For a second Legge was paralysed with rage and fear. Then, in the
wildness of his despair, he kicked at the man, who had slipped from
the bed and was holding him. He heard an exclamation, felt for a
second the fingers relax; and, slipping like an eel from the grasp,
flew to the door and closed it. He stood, breathless and panting, by
the doorway, until he heard the sound of steel against the inner
keyhole, and in a flash realised that Johnny had secured the pass-key.
Quick as lightning, he slipped his own key back into the lock and
turned it slightly, so that it could not be pushed out from the other
side.
Johnny Gray! How had he got there? He fled up the stairs and hammered
on the door of the cell where he thought his prisoner was held safe.
A surly voice replied to him.
“You swine!” he howled. “You let him go! You twister! You can stay
there and starve, damn you!”
“I didn’t let him go. He held me up. Look out, Jeff, he’s got a gun.”
The news staggered the man. The search of Johnny’s clothing had been
of a perfunctory nature, but he had thought that it was impossible
that any kind of weapon could have been concealed.
“Let me out, guv’nor,” pleaded the prisoner. “You’ve got a key.”
There was a third key in his house, Jeffrey remembered. Perhaps this
man might be of use to him. He was still weak from his wound, and
would need assistance.
“All right, I’ll get the key. But if you shopped me----”
“I didn’t shop you, I tell you. He held me up----”
Legge went back to his room, found the key, and, taking another stiff
dose of whisky, returned and released his man.
“He’s got my gun, too,” explained Bill. “Where are all the fellows?
We’ll soon settle with him.”
“They’ve gone,” said Jeffrey.
What a fool he had been! If he had had the sense to keep the gang
together only for a few hours---- But he was safe, unless Johnny found
a means of getting through the window.
“In my room you’ll find a pistol; it is in the top right-hand corner
of my desk,” he said quickly. “Take it and get outside Johnny’s
cell--on the yard side. If he tries to escape that way, shoot.
Because, if he escapes, you’re going a long journey, my friend.”
Inside the cell, a chagrined Johnny Gray sat down on the girl’s bed to
consider the possibilities of the position.
“My dear, there’s going to be serious trouble here, and I don’t want
you to think otherwise,” he said. “I should imagine there were quite a
number of men in this prison, in which case, though I shall probably
get two or three of them, they’ll certainly get me in the end.”
She sat by his side, holding his hand, and the pressure of her fingers
was eloquent of the faith she had in him.
“Johnny, dear, does it matter very much what happens now? They can’t
come in, and we can’t get out. How long will it take to starve us to
death?”
Johnny had already considered that problem.
“About three days,” he said, in such a matter-of-fact tone that she
laughed. “My only hope, Marney, is that your father, who, as I told
you, has escaped, may know more about this place than he has
admitted.”
“Did you know anything about it?” she asked.
He hesitated.
“Yes, I think I did. I wasn’t sure, though I was a fool not to locate
it just as soon as Fenner warned me against Keytown Jail. These chaps
like to speak in parables, and mystery is as the breath of their
nostrils. Besides, I should have been certain that Fenner knew the
jail had been taken over from the Government.”
He made a careful examination of the bars about the window, but
without instruments or tools to force them, he knew that escape that
way was impossible. When, in the early hours of the morning, he saw
the patient figure of Bill, he realised the extent of the
impossibility.
“Good morning, William. I see you’re out,” he greeted the scowling
sentry, who immediately jumped to cover, flourishing his
long-barrelled weapon.
“Don’t you show your nose, or I’ll blow it off,” he threatened. “We’ve
got you, Mr. Gray.”
“They’ve got you, alas, my poor William,” said Johnny sadly. “The
busies will be here at nine o’clock--you don’t suppose that I should
have let myself come into a trap like this? Of course, I didn’t. I
squeaked! It was my only chance, William. And _your_ only chance is to
sneak away at the earliest opportunity, and turn State’s evidence. I’m
addressing you as a friend.”
“You’ll never get away from here alive,” said the man. “Jeff’s going
to fix you.”
“Indeed?” the prisoner began politely, when a scream made him turn.
“Johnny!”
The shutter which hid the grille in the door was swung back, and the
muzzle of Jeffrey’s Browning had been pushed through one of the
openings. As Johnny dropped flat on the bed, he was stunned by the
deafening sound of an explosion. Something hit the wall, ricochetted
to the roof, and fell almost at the girl’s feet. Before the pistol
could be withdrawn, Johnny Gray had fired. A jagged end of iron showed
where his bullet struck.
“The time for persiflage,” said Johnny cheerfully, “is past. Now you
will sit in that corner, young lady, and will not budge without
permission.” He pointed to the wall nearest the door, which afforded
perfect cover, and, dragging up a stool, he seated himself by her
side. “Jeffrey’s got quite a tough proposition,” he said in his
conversational tone. “He can’t burn the prison, because there’s
nothing to burn. He can’t come in, and he mustn’t go out. If he would
only for one moment take away that infernal key----”
“There is another door going out from the bath-room,” she said
suddenly. “I think it leads to an exercise ground. You can just see a
little railed-off space through the window.”
Johnny went into the bath-room and examined the door. Screwing his
head, he could see, through a broken pane, ten square yards of space,
where in olden times a condemned prisoner took his exercise, removed
from the gaze of his fellows. He tried the key, and, to his delight,
it turned. Another minute and he was in the little, paved yard.
Looking round, he saw a high and narrow gateway, which seemed to be
the only exit from the courtyard. And on the other side of that
gateway was William, the sentry, well-armed and sufficiently terrified
to be dangerous. Slipping off his boots, Johnny crept to the gate and
listened. The sound of the man’s footsteps pacing the flagged walk
came to him. Stooping, he squinted through the keyhole, and saw Bill
standing, his back toward him, some six yards away. There was no time
to be lost. He inserted the key, and the gate was opened before the
man could turn to face the levelled revolver.
“Don’t shout,” whispered Johnny. “You’re either discreet or dead. Hand
over that gun, you unfortunate man.” He moved swiftly toward the
terrified criminal, and relieved him of his weapon.
With a gesture, Johnny directed him to the exercise yard.
“Get in and stay,” he said, and locked the door, and for the second
time, Bill (his other name, Johnny never discovered, was Holliss) was
a prisoner.
Skirting the building, he came to the entrance of the hall. The door
was open, and with his hand on the uplifted hammer of the gun, and his
finger pressing the trigger, Johnny leapt into the building.
“Hands up!” he shouted.
At the words, Jeffrey Legge spun round. There was a boom of sound,
something whistled past Gray’s face, and he fired twice. But now the
man was running, zigzagging to left and right, and Johnny hesitated to
fire. He disappeared through the door at the farther end of the hall,
shutting it behind him, and Johnny raced after him.
He was in the courtyard now, facing the grille-covered archway. As he
came into view, Jeffrey disappeared through the lodge-keeper’s door.
Johnny tried the grille, but in vain, for a pass-key operates on all
locks save the lock of the entrance gate of a prison. That alone is
distinct, and may not be opened save by the key that was cut for it.
Covering the lodge-keeper’s door with his gun, Johnny waited, and,
waiting, heard a rumbling sound. Something was coming down the centre
of the archway. The straight line of it came lower and lower. A
hanging gate! He had forgotten that most old country prisons were so
equipped. Under the cover of this ancient portcullis, Legge could
escape, for it masked the entrance of the lodge.
He turned back to the girl.
“Keep out of sight. He’s got away,” he warned her. “This fellow isn’t
finished yet.”
The gate was down. Jeffrey put on the overcoat he had left in the
lodge, slipped his pistol into his pocket and opened the great gates.
He had at least a dozen hours’ start, he thought, as he stepped into
the open.…
“Please do not put your hand in your pocket, Mr. Jeffrey,” said a
plaintive voice. “I should _so_ hate to shoot a fellow creature. It
would be a deed utterly repugnant to my finest feelings.”
Jeffrey raised his hands to their fullest extent, for Mr. Reeder was
not alone. Behind him were four armed policemen, a cordon of mounted
constabulary, spread in a semicircle, cutting off all avenues of
escape. And, most ominous of all, was the deadly scrutiny of Peter
Kane, who stood at Reeder’s right hand.