Johnny Gray came to consciousness with a violent headache and a
sense of suffocating restriction, which he discovered was due to his
wing collar holding tightly in spite of the rough usage that had been
his. This fact would have been pleasing to Parker, but was intensely
discomforting to the wearer, and in a minute he had stripped the
offending collar from his throat and had risen unsteadily to his feet.
The room in which he was had a familiar appearance. It was a cell,
and----
Keytown Jail! He remembered Fenner’s warning. So Fenner knew! Keytown
Jail, sold by the Government to--Jeffrey Legge! The idea was
preposterous; but why not? A timber merchant had bought a jail at
Hereford; a firm of caterers had purchased an old prison in the North
of England, and were serving afternoon teas in the cells.
Now he understood. Keytown Prison was the head-quarters of the Big
Printer. The one place in the world that the police would never dream
of searching, particularly if, as he guessed, Jeffrey Legge had
offered some specious excuse for his presence and the presence of his
company in this isolated part of the world.
The sound of voices came faintly up to him, and he heard a door bang
and the clicking of locks; and with that sound he recalled the
happenings of the evening. It must be Peter: they had got him too. In
spite of his discomfiture, in spite of the awful danger in which he
knew he was, he laughed softly to himself.
Above his bed was a window with scarcely a whole pane. But there was
no escape that way. A thought struck him, and, leaning down, he tapped
a Morse message on the floor. If it was Peter, he could understand. He
heard the answering tap which came feebly, and when he signalled again
he knew that whoever was in the cell below had no knowledge of the
Morse code. He searched his pockets and found a tiny scrap of pencil,
but could find no paper, except a bundle of five-pound notes, which
his captors had not troubled to remove. Here was both stationery and
the means of writing, but how could he communicate with the occupant
of the cell below? Presently a plan suggested itself, and he tore off
the lapel of his dinner-jacket and unravelled the silk. Tying the
pencil to the end to give it weight, he slowly lowered his message,
hoping, though it seemed unlikely, that his fellow prisoner would be
able to see the paper.
To his joy he felt a tug, and when, a few minutes later, he carefully
drew up the message, it was to find, written underneath his own, one
which left him white and shaking.
Marney here! He groaned aloud at the thought. It was too light now to
risk any further communication. There was a ewer of water and a basin
in the cell, and with this he relieved the aching in his head; and
when breakfast came, he was ready.
The man who brought in the tray was a stranger to him, as also was the
man who stood on guard at the door, revolver in hand.
“What’s the great idea?” asked Johnny coolly, sitting on the bed and
swinging his legs. “Has Jeff bought a jail to practise in? Wouldn’t it
have been cheaper to have gone over the Alps?”
“You shut up, Johnny Gray,” growled the man. “You’ll be sorry for
yourself before you’re out of here.”
“Who isn’t?” asked Johnny. “How is Peter?”
“You know damned well Peter has escaped,” said the other before he
could check himself.
“Escaped!” said the delighted Johnny. “You don’t mean that?”
“Never mind what I mean,” growled the man, realising he had said too
much. “You keep a civil tongue in your head, Gray, and you’ll be
treated square. If you don’t, there are plenty of men on the spot to
make Dartmoor a paradise compared with Keytown.”
The door slammed in Johnny Gray’s face, but he was so absorbed in the
news which the man had unwillingly given to him that he had to force
himself to eat.
Soon after the man came to take away the tray.
“What’s your name, bo’, anyway?” said Johnny carelessly. “I hate
calling you ‘face’--it’s low.”
“Bill’s my name,” said the man, “and you needn’t call me Bill either.
You say ‘sir’ to me.”
“Woof!” said Johnny admiringly. “You’re talking like a real screw!”
The door slammed in his face. He had further time to consider his
plans. They had taken away his watch and chain, his gold
cigarette-case and the small pen-knife he carried, but these losses
did not worry him in the slightest. His chief anxiety was to know the
exact character of Keytown Prison. And that he determined to learn at
the earliest opportunity.
It was late in the afternoon; he guessed it was somewhere in the
neighbourhood of four when his lunch came, and he was quite ready to
eat it, though a little suspicious of its possible accessories.
“No poison in this, Bill?” he asked pleasantly as he took the bread
and cheese from the man’s hand.
“There’s no need to poison you; we could starve you, couldn’t we?”
said the other. “If Jeff was here, maybe I’d get a rapping for giving
you anything.”
“Gone away, has he? Well, prisons are more pleasant when the
governor’s away. Am I right, Bill? Now what do you say to a couple of
hundred of real money?”
“For what?” asked the man, stopping at the door. “If you mean it’s for
letting you make a get-away, why, you’re silly! You’re going to stay
here till Jeff fixes you.”
All the day Johnny had heard, or rather felt, a peculiar whirr of
sound coming from some remote quarter of the prison.
“Got electric light here, Bill?” he said conversationally.
“Yes, we have,” said the other. “This is a model boob, this is.”
“I’ll bet it is,” said Johnny grimly. “Are you running any electric
radiators in my cell to-night, or do you want all the power for the
press?”
He saw the man’s face twitch.
“Of course, you’re running the slush factory here--everybody knows
that. Take my advice, Bill--go whilst the going’s good. Or the bulls
will have you inside the realest boob you’ve seen.”
He had made the guard more than a little uncomfortable, as he saw, and
sought to press home the impression he had created.
“Jeffrey’s going to shop you sooner or later, because he’s a natural
born shopper. And he’s got the money, Bill, to get away with, and the
motor-cars and aeroplanes. You haven’t got that. You’ll have to walk
on your own pads. And the bulls will get you half-way over the field.”
“Oh, shut up!” said the man uncomfortably, and the conversation ended,
as in the morning, with the slamming of the door.
Presently a little spy-hole in the cell door opened.
“What made you think this is a print-shop?” asked Bill’s voice.
“I don’t think anything about it; I know,” said Johnny decisively. “If
you like to come to me this evening I’ll tell you the name of every
worker here, the position of every press, and the length of the
lagging you’ll get.”
The cover of the spy-hole dropped.
Jeffrey was away; that was all to the good. If he remained away for
the whole of the night.… He was worried about Marney, and it required
all his strength of will not to fret himself into a state of nerves.
In an hour Bill returned, and this time he brought no guard but
himself, but, for safety’s sake, carried on his conversation through a
little grille in the door.
“You’re bluffing, Johnny Gray. We’ve got a fellow here who was in boob
with you, and he says you’re the biggest bluffer that ever lived. You
don’t know anything.”
“I know almost everything,” said Johnny immodestly. “For instance, I
know you’ve got a young lady in the cell below. How’s she doing?”
The man was taken aback for a moment.
“Who told you?” he asked suspiciously. “Nobody else has been here,
have they?”
“Nobody at all. It is part of my general knowledge. Now listen, Bill.
How are you treating that lady? And your life hangs on your
answer--don’t forget it.”
“She’s all right,” said Bill casually. “They’ve given her the
condemned cell, with a bathroom and all, and a proper bed--not like
yours. And you can’t scare me, Gray.”
“I’ll bet I can’t,” said Johnny. “Bring me some water.”
But the water was not forthcoming, and it was dark before the man made
his reappearance. Johnny listened at the door; he was coming alone.
Johnny pulled up the leg of his trousers and showed those suspenders
which were Parker’s pride. But they were not ordinary suspenders.
Strapped to the inside of the calf was a small holster. The automatic
it carried was less than four inches in length, but its little
blunt-nosed bullets were man-stoppers of a peculiarly deadly kind.
The door swung open, and Bill stepped in.
“Jeff’s back----” he began, and then:
“Step in, and step lively,” said Johnny.
His arm had shot out, and the pistol hand of the jailer was pinned to
his side.
“This gun may look pretty paltry, but it would blow a square inch out
of your heart, and that’s enough to seriously inconvenience you for
the remainder of your short life.”
With a turn of his wrist he wrenched the revolver from the man’s
grasp.
“Sit over there,” he said. “Is anybody in the hall?”
“For God’s sake don’t let Jeff see you. He’ll kill me,” pleaded the
agitated prisoner.
“I’d hate for him to do that,” said Johnny.
He peeped out into the hall: it was empty, and he went back to his
prisoner.
“Stand against the wall. I’m going to give you the twice-over.”
His hands searched quickly but effectively. The key he was putting in
his pocket when he noticed the design of the ward.
“Pass-key, I fancy. Now, don’t make a fuss, Bill, because you’ll be
let out first thing in the morning, and maybe I’ll have a good word to
say for you at the Oxford Assizes. There’s something about you that I
like. Give me the simple criminal, and the Lord knows you’re simple
enough!”
He stepped out of the cell, snapped the lock of the door, and, keeping
in the shadow, walked swiftly along the gallery until he came to the
open stairway on to the floor below.
The hall was untenanted. Apparently Bill was the only jailer. He had
reached the floor when the door at the end of the hall opened and
somebody came in. He flattened himself in one of the recessed cell
doorways. Two men entered, and one, he guessed, was Jeff. One, two,
three, four--the fourth door from the end. That was Marney’s door,
immediately under his own. He saw Jeffrey stop, heard the too-familiar
grind of the lock, and his enemy disappeared, leaving the second man
on guard outside.
If Jeffrey had made an attempt to close the door behind him, Johnny
would have shot down the guard and taken the consequences. But the man
was absent for only a few minutes. When he came out, he was shouting
incoherently threats that made the hair rise on Johnny Gray’s neck.
But they were only threats.
The hall door closed on Jeffrey Legge and Johnny moved swiftly to No.
4. As the door opened, the girl shrank back against the wall.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried.
“Marney!”
At the sound of his voice she stood, rooted to the spot. The next
second she was laughing and weeping in his arms.
“But, Johnny, how did you get here?… where were you?… you won’t leave
me?”
He soothed her and quietened her as only Johnny Gray could.
“I’ll stay… I think this fellow will come back. If he does, he will
wish he hadn’t!”
And Jeffrey came. As the grip of strong hands closed on his throat,
and the hateful voice of his enemy came to his ears, Johnny’s prophecy
was justified.