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.
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.