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.]