>"The best way to answer that question is to show you how Dr. Caffyn
+arrived at the answer; and this I intend to do right away."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_THIRTEENTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE THIRTEENTH CELL</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Having refreshed himself from the glass at his elbow, the Governor
+then began the story of the occupant of the thirteenth cell, while his
+visitor, beyond a glance at the clock, made no attempt to interrupt.
+The fact was that the visitor found this eccentric prison official very
+entertaining.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>There is no doubt (said the Governor) that, of all crimes, murder is
+at once the most interesting and the most repellent. On the average we
+have about one hundred and fifty every year in Britain, and, though
+this may seem a large number, it is small compared with the record of
+some American cities—Chicago, for instance—where the average is about
+one per day. We are also in the happier position, if you will allow
+me to say so—I speak from the point of view of a representative of
+the law—of having a much smaller number of murders unsolved. Indeed,
+there are very few in Britain that have not been brought home to the
+culprits——</p>
+
+<p>"I could name a few," cried the visitor triumphantly. "Since the year
+1912 there has been a growing list of undiscovered killers, and most of
+them were killers of women. Take the case, in 1919, of Mrs. Ridgley,
+of Hitchin; of Miss Nellie Rault, at Bedford, a few months later; of
+Nurse Shore in a Hastings train the following year; of Mrs. Buxton,
+at Chelsea, shortly afterwards; of Henrietta Weightman, at Bushey, in
+1921; of Miss Lawn, at Cambridge, and Violet Mansfield, at Farnham,
+both the same year; and there are others—Mrs. Luard, at Sevenoaks;
+Emily Dimmock at Camden Town, Lily Templeton at Brixton, a child named
+Bailes at the Elephant and Castle, the boy Willie Starchfield. There's
+a list to go on with."</p>
+
+<p>I realise (replied the Governor) that you have taken great interest in
+those crimes to have them so glibly on your tongue, but it may be that
+there were exceptional circumstances at work in those instances which
+you do not take into account. I do not claim that the police, and the
+law, are always flawless and that they are without failure. But what
+have you proved? That out of, say one hundred and fifty, one person
+has succeeded in escaping. I think you have even here over-estimated
+the chances of escape, slender though they are on your own showing;
+but if I were to give you proof of this I might incur the penalty of
+infringing the Act which binds Governors, as well as the humblest of
+prison staffs, to secrecy in certain matters. I am not saying that such
+an Act is good, or that it is bad. I am a servant and carry out my
+orders.</p>
+
+<p>As for those who have escaped, I could mention a dozen for your one
+of those who, by all the laws of chance and calculation, ought to
+have escaped, but did not. The man Bennett, who murdered his wife on
+Yarmouth sands a score or so years ago, was convicted because of a
+gold chain which he gave away to a girl in a moment of forgetfulness.
+Bodart, the Frenchman, who murdered a widow, was discovered because of
+the grease spot on his clothes, the dripping of a candle. The finding
+of a few brads was the cause of the conviction of a boot repairer named
+Lafargue, who murdered Madame du Bois. The famous Professor Webster
+was sent to the scaffold because he forgot that, while he might burn
+to ashes the body of his victim, Dr. Parkman, the latter's false teeth
+were made of a composition that resisted fire. Wainwright made a
+similar mistake when he tried to destroy traces of a murder by covering
+the body with chloride of lime, which preserves and does not destroy.
+The man who shot Mrs. Breaks at Blackpool had filed off the maker's
+name from the outside plate of the revolver, but did not know that the
+name was also printed on the backbone inside. A child's claim to the
+ownership of a toy lantern was the cause of Fowler being hanged for the
+Muswell Hill crime. In Buckinghamshire a cobweb on a man's shoulder
+took him to the condemned cell.</p>
+
+<p>And what shall we say of those would-be assassins who, though they have
+thought out their schemes, have either erred at the crucial moment, or
+have been caught by a simple, unforeseen circumstance? I could tell
+you of cases wherein it might seem that the intended victims have a
+charm against violent deaths. The present King of Spain, who has come
+to London quite often, has a private collection of relics of incidents
+where he was saved from the assassin's murderous intent. Many monarchs
+have likewise escaped. Only recently we have had the most prominent man
+of Italy telling his friends, after an attempt on his life, that it was
+useless for enemies to try to kill him. What a faith!</p>
+
+<p>All this, of course, leads us back to the primary question: Why do men
+commit murder? It was this question that Dr. Caffyn had considered for
+many years. As a matter of fact, Dr. Caffyn was writing a treatise on
+the subject when the ringing of his telephone bell interrupted his
+labours. Detective Carney was at the other end of the wire, telling him
+that a murder had been committed.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Caffyn was a man of method, not one to be easily thrown from his
+well-trained habits; and he was training his only son, Dick, to walk in
+his own footsteps. Both father and son were fine specimens of men; both
+were surgeons, both were pathologists, but the son was sufficiently
+independent not to accept every theory put forward by the parent
+without himself being convinced of its accuracy.</p>
+
+<p>It was because he wished to put his theories to the test in front of
+his son that Dr. Caffyn was regretful that Richard was not present when
+the telephone message informed him of this new case.</p>
+
+<p>The first thing that Dr. Caffyn did after having received the message
+was to sit down again at his desk and add a few sentences to the
+treatise he was writing. The sentences seemed to be singularly
+appropriate. Here are the sentences which the doctor wrote on that
+occasion:</p>
+
+<p>"The answer to the question, why a man commits a murder, is to be found
+in the state of the man's mind. To understand this mental state we must
+analyse the mind's material counterpart—the brain. The problem becomes
+pathological. The lower forms of life are governed by instinct and
+rude emotion where self-control is practically absent. Self-control is
+gained by education."</p>
+
+<p>There Dr. Caffyn stopped. He then pressed an electric button on his
+desk and waited. The door of his study opened, and his man appeared on
+the threshold.</p>
+
+<p>"Jones, has Mr. Richard arrived yet?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir," replied the man, "but he is expected any minute for dinner."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall not be able to see him at dinner," said Dr. Caffyn, "but when
+he comes tell him that I hope to join him at the theatre. I am leaving
+a ticket for him in case I do not come back. There has been a murder
+and I am called away. You needn't wait up for us. We shall have supper
+in town. See that we are awakened early to-morrow, and that his things
+are packed. He is going to lecture at college to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>The man bowed and withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Caffyn fingered his watch-chain absently, his brows contracted. He
+had hoped to work much longer at the manuscript in development of his
+views on murder and the question of capital punishment. But he had to
+go where duty called, and in a few minutes he was walking rapidly along
+the street.</p>
+
+<p>Let me here point out that Dr. Caffyn had held for many years the
+position of perhaps the most famous pathologist in London. His
+knowledge was so great that he was retained by the authorities to aid
+them with his evidence. He had for years been on practically every kind
+of murder case as soon as the police. He had been called to examine
+murderers as well as their victims. At the trials his voice was the
+voice of authority. He was as steeped in the science of psychology in
+relation to crime as he was steeped in the pathological knowledge of
+it. To those who advocated the abolition of the death sentence Dr.
+Caffyn was an opponent whose scientific reasoning could not be answered.</p>
+
+<p>He was thinking of his manuscript when he reached the block of flats
+where this latest murder had been committed. It was a fashionable
+district, such as are becoming more and more common in London—blocks
+of flats with silent lifts to every floor and stairs carpeted with
+rich material. A policeman at the door saluted as Dr. Caffyn presented
+himself. He directed Dr. Caffyn to the flat where he was expected.</p>
+
+<p>The victim was a woman. She lay on her settee, her head thrown back and
+her rounded arms stretched limply over the upholstery. She had been a
+very pretty girl; was, indeed, still beautiful even in death. Her age
+was about twenty-five or twenty-six. A bullet had caught her square in
+the forehead.</p>
+
+<p>The weapon from which the bullet had been fired was in the hands of
+Carney, who stood on the other side of the settee. He was examining the
+revolver, which was one of service pattern.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Caffyn returned the greeting of Detective Carney with a curt nod.
+He was more interested in the dead woman than in the weapon with which
+she had been killed. A few drops of red stained her golden shaded
+semi-evening gown, turning the colour of the fabric to a strange and
+fascinating hue. Beyond a smear of blood half hidden by her wealth of
+bobbed hair there was nothing to mar her beauty. She had bled inwardly
+and had died at once.</p>
+
+<p>"We thought it was suicide at first, sir," said Carney, "but the
+finding of this revolver on the rug and a man's glove puts that out of
+court. It's murder."</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Caffyn nodded and slipped his sensitive fingers along the wrist of
+the dead woman. It was merely a formal matter. Her pulse had stopped
+when the bullet cut short her young life.</p>
+
+<p>"She has been dead for about an hour," said the doctor quietly. "Yes,
+it is murder. The shot was fired from the chair on the other side of
+the fireplace."</p>
+
+<p>There were no signs of a struggle, no agonising contortions of the
+victim's features. Her eyes were open, almost wide. The blue pupils
+were slightly turned upward, and seemed to express mild surprise. There
+was a hint of a smile on the well-moulded features. Her lips were
+parted, showing heavy traces of lipstick. Her teeth were white and
+dazzling. There were rings on her fingers. On her feet were a pair of
+small, green slippers, half buried in a thick woollen rug in front of
+the gas fire, which was burning.</p>
+
+<p>There she lay, retaining her attractiveness, her pose suggesting the
+audacity and daring which even death could not subdue.</p>
+
+<p>"Who was she?" asked Dr. Caffyn.</p>
+
+<p>"An actress—a chorus girl. Gladys Crieff," replied Carney. "She lived
+in this flat with a maid. She was due at the theatre this evening. It
+was the maid who gave the alarm."</p>
+
+<p>Carney gave his replies shortly because he did not want the specialist
+to begin theorising. He wanted to get on with the hunt for the
+criminal. He distrusted the intricacies of psychology and the
+conclusions of pathology. He got his men by team work, by inquiry, by
+elimination; which was the recognised method of the police.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a <i>crime passionnel</i>, some love affair that has ended
+disastrously, I suspect," said the doctor. "I fancy you will find it
+so, Carney."</p>
+
+<p>The officer was a little nettled at the swift conclusion.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not sure of that, sir. It may be that burglary is the cause. Of
+course, this girl could not afford to keep up a flat on her own. Chorus
+girls can't. But she was not an ordinary chorus girl. She had played
+parts, and was waiting to get a leading one in a new show."</p>
+
+<p>"You know her, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no. The maid told me, and I verified it on the telephone. Of
+course, I didn't spill the news that she was dead. Then there is
+something else. The maid says that this girl had a very expensive
+necklace and was intending to wear it to-night at the theatre. The case
+is here, but the necklace has gone. And I found a small gold watch on
+the staircase, which the murderer must have dropped on his way down.
+Further, a locket which she had round her neck lay on the settee beside
+her. The chain was broken as if it had been snatched from her. A tiny
+fragment of a photograph remained in the locket."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you have nothing very substantial as a clue?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, we'll manage on what we have, Dr. Caffyn. The maid, whom I have
+questioned, is a new one, and did not see the visitor—she was out
+shopping; but she says that when she returned she heard voices in the
+room, one of them being a man's. The maid had to go out again, but
+before she went out she listened, as maids do. She heard the man say
+that this dead girl would never belong to anyone but him. And this dead
+girl seemed to be soothing his temper."</p>
+
+<p>"Then the maid did not see the man?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, she had to go out again. When she came back the door was open and
+she saw—this. I examined the stairs and found a glove. The man left
+that. It is a rubber glove. There isn't a finger-print anywhere."</p>
+
+<p>"What about the revolver, Carney?"</p>
+
+<p>"A common service one. No prints on it."</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Caffyn was silent for a moment, looking at the dead woman. Her
+beauty was not the beauty of an intellectual woman. It was the beauty
+of physique.</p>
+
+<p>"Had she many friends, Carney?"</p>
+
+<p>"You mean men? They generally have. She was to be married soon, I know
+that. If she had other friends I'll soon round them up."</p>
+
+<p>"Not a vampire, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Most likely a butterfly, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Caffyn looked at his watch and began to button his coat.</p>
+
+<p>"When you find the murderer, Carney, I should like to see him as well,
+for observation. There are points of similarity in all murders which I
+have noticed. This man, I suspect, is some poor, unbalanced individual
+whose brain has been overturned by a flood of jealousy. That is, if he
+was the girl's friend. If he was a common burglar, he must also be a
+degenerate. Only such an one would kill a woman. A hidden hereditary
+instinct suddenly flashed out, and he shot her. Lack of self-control.
+Lack of the necessary education. Don't you think so?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't worry about that. He shot her, and I have to get him. To my
+thinking, education has little to do with murder."</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Caffyn raised his head and gazed piercingly at the detective who
+had dared to challenge his theories.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," he said, "I fancy you will agree with me later, Carney. In the
+meantime, if you have completed your examination, the body may be
+removed. I shall attend the mortuary later and let you have my report
+to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"Very good, doctor."</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Caffyn went out.</p>
+
+<p>It was too late to return to his home for dinner and too early to go to
+the theatre, so he decided to dine at his club.</p>
+
+<p>He dined alone, as was his custom at the club. He had a favourite seat
+by the window, and there he sat apart thinking over the crime. It
+seemed to prove to him once again that there was a cure for murder,
+just as there was a penalty for it.</p>
+
+<p>So absorbed was he in his reflections that he sat longer than he
+intended; but he decided to go and see one act of the play before
+returning to the mortuary and making the examination so that his
+report would be accurate. A great deal depended on his report. The
+counsel for the accused would scrutinise his wording, searching for a
+loose expression or a hesitating phrase. He would be in the witness-box
+to be questioned and to explain the nature and cause of death. From the
+witness-box he would see the prisoner in the dock.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Caffyn smiled grimly as he thought of this. It was interesting to
+him to note the expressions on the faces of prisoners while he gave his
+medical testimony. He watched their varying emotions, the functioning
+of their brains, as he destroyed the hypotheses which the defending
+counsel laboured to erect. As a scientist, Dr. Caffyn was never
+embarrassed by the frightfulness of crime. His interest was in studying
+the men who had committed the crimes. He studied them in their cells,
+from his stand in the witness-box, when they waited for the verdict;
+and he had given certificates of their deaths when they had paid the
+penalty.</p>
+
+<p>A taxicab drove him quickly to the theatre, where he met his son
+Richard. It was in the middle of an act when he arrived, but he did not
+hesitate to make his way to the empty stall. He and Richard nodded to
+each other, and then they turned to watch the play.</p>
+
+<p>Richard Caffyn was one of the rising young surgeons of the day, heading
+straight for a fame, as his colleagues agreed, that would make history
+in his profession. But, then, he had his father at his back, a father
+who was very proud of his son.</p>
+
+<p>When the curtain fell at the end of the act they sauntered out to the
+corridor to enjoy cigarettes. They had reached the doorway when a voice
+spoke at the father's elbow.</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry to bother you, doctor, but have you finished the examination?"</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Caffyn turned to see Carney at his side.</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet, Carney, but I'll give you the report to-night. I want you to
+meet my son Richard. I think you have heard of him."</p>
+
+<p>Carney shook hands with the young man, and they continued towards the
+bar. They sat down on a couch facing the counter.</p>
+
+<p>"Found your degenerate yet, Carney?" asked Dr. Caffyn.</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet, sir, but I'm hoping."</p>
+
+<p>The doctor turned to his son and explained the case in a few sentences.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know, Dick," he said smilingly, "Carney is too polite to say
+he doesn't agree with me, but I know he holds antagonistic theories to
+mine generally. But that, I fancy, comes of the discipline and routine
+of police methods. I was telling him that undoubtedly all murderers are
+degenerates. Look here, Carney, when you are hunting a man, one of the
+best rules is to get at what makes him a criminal—for the time being,
+of course."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir," replied Carney, "I have had some experience in hunting
+men, and I find all sorts of things make them bad; especially
+murderers. Fear, hate, love, lust, selfishness, greed—these are some,
+but there are others."</p>
+
+<p>"I agree, and yet I have a notion that a cure for murder may be found."</p>
+
+<p>"A cure?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, a cure. Dick, my boy, you know my theories. Now, take this murder
+to-night. I told Jones to tell you why I had been called away——"</p>
+
+<p>"He told me," replied Dick, who was looking absently towards the bar
+and listening to the orchestra. "Have you been trying to convert Carney
+to your point of view?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have, but it takes some doing. Let us go into it again, Carney. The
+reasons you have named are but the forces that convert the thought of
+murder into the act. We must get behind that. The murder-plan has its
+origin in pathology in most cases. In a few one finds it in psychology."</p>
+
+<p>"We do not deal in these sciences when we are after a man," said Carney
+doggedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps not. You represent the material side. I represent the other.
+Yet it is material in the end. The mind governs the brain. We have two
+brains, an upper and a lower. The upper functions in thought. The lower
+functions in emotions and instincts which require no thought. This
+lower brain is in every animal that has a skull. It is this brain which
+functions when men commit murder. Civilisation has developed the upper
+brain; and murderers are men whose upper brain is primitive. That is
+what I mean by a degenerate."</p>
+
+<p>"Does it matter much?" asked Carney.</p>
+
+<p>"It matters a great deal. It supplies the key to the great mystery as
+to why men commit murder."</p>
+
+<p>"How about your cure?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, the cure. It is pathological."</p>
+
+<p>The bell above the bar buzzed, signalling that the curtain was about to
+rise again, but the three men did not take notice of it.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not sure, father," said Richard Caffyn, "that I don't find sound
+sense in what Detective Carney says. Pathology can only apply to
+habitual criminals. Spasmodic acts are outside rules."</p>
+
+<p>The detective glanced at Dick and nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"My job is to get my man," he persisted. "I don't think we shall ever
+find a cure for murder, with all respect to your father's knowledge."</p>
+
+<p>"Tut, tut," cried Dr. Caffyn. "There you are again, ignoring all I
+desire you to observe! Pathology is the science of the nature, cause,
+and remedy of disease. Murder is disease. It is degeneracy. The causes
+of degeneracy are several—among which are debauchery, depravity,
+poverty."</p>
+
+<p>"Murderers are not always poor men," said the detective.</p>
+
+<p>"No, but they are always degenerates. They have reverted to the
+primitive type. The animalism of their forebears clings to them. Dick,
+you and I have talked this over——"</p>
+
+<p>"That is true, father, but still there is a lot in what the detective
+says. I cannot always agree with you, as you know. Let me put it this
+way."</p>
+
+<p>He turned and spread out his hand as if he were delivering a lecture at
+his hospital.</p>
+
+<p>"There are such things as uncontrollable impulses. Take the case
+of a mother who sacrifices herself to save her child. She does not
+think. It is her lower brain that is working—her instinct. She is not
+responsible, really, for the act, yet she is heroic——"</p>
+
+<p>"But, Dick——"</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a moment, father. I am trying to show that there is a force, or
+forces, against which we cannot fight. Pathology does not enter here.
+Psychology may. In any case, the law does not take much note of either,
+as Carney says. I could put up a good case for impulsive acts arising
+from instinctive and automatic feelings. Is a man responsible when
+urged to act under a wave of extreme emotion?"</p>
+
+<p>"The law says," replied Carney, "that acts are irresponsible only when
+a person does not know the nature or quality of those acts."</p>
+
+<p>"In that case, the best plan would be for a defence to put forward a
+suggestion of insanity. The truth is we are hard put to it to define
+responsibility. It is a tangle of conflicting emotions."</p>
+
+<p>He yawned and strolled towards the bar to get a match for his cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>"Dick will come round to my view after he has had experience," said the
+doctor to Carney, "and so will you. At present he does not distinguish
+between compulsive acts and obsessions, which are two different terms.
+They do not affect the result, however. Heredity—there you find the
+reason for most cases of degeneration. If we admit such arguments as my
+son has put forward we might as well abolish the death penalty."</p>
+
+<p>"As for me," retorted Carney, "I have seen cases where the death
+penalty might have been better set aside—and I say that though I
+brought such men to the cells."</p>
+
+<p>"There may be cases of persons who are utterly insane—raving
+lunatics—but for the others of man-kind the one law must remain.
+Society must be protected. I commend these views to you in the course
+of your labours—for instance, in the case of this girl who was shot
+this evening."</p>
+
+<p>Detective Carney was silent for a few moments.</p>
+
+<p>"What was your cure, doctor?" he asked quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"My cure for murder lies in the future generations. If a man commits a
+murder there is no proof that he may not commit another. There is only
+one way to deal with him. He must be removed—painlessly if you like,
+but effectively."</p>
+
+<p>The detective did not answer, and seemed to be pondering the
+standpoint of the specialist. The doctor went on.</p>
+
+<p>"If we remove evil environment and substitute education for ignorance
+we shall have no more murders. That is a pathological fact, and when
+you have found your man in this case——"</p>
+
+<p>"We'll find him, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. When the trial comes off I shall certainly use all my
+influence to oppose the torrent of sympathy which seems to go out at
+every recent case towards the criminal in this country. Think of the
+dead girl! Is it safe for the community that a man who deliberately
+took her life should live? Is it wise that he should be kept alive?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, there may be the plea of insanity——"</p>
+
+<p>"Bah, that has become a common plea! Murder by a proved maniac is an
+exception to the general rule. You know that as well as I do. The only
+safe cure for murder is to send the guilty into oblivion and educate
+the community."</p>
+
+<p>Detective Carney got to his feet, gnawing at his moustache. He had
+spent more time than he had expected.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going to remain until the play is over, sir?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that report!"</p>
+
+<p>"I really wanted to suggest, sir, that if you could let us have it
+immediately we should be obliged. I could get a taxi for you, right
+away. I was asked to see you about it and to suggest——"</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Caffyn sighed and nodded. He was a slave to duty.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. I'll have the taxi. Shall I dismiss it at the mortuary?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, sir, you could just keep it and bring your report to the station,
+where it is expected. I may be there when you arrive, as I have a call
+to make on this case."</p>
+
+<p>"All right, I'll tell my son."</p>
+
+<p>He went out with Carney, and the latter obtained a cab and sent the
+doctor off. As he rode to the mortuary, the doctor wondered if he had
+been wasting his breath on Carney; he was, at least, sure that the
+detective did not fully appreciate all he had been saying.</p>
+
+<p>The examination of the victim at the mortuary was not lengthy. When it
+was over Dr. Caffyn made his notes and ordered the driver to hurry to
+the police station.</p>
+
+<p>As he entered the reception-room, he saw Detective Carney standing with
+his back to the fire. A frown was on Carney's face.</p>
+
+<p>"There is the report, Carney," said the doctor. "What are you worried
+about? Have you been thinking over what I told you, or have you failed
+to get your man?"</p>
+
+<p>"We have got him, sir," replied Carney, coughing.</p>
+
+<p>"Got him? Congratulations. A degenerate, I'll wager, as I said. May
+I have a look at him—just a look, or a word, maybe, to support my
+theory? You promised."</p>
+
+<p>The detective nodded and led the way to the cells. As he was about to
+put the key into a door, the surgeon touched him on the shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"A <i>crime passionnel</i>—and a primitive brain, I suppose? Or perhaps a
+burglar of the base type?"</p>
+
+<p>"He has written a confession," said Carney, without looking at the
+doctor. "He shot her because she threw him over for another man."</p>
+
+<p>He swung the door open. The prisoner, his face buried in his hands, was
+huddled in a corner of the cell.</p>
+
+<p>He raised a haggard countenance to the visitors.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Caffyn looked into the face of his son.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_FOURTEENTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FOURTEENTH CELL</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>The visitor looked at the clock once more.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think," he said in a grave tone, "that in the recital of
+these stories, which I confess are full of interest and are the best I
+have ever heard, you are losing sight of the reason of my presence?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all. I have kept that constantly before me, I assure you,"
+smiled the Governor. "But to a man in my position the great matter is
+to cram into the limited time at his disposal as much of the work he
+most desires done before——"</p>
+
+<p>He stopped, and the visitor interpreted the wave of hand which the
+Governor made.</p>
+
+<p>"I understand," said the visitor. "To tell the truth, I shall not
+relish the business of killing you, but if you leave me no alternative,
+what can I do? I merely point out that time is slipping past rapidly.
+It is now some time after dawn—a while after, in fact. The limit I set
+you is within measurable distance."</p>
+
+<p>"Alas," said the Governor, "how true it is that time waits for no man!
+Let me repeat that I had for my object the desire to prove to you that
+criminals make mistakes in practically all cases. I have shown you how,
+in a selection of the most carefully planned and deliberately executed
+crimes, the unforeseen something gave the law-breakers away. But did
+you notice, in the case of the story I have just ended, that there is
+one point left in the air, so to speak—one item unexplained?"</p>
+
+<p>"I fancy I did. You mentioned that a necklace was missing from that
+chorus girl's flat. You did not say if young Caffyn had taken it. I
+thought it must have been one of his presents."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"I have the greatest pleasure in congratulating you on your
+observance," he said pleasantly. "The item I was compelled to leave
+unexplained was the disappearance of the necklace. Richard Caffyn did
+not take it, and the police hunted high and low for it. As a matter of
+fact, it had been stolen by Alfred Mushet."</p>
+
+<p>"Who is Alfred Mushet?" asked the visitor.</p>
+
+<p>"He is at present in the fourteenth cell, and he is there because he
+made one of the most curious mistakes ever heard of in crime. And
+so, though I observe that you are inclined to be impatient—which I
+perfectly understand—I do, in the words of the charming Scheherazade
+whose example I am following, humbly entreat you to listen to the queer
+history of Alfred Mushet. I promise that the time will not be wasted."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor then began in these terms:</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>One day, some weeks after the tragic death of Gladys Crieff, the
+actress, Alfred Mushet stood in the shop of Abe Hartz, a little
+be-spectacled Jew in the East End. Mushet was in a temper, and he did
+not disguise it.</p>
+
+<p>"It is no good denying anything," he cried fiercely. "You can't deny
+it. I left my attaché-case with you yesterday. You promised to look
+after it until I came back. Just you hand it over."</p>
+
+<p>"You 'ave called me many names without letting me eggsplain," answered
+Hartz mildly, as he clawed at his beard and gazed innocently through
+his thick spectacles. "It was not me that you gif your case to. You
+mus' come back."</p>
+
+<p>"I want it now, you old crook! I'm in a hurry. Don't finger your
+spectacles, but get a move on and look for my attaché-case!"</p>
+
+<p>"But I cannot see without my spectacles," smiled Hartz. "And even with
+them I cannot see your case. Go away and then come back——"</p>
+
+<p>"I will not come back. You hand the case over, or you'll be sorry."</p>
+
+<p>"But, my dear sir——"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't 'dear sir' me. I know your kind. And don't try any tricks with
+me."</p>
+
+<p>Hartz raised his hands and waved them in indignation.</p>
+
+<p>"What for it is that you insult me? If you think I want your case, you
+bring in a policeman, and to him I shall eggsplain——"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't need any cop to settle with you," flared Mushet. "I know why
+you are keeping it. I'll fix you for that, you dirty little Yid."</p>
+
+<p>And he picked up a counter weight and flung it at Hartz's head as he
+left the shop.</p>
+
+<p>He walked along the street biting his finger-nails and fuming
+internally.</p>
+
+<p>There is no doubt that Alfred Mushet was in an awkward predicament.
+In the attaché-case was the necklace which the police were seeking
+throughout London. How he had taken it was simple enough. He had been
+in the pit of the theatre one night and had seen it on the neck of
+Gladys Crieff, and he had made up his mind to steal it; and, by a
+remarkable chance, he had gone to the flat at the very time that Gladys
+Crieff was alone, waiting for the visit of Richard Caffyn. All this
+came out afterwards, of course.</p>
+
+<p>Mushet had watched the flat carefully. He had seen the maid go out on
+her shopping expedition. He had seen Richard Caffyn go up to the flat,
+and he had seen Caffyn leave. He followed at once, intending to make
+his raid. He had a skeleton key with which to open the door, but he had
+no need to use it. The door, as I have already mentioned, was open when
+the maid returned from her second shopping expedition. Caffyn had left
+it open, and Alfred Mushet had, between the departure of Caffyn and the
+return of the maid, entered and secured the necklace.</p>
+
+<p>He had seen the actress lying on the settee in front of the
+sitting-room fire. But he had thought she was resting, and he did
+not enter that room. He had found the necklace in the jewel-case on
+the dressing-table in the bedroom. It was a case of a swift raid and
+flight. I don't suppose it would have made any difference to him had he
+known that the girl was dead.</p>
+
+<p>But, once he had the necklace, he found that it was a difficult thing
+to hide. The police were seeking it everywhere. No dealer would handle
+it; no receiver would look at it until the hue and cry had died down.
+From place to place Mushet had taken it with him until he had borrowed
+enough money to take a run over to the Continent. But when he was
+getting his passport and making his arrangements he could not always
+carry the necklace in his possession, lest the police took it into
+their heads to suspect him. For this reason he had placed the necklace,
+inside the attaché-case, in the keeping of Hartz. He chose Hartz's
+place because Hartz did a quite respectable business in the pawnbroking
+line, and Mushet had pawned his watch and had asked Hartz to keep his
+case until he called for it the next day or so.</p>
+
+<p>It was a small shop in a mean thoroughfare. Above the door was the
+one word, <i>Hartz</i>, in faded letters, and the three golden globes that
+proclaimed the kind of business transacted. Mushet had never been
+across the threshold until he entered to sell his watch and leave his
+case. And now, having secured his passport, and with his ticket already
+purchased, he was held up because Hartz pretended that he could not
+find the case. It was a very annoying situation.</p>
+
+<p>Alfred Mushet had reckoned to be in Paris that night, and the more he
+thought over the situation the more he came to the conclusion that
+Hartz was trying on a piece of bluff. The barefaced way that Hartz had
+denied having received the case was exasperating. Mushet saw through
+the whole thing. The old rascal had opened the case, had seen the
+necklace, and had recognised it, and was either keeping it, or intended
+to hand it over to the police for the sake of the reward that had been
+offered for its recovery. Yes, Hartz was a wily one!</p>
+
+<p>If Hartz had been a regular receiver of stolen property, Mushet would
+have handled him differently than by merely threatening him; but
+Hartz was not a receiver. He was a hard old man who loaned money and
+bargained with all the cunning of his race. He had no friends locally.
+He was available for business at any hour. It was said that he never
+slept; he was always the same when his door bell rang. He was too mean,
+the neighbours declared, to leave his shop on any pretext. If he ever
+went to bed, he must have gone with his clothes on, for at every hour
+he was ready to answer a summons without delay.</p>
+
+<p>Mushet knew that Hartz had this reputation. He knew that Hartz was
+sneered at, and derided, by those who borrowed from him or pawned
+their goods with him—a sort of Ishmael in the wilderness of London.</p>
+
+<p>Mushet had lodgings in the street from which he could see the shop; and
+he ground his teeth as he marched along trying to find a plan by which
+he could compel Hartz to disgorge the swag.</p>
+
+<p>Now, Mushet was a clever man in his way. He had started life as a
+chemist's assistant, having been given this chance by a friendly
+chemist who took an interest in the welfare of needy boys. Mushet
+had learned a great deal in the shop; but he had turned out a bad
+speculation, for he had robbed his employer and had been sent to
+prison. After that he no longer tried to redeem his lost character.
+Prison had taught him one thing—the advantage of waiting and planning.
+He was clever enough to see that if one acted on the spur of a moment
+the results might be disastrous. It may have been that his life as a
+chemist's assistant had taught him much in this way also, for he had
+been sent to school where he had learned Latin, and had reached the
+stage where he could dispense prescriptions. This requires care and
+concentration.</p>
+
+<p>The more he thought of Hartz the more he felt a terrible desire for
+revenge. Hartz had taunted him with the suggestion that he could
+fetch the police in order to "eggsplain" the situation. That taunt
+rankled. It was very obvious, of course, that Mushet dared not fetch
+a policeman. To prove that any case was his he would be compelled
+to state the contents. To state the contents would send him to the
+criminal dock.</p>
+
+<p>He smiled grimly the more he considered the audaciously simple way by
+which Hartz had drawn his prize from him; and when Alfred Mushet smiled
+in that way there was cruelty in his expression—ice-cold ferocity as
+relentless as it was deep.</p>
+
+<p>Taking a bus to Hyde Park Corner, he entered the Park and sat down to
+think it out. There was one point that troubled him. Was it possible
+that Hartz had already handed over the attaché-case to the police? Was
+Hartz in league with the police? Or was the case still in the shop? As
+he sat in Hyde Park, there came to Alfred Mushet an idea whereby he
+could find out this and also exact a nice revenge on Hartz.</p>
+
+<p>It was late when he left Hyde Park and made his way to his lodgings.
+He did not wait there long—just long enough to secure a pair of
+rubber gloves, a new pair—for it was one of his that had been found
+at the flat of Gladys Crieff—a few tools, three small phials, and
+a flashlamp. Having put these into his pockets, he started out for
+Hartz's shop.</p>
+
+<p>It was quite dark, and the street was fairly quiet. To enter the shop
+was an easy job for Alfred Mushet. He was used to taking risks, to
+cutting out glass and sawing off locks. He did not require much energy
+to get into the little pawnbroker's place. Everything seemed to be
+in his favour. In the yard at the back of the shop there was a back
+window to the premises. Mushet tore the catch off the rotten sash and
+pushed the window up without noise. He stepped inside.</p>
+
+<p>His first precaution was to pull down the blind. He was in the back
+shop, and it looked like a lumber-room. The edge of a large safe peeped
+out from a litter of old clothes, parcels, boots, all kinds of goods
+thrown around. On the shelves were more articles, crammed together
+without care or any semblance of order.</p>
+
+<p>Between the front shop and the back was a narrow staircase, uncarpeted
+and dusty. It was up there that Hartz lived; but Mushet did not intend
+to disturb him. He was bent on other work. He was searching for the
+attaché-case.</p>
+
+<p>Into the front shop he stepped gingerly, his flashlamp shedding its ray
+over the counter and the shelves. He searched everywhere—under the
+counter, among the piles of goods on the shelves, behind the shelves.
+He drew blank. The back room was still to explore. He returned to it,
+and was on the point of stepping over a heap of goods on the floor
+when a board creaked on the stair. Mushet stiffened suddenly and
+extinguished his flashlamp.</p>
+
+<p>Another board creaked. Someone was coming down the stairs. A glimmer
+of light flickered from the narrow opening between the two rooms. Next
+moment the figure of Hartz appeared.</p>
+
+<p>He was clad in his shirt and trousers, and above his head he held a
+candle. He looked the queerest figure imaginable as he stood on the
+bottom step, clawing at his beard and peering about like a hawk,
+startled and suspicious. His large round spectacles glinted as the
+glass caught the light of the candle. He did not see Mushet, who had
+drawn himself close to the wall behind the heap of goods; but Mushet
+saw him, and acted at once.</p>
+
+<p>He bounded forward and threw his arms round the man's neck, dragging
+him to the ground and pressing his throat so that he could not utter a
+sound. The candle dropped to the floor and the flame was extinguished.
+Hartz's spectacles were knocked off in the attack, but he had a
+resistance that surprised Mushet. It was the hysterical strength of an
+old man.</p>
+
+<p>Mushet held him down, nevertheless.</p>
+
+<p>"Lie still," he commanded.</p>
+
+<p>"My spectacles! My spectacles!" cried Hartz. "I cannot see."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want you to see," answered Mushet. "I knocked them off on
+purpose."</p>
+
+<p>"A burglar, is it?" gasped Hartz. "But you will find nothing! I am
+poor. You are killing me."</p>
+
+<p>Mushet released the pressure on Hartz and rose to his feet. He believed
+he had frightened Hartz, but, as soon as his grip was loosened, the
+latter threw his hands out and clutched Mushet by the shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"I know you! Your voice! You are the one who came for an attaché-case
+and would not let me eggsplain. Help! Help! Robbers!"</p>
+
+<p>It was the worst thing that Hartz could have done, but he was
+frightfully afraid, and his nerves were all to pieces. Mushet gave
+him no chance to repeat the cry for help. They fought it out in the
+darkness.</p>
+
+<p>It was an unequal fight. But Mushet was desperate, since he had been
+recognised. It was a brutal fight. It ended when Mushet struck Hartz
+with all his force above the heart. Hartz dropped, and lay still.</p>
+
+<p>Mushet found his flashlight, which had been lost in the struggle, and
+pressed the trigger. He saw that Hartz was dead, or, rather, he tried
+not to believe it. He had never killed anyone, though he had been in
+fights; and it seemed unbelievable that a man should die from a blow.
+And then, as he looked down at Hartz and remembered how he had struck
+him, the truth penetrated his brain. It is comparatively easy to kill a
+man with a blow on the heart when the victim is being pressed against a
+wall and half strangled as well.</p>
+
+<p>And now, out of the medley of emotions that surged up within Mushet,
+there emerged the clear need for keeping his head. The death of Hartz
+shocked him, but he still saw how he could get clear away. All he had
+to do was to carry out the scheme he had come to execute.</p>
+
+<p>Mushet did not see, of course, that he was just then proving what
+criminologists have always held. One crime must take place to cover
+another, until it ends in the grand climax. That is the usual way,
+according to theorists; but Mushet now unconsciously began to work
+that theory backwards. With the death of Hartz events must be made to
+resolve themselves into their original unsuspicious parts. By carrying
+out his original plan he could cover the greater crime.</p>
+
+<p>He let Hartz lie as he had fallen, and set about taking what was worth
+stealing. There was not much—mostly trinkets and old things that would
+fetch a small sum. Mushet took his choice.</p>
+
+<p>He next attacked the large safe in the back room. It was a tough safe,
+but he used a chemical from one of the phials in his pocket, and the
+liquid bit deep into the metal and softened it for his tools. But when
+at last he swung the heavy door open he found that the safe contained
+only a cash-book, deeds, and documents connected with loans. This
+proved to Mushet that Hartz had handed the necklace over to the police.</p>
+
+<p>The time he had spent on the safe had been wasted. He had been over
+an hour on the premises, and he must leave quickly. But before he
+left he laid the most cunning plan to cover his tracks that could be
+conceived. His chemical knowledge prompted it.</p>
+
+<p>He returned to the front shop and found the electric bell, operated
+by the front-door bell-push. With a screwdriver he took off the bell
+and balanced in its place a thin phial. This phial contained sulphuric
+acid. Then he went upstairs to the living-room and returned with a cup.
+Into this cup he poured some sugar and chloride of potassium. He fixed
+the cup under the phial of sulphuric acid; and around it, leading to
+the floor, he placed some inflammable material. He had not intended to
+do this so elaborately, but, now that Hartz was dead, he took his time.
+The idea was a masterpiece.</p>
+
+<p>This is how he had planned. When the button of the door-bell was
+pressed the hammer would be thrown on the phial of acid. The thin glass
+would break, the acid would fall on the contents of the cup, and a
+flame would arise sufficient to set alight the material surrounding it.
+The fire would destroy any clue of an intruder's presence. It would
+do more. It would also supply a reason for Hartz being found lying in
+his shop—if he was found at all. What theory was more likely than
+that Hartz, being awakened by a fire, had hurried downstairs? Without
+his spectacles, he had fallen. Or even with them; it did not matter.
+Accidental death! And if the fire got a good hold, there would be no
+need for any theory at all!</p>
+
+<p>Having set everything in proper working order, Alfred Mushet left the
+premises as he had entered them. It was now the small hours of the
+morning. He sauntered past the front door of the pawnshop and pressed
+the bell. He listened intently. He peered through the window. He saw
+a tiny flame spring up in the depths of the shop. He went home to his
+lodgings.</p>
+
+<p>A few hours later, as he lay in bed, he heard a commotion in the
+street. Voices were shouting; a policeman's whistle was sounding.
+People were throwing up their windows. Mushet was knocked up by his
+landlady. She called that there was a fire. Alfred Mushet leaped from
+his bed and dressed. It was now dawn, and getting lighter every minute.</p>
+
+<p>Mushet joined the people who crowded to their doors to see the
+fire-engine when it arrived. The premises of Hartz, the pawnbroker,
+were blazing. To Mushet there came a great satisfaction, for he knew
+that by thus getting rid of Hartz he had taken from the police the only
+witness who could accuse him of having handed over the attaché-case
+containing the necklace. Thus he had preserved his freedom.</p>
+
+<p>A crowd stood in front of the burning shop, and Mushet strolled down
+to watch. A fire-escape came at last with a rattle as the flames burst
+from the windows and the door fell inward. Mushet pushed his way to the
+front of the crowd. The excitement was intense.</p>
+
+<p>"There's someone inside! There's someone inside!"</p>
+
+<p>The word was taken up and repeated on all hands, but Mushet did not
+listen to the babble, for he knew better. Hartz was dead. A strange
+exhilaration filled Mushet as he watched the flames gain hold of the
+ramshackle place. He wanted to fan the blaze. The firemen were sending
+streams of water on the shop by this time, and clouds of smoke were
+filling the street. The police were keeping the crowd back as more hose
+was laid down.</p>
+
+<p>And then, as he stood in the front rank of the crowd, Alfred Mushet
+uttered a shout. There, through the smoke and flames, he saw a moving
+figure emerge from the burning house. The figure was outlined against
+the red glow of the interior for a moment, then faded in the smoke that
+swirled down and blotted out the flames.</p>
+
+<p>Alfred Mushet felt the hands of a policeman on him, forcing him
+backward. He staggered, his eyes riveted on the figure that loomed
+up, struggling through the smoke. His eyes started from his head. He
+screamed, and threw a finger out towards that figure that seemed to
+move towards him.</p>
+
+<p>"Hartz!" he cried. "It can't be Hartz! He's dead! It's his ghost! Take
+it away! Hartz is dead! I killed him!"</p>
+
+<p>The figure came forward; and, the smoke clearing, showed to Alfred
+Mushet the shabby figure of Hartz as he had been in life. His
+spectacles were on his nose, his beard was thick and matted, his hands
+clawing at it, as was his habit. Mushet cried out in agony, and fell in
+a faint to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>Well, he was considerably shaken at the sight, and one could excuse him
+losing his wits, and his nerve also.</p>
+
+<p>He was carried to his lodgings, and when he came to consciousness a
+policeman was sitting by his bed.</p>
+
+<p>"Hartz is dead," murmured Mushet. "But I saw his ghost. What are you
+doing here?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm here," said the policeman, "because the inspector ordered
+me to stay. Hartz has identified you as the man who gave him the
+attaché-case, and found a necklace we have been hunting for. You'll
+have to explain that. Here comes the inspector."</p>
+
+<p>At that moment the inspector entered the room and came over to the bed.</p>
+
+<p>"Hartz is dead!" cried Mushet doggedly. "I saw his ghost."</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a minute," said the inspector. "About that attaché-case. A
+fireman helped Hartz to bring out a small safe that was in the bedroom
+upstairs, containing the valuables of the shop. You called out that you
+had killed Hartz, and we have found a body. But, Mushet, didn't you
+know there were two of them? They kept that shop between them, and not
+many people knew there was more than one Hartz. The one to whom you
+gave the attaché-case was the one that did the outside business. He
+arrived back from the North by the night train, in time to raise the
+alarm of fire. It was he you saw, not a ghost. We'll have to question
+you about the death of his twin brother."</p>
+
+<p>And an hour or so later Alfred Mushet was on his way to prison. His
+nerve and imagination deserted him during the interrogation. He broke
+down and confessed.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORY_OF_THE_OCCUPANT_OF_THE_FIFTEENTH_CELL">THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE FIFTEENTH CELL</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>As the Governor concluded the story of Alfred Mushet, he yawned
+involuntarily.</p>
+
+<p>"I was thinking," he said, "that Mushet ought to go among my
+Intellectuals——"</p>
+
+<p>But he got no further, for the visitor suddenly picked up his revolver
+and backed away menacingly.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear sir," cried the Governor in expostulation, "is there anything
+I have said——"</p>
+
+<p>"I have no fault to find with your stories," replied the other, with an
+alarming grimness, "but that is the last I wish to hear. You have run
+it very close. I ask you to look at your clock!"</p>
+
+<p>The Governor turned his head and saw that the time was exactly five
+minutes to seven.</p>
+
+<p>"Which is it to be?" pursued the visitor; and as he spoke he lifted his
+revolver so that the barrel pointed straight towards the Governor.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor glanced round the room. He saw the fog swirling up outside
+the window, the glass of which was streaming with moisture. Not a sound
+came from any part of the large prison.</p>
+
+<p>"You have just time," said the visitor quietly.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor shrugged his shoulders, and a faint smile passed over his
+features, which had become somewhat haggard with the strain of his
+recitals.</p>
+
+<p>"You are right," he said. "I have just time."</p>
+
+<p>He lifted the bogus order of reprieve and glanced at the wording. Then
+he took up a fountain-pen that lay on his pen-tray.</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid," he said, in a gentle tone, "that you have more than one
+advantage over me. I do not refer to your gun, in the manipulation of
+which I admit you are an expert. If this thing is to be done, I must
+ring for my warders; and I think you will remember that you somewhat
+dislocated my bell. Now, if the warders are to come here they must
+not, for your own sake, find anything suspicious, or they would make a
+scene. The result of a scene might be deplorable——"</p>
+
+<p>"For you!" interrupted the visitor.</p>
+
+<p>"For both of us, I fancy. You might shoot <i>me</i>, you might shoot my
+warders, you might escape through the window. But, as I remarked at the
+beginning of our prison night's entertainment, <i>you</i> would ultimately
+be caught. I am not thinking, believe me, of this matter without
+experiencing a personal interest in it. I wish to avoid bloodshed."</p>
+
+<p>"You alone are able to provide the other way out."</p>
+
+<p>"That is exactly what I have been thinking. You seem to hold the trump
+cards. Why should I permit you to kill me in cold blood? I daresay my
+warders, if the point were put to them, would feel the same emotions as
+I do. Therefore I propose to sign this warrant."</p>
+
+<p>He lifted his pen and bent over the order; but, just as he was about to
+sign, he looked up at his visitor.</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid you do not quite follow," he said. "Would it not be as
+well if you put the bell into working order and yourself pressed it?
+There is my cut telephone line also—but I do not insist on that."</p>
+
+<p>The visitor picked up the small piece of metal that formed the contact
+of the bell, and also the wooden top.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll attend to it while you sign," he said. "But—<i>sign</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>The Governor at once complied with what was no longer a request, but
+had become an order.</p>
+
+<p>As he finished the signature he saw his visitor insert the contact and
+screw the top of the bell-push into position.</p>
+
+<p>The visitor then pressed the ivory knob and walked swiftly towards the
+position he had previously taken up. In this way he was on the opposite
+side of the desk, and was near the window. He put his revolver into his
+pocket; but he kept his hand there also.</p>
+
+<p>The two men faced each other in terrible silence.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor once more looked at the clock.</p>
+
+<p>The hands marked the time as three minutes to the hour.</p>
+
+<p>"My friend," said the Governor in a low tone, suddenly, "you have
+forgotten something."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"You have not unlocked the door!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!"</p>
+
+<p>The visitor strode over, took the key from his pocket, and inserted it
+in the lock. He twisted it quickly and returned to his position, his
+right hand once more in his coat pocket, covering his revolver.</p>
+
+<p>"You observe," said the Governor, with a faint attempt at a smile,
+"that what I said originally was true. You people almost always forget
+something. Now, supposing my warders had come and found that door
+locked? Would that not have been a suspicious matter? It was I who
+remembered. You see how I am really protecting you from yourself? Alas,
+prison is an institution where we always try to protect criminals from
+themselves. That is the second function of a prison, as I took pains to
+explain to you when I invited you to listen to my theories."</p>
+
+<p>The visitor was about to reply, but the Governor continued quickly:</p>
+
+<p>"You will observe that I have signed this order in the proper way." (He
+held the document up for inspection, and the visitor satisfied himself
+that everything was as the Governor stated.) "I will give this to the
+warder who is now on the way here. He will take it to my deputy——"</p>
+
+<p>"Why to your deputy? I want the condemned man brought here!"</p>
+
+<p>The visitor flashed out his question suspiciously, but the Governor
+spread his hand in a gesture of explanation.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear sir, a warder has no power to release a prisoner, especially
+one in the condemned cell, until he has been given the proper
+authority, and the Governor, or his deputy, is present. That is
+routine. You cannot complain of it, since you went to the trouble to
+get a reprieve in the authoritative way; and you are wise enough to
+know that any departure from routine would imperil your scheme, as it
+would imperil my reputation. Here comes my warder, I fancy."</p>
+
+<p>The visitor was about to say something in reply to the Governor, but at
+that moment feet could be heard in the corridor. A knock sounded on the
+door. The Governor did not move.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in!" he called.</p>
+
+<p>The door opened, and a warder stood on the threshold, saluting stiffly.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor lifted the order of reprieve, folded it up, and held it
+out towards the warder.</p>
+
+<p>"Take that to the Deputy-Governor at once," he said. The visitor's eyes
+were watching closely.</p>
+
+<p>"Any answer, sir?" asked the warder.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, there will be an answer. Tell my deputy I have a gentleman
+here who has come urgently on behalf of the condemned prisoner. I am
+waiting. Make haste."</p>
+
+<p>The warder saluted, and went out hurriedly.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as he had departed, the Governor turned towards his visitor.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you were about to make a remark when my warder approached," he
+said. "It was not a complaint, I hope."</p>
+
+<p>"I was about to say that, with all your talk, lasting throughout the
+night, you have proved nothing to convince me that I shall fail to do
+what I came to do. I still hold the winning hand. In a few minutes I
+shall be gone with my friend. When the Deputy-Governor comes with the
+prisoner, you will bid him leave the matter between you and me, as I
+proposed originally. I shall still see that your reputation does not
+suffer. You object to taking either of two methods I suggested—that
+of being bound to your chair, or that of taking a drink that would
+send you to sleep. You have chosen to pretend that the reprieve is all
+correct. Perhaps it is the best way out for you. And yet I must inform
+you that I have formed a conclusion. It would not be safe for me to
+take my friend out by the prison gates, because you could raise an
+alarm immediately I left this room. I shall see to it that we have some
+time to make our escape."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you intend to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"That must be left to me. As soon as your deputy leaves, and my friend
+and I are alone with you, it will be simple. I shall not injure you in
+any way. We may go out by the window after all. The fog is very thick."</p>
+
+<p>He had lost the attitude of antagonism that had until then been
+dominant in his speech.</p>
+
+<p>"We have been opponents," he went on, "and we have come to an
+understanding, as I knew we would. I thank you for having told me the
+stories; but, while I enjoyed them, I would remind you that, while
+these narratives have been entertaining, they have not proved a single
+point in your contentions. The reason is very obvious."</p>
+
+<p>"What is the reason?" asked the Governor humbly.</p>
+
+<p>"It is this: you have been telling stories concerning <i>persons who have
+been captured</i>. The thought came to me this moment. And the fact that
+you have been forced to carry out my wishes proves that your theories
+are all wrong. In my one triumph lies the destruction of your many
+axioms. Of course, had I not been interested in your eccentricity I
+would never have allowed you any latitude; but, for a crank, I find
+you a very engaging one—a theorist, with all the faults of one. On
+the other hand, you are not oblivious of the fact that you have been
+beaten, and that your life is being spared because I see that you have
+surrendered without useless opposition. I admire you for it."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor bowed.</p>
+
+<p>"In my turn," he said, "let me ask you one question. If, by some fluke
+of circumstances, by some unforeseen error on your part or on mine, you
+had been unable to save your accomplice from the scaffold—which is a
+fate he richly deserves—would you have admitted failure with the same
+readiness, and in the same spirit, with which you give me credit?"</p>
+
+<p>"I would. It has always been a point with me to surrender when it is
+impossible to escape." Then he added with emphasis: "But, at the same
+time, my code of war is such that I have never yet admitted that every
+chance was lost. If, however, such a position should arise in the
+future, I am well aware that resistance would be an aggravation, and it
+would probably lengthen the sentence a judge might hand out."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor held out his hand frankly.</p>
+
+<p>"It is refreshing to hear you speak in this way," he remarked. "I will
+be able to pass the expression of your views to the quarter where they
+will be duly appreciated."</p>
+
+<p>As the two men clasped hands a loud bang, like the shutting of a heavy,
+distant door, disturbed the silence that had fallen on the room.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor's fingers tightened on those of his visitor and held them
+firmly, his left hand fell gently on the man's shoulder. They stood for
+a fraction of time facing each other. They might have been two friends
+taking grave farewell of each other.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad my poor attempt to emulate the feat of the amiable
+Scheherazade has been pleasing to you. As the Sultan Schahriah you have
+been excellent. But, nevertheless, the result <i>has</i> convinced me in my
+theories."</p>
+
+<p>"How?" demanded the visitor, with a start of uneasiness.</p>
+
+<p>"You have claimed the victory; but, sir, victory ought not to be
+claimed until a game or a contest is ended."</p>
+
+<p>"Explain yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," said the Governor steadily, as he still held his visitor's right
+hand and increased the pressure of his hold on the man's shoulder, "my
+deputy and two warders will, according to routine, be here in a moment.
+I hear their footsteps."</p>
+
+<p>A knock sounded on the door. The Governor called, "Come in!" and,
+without turning his head, continued to his visitor:</p>
+
+<p>"The victory is not yours after all. <i>Your accomplice is dead.</i> The
+bang we heard a moment ago was the noise of the trap-door on the
+scaffold falling into the pit. You did not know, of course, that my
+clock is an hour slow! You are under arrest!"</p>
+
+<p>Two warders and the deputy had meanwhile entered the apartment, closing
+the door behind them.</p>
+
+<p>The visitor's face went livid. For a frightful instant he stared at the
+Governor; and then the Governor's cry to his men changed, even as it
+was uttered, to one of sharp pain. He staggered back, bent double like
+a half-shut knife, into the arms of his deputy.</p>
+
+<p>The visitor had dealt him a fearful blow in the abdomen with his knee:
+and as he dealt it he leaped backward with a snarl that might have come
+from a wild beast.</p>
+
+<p>"Put up your hands, all of you!" His gun was thrust forward in a
+lightning movement. "Up! Quick!"</p>
+
+<p>One of the warders disregarded the order and sprang forward, but he
+had not advanced a yard when "ping!" and he fell like a sack, gasping,
+blood streaming from his throat.</p>
+
+<p>"My God!" he cried in a strangled voice. "My God! My God!"</p>
+
+<p>"Up with them!"</p>
+
+<p>The Governor obeyed, though his face was twisted with pain; the deputy
+and the remaining warder followed suit.</p>
+
+<p>The wounded man on the floor continued to call "My God!" in a curious,
+gurgling, monotonous way, the exclamation becoming feebler every time.</p>
+
+<p>It might have been part of a play, so swiftly, so definitely, had
+act followed act, so like a series of tableaux had movement followed
+movement. But there the resemblance to a play ended.</p>
+
+<p>The countenance of the visitor was transformed. The previous minute
+he had been listening calmly to the Governor's harangue. Now he stood
+facing the three men, his body thrust forward, shoulders hunched, teeth
+gritted, passionate fury sweeping over his face in dark clouds, his
+eyes gleaming with a brightness that was no longer human. He was now an
+animal at bay. He was a wolf.</p>
+
+<p>And from the bleeding warder on the floor there came the unceasing
+whimpering, "My God! My God!" No one took notice of his agony.</p>
+
+<p>The visitor was the first to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"If one of you three move an inch!" He made a significant movement with
+his gun. "I have four shells left!"</p>
+
+<p>The Governor nodded towards the fallen warder.</p>
+
+<p>"That," he said quietly, "was a mistake, my friend."</p>
+
+<p>The visitor replied with savage exultation.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure. His, not mine."</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke the wailing of the wounded man died away, his frame
+quivered and then was still.</p>
+
+<p>The visitor's left hand fumbled at his waist and a coil of thin rope
+fell at his feet. He bent down, never once taking his eyes off the
+others, and picked up an end formed into a loop. He stepped backward
+towards the window, his left hand feeling along the wood work until his
+fingers touched the heavy metal hook that held the curtain fastener. He
+slipped the loop of his rope into the hook.</p>
+
+<p>Next his fingers unfastened the window catch. He threw up the sash.
+A billow of fog swirled into the apartment. Not for an instant while
+he was doing all this did he cease to face the three officials. A
+terrible, grim leer spread over his features. He tossed his rope
+backward out of the window, then brought his gun into position so that
+it pointed straight at the Governor's breast.</p>
+
+<p>"I told you there was always a chance for me," he sneered. "It's you
+that hasn't a chance now. Listen. I have four shells in this gun. One
+is for you because you hanged Floxton, another is for the electric
+bulb——"</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the Governor started. His eyes, wide with astonishment and
+what seemed relief, fastened themselves upon the open window beyond the
+visitor. An instant of fearful tension followed, in which the visitor
+sought desperately to read the truth in the Governor's eyes without
+turning to see what menace was at his back. Then, as if answering the
+agonizing doubt, the curtain at the window moved with a crisp sound. At
+the very instant, the Governor shouted in the direction of the noise:</p>
+
+<p>"Quick! Get him, men!"</p>
+
+<p>As the visitor, in startled alarm, swung his gun round towards the open
+window, the Governor bounded forward, his left arm crooked and poised.</p>
+
+<p><i>Crack!</i></p>
+
+<p>All the weight of his muscular shoulders was behind the fist
+that struck the visitor's jaw with fearful force. The action was
+piston-like, a flash out and in and under that terrific blow the man's
+head jerked oddly, his body arose, then crashed, his gun flew across
+the carpet.</p>
+
+<p>The deputy and the warder were upon him like cats, but the visitor was
+incapable of resistance. He lay motionless and unconscious.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor looked for a moment at his own knuckles, then rapped out
+his orders.</p>
+
+<p>Handcuffs were snapped on the wrists of the prostrate visitor, the body
+of the dead warder was removed, the window was closed.</p>
+
+<p>The Governor sat down at his desk and toyed with the visitor's gun
+which he had picked up. Two warders were working on the unconscious
+visitor bringing him back to life. The deputy was standing by. The
+Governor looked up.</p>
+
+<p>"Was the execution carried out expeditiously?"</p>
+
+<p>"All correct, sir," replied the deputy.</p>
+
+<p>"You will see to the repairing of my telephone and window."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"You will inform Scotland Yard that we have here the man they
+want—Steve Jenkins, the accomplice of the murderer who has just been
+hanged."</p>
+
+<p>"Very good, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Take charge of this fake reprieve and this gun. They are necessary
+evidence."</p>
+
+<p>The deputy took the articles, and as he did so he remarked: "I think
+that was a great trick you played him, sir, and most original."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor shook his head as his eye rested on the visitor who was
+now being hoisted to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Steve Jenkins," he said, "you came here to dispute my theories and you
+have merely succeeded in proving them. All criminals make mistakes.
+Apart from the murder of my warder, for which you will hang, you made
+two bad mistakes within five minutes."</p>
+
+<p>He rose to his feet and assumed his official manner.</p>
+
+<p>"To be a professional criminal and expect to get away with it every
+time," he continued gravely, "is really to presume too much. It
+involves the possession of knowledge that must never be at fault. Why,
+you fell for the old trick of false alarm! I staked—correctly, it
+seems—on your ignorance of the historic precedent of Lord Berkeley
+who, one night on Hounslow Heath, shot dead, by the same ruse, a
+highwayman who held up his carriage at pistol point."</p>
+
+<p>The prisoner eyed him balefully.</p>
+
+<p>"Your next mistake was more gross. It is true I did not possess a
+pistol like my Lord Berkeley; but was it carelessness that made you
+overlook what a reference book might have told you about my few
+accomplishments? If so, the oversight led you into the error of leaving
+open a mark for an ex-champion heavy-weight of the Army who had watched
+all night for it."</p>
+
+<p>The Governor sat down.</p>
+
+<p>One of the warders who held the prisoner saluted.</p>
+
+<p>"Where shall we take him, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>The Governor replied grimly.</p>
+
+<p>"To the fifteenth cell."</p>
+
+<p>The wheels of routine began to grind once more.</p>
+
+
+<p class="ph2">THE END.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+
+<p class="ph2">THE HOUSE OF HARPER</p>
+
+<p class="ph2"><span class="smcap">New York</span></p>
+
+<p class="ph2">Publishers of BOOKS and of<br>
+<span class="smcap">Harper's Magazine</span></p>
+
+<p class="ph2"><i>Established 1817</i></p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="ph2">[Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphenation left as printed.]</p>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78778 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+
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+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #78778
+(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78778)