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.