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."