THE SUPERINTENDENT TRIES TO SOLVE THE MYSTERY.
“Mr. Pearson has fainted. I have just returned from my vacation. Please
get some water. I think it is nothing serious.”
“I don’t understand the case. His pulse is normal. His temperature is not
high enough to indicate extreme illness. Yet he seems to be in a very
deep faint. You had better call another doctor. I am at a loss to know
what to do.”
“I will ring for one at once. Here is Pat. I’ll send him for Doctor
Simson.
“Pat, go at once and bring Doctor Simson. We are not able to bring Mr.
Pearson to.”
Pat was heard mumbling to himself: “Another mysterious case. I’m going to
leave this prison, and I would not blame the others if they did the same,
prisoners and all.”
“Dr. Simson, you are wanted at once, at the main office. The officer, Mr.
Pearson, is a dead man—or, at least, he looks it.”
“Well, Pat, if he is dead, there is no use in my going.”
“You better go and see for yourself. There are some funny doings going
on around here. Men look like dead ones, and not dead. I hope I won’t be
looking like a dead one and disappointing my friends. You must be coming
along. They sent me for a doctor, and, faith, I would bring you at once.”
“Well, Pat, I am ready. So your patient looks like a dead one, hey?”
“You may decide that for yourself when you get there.”
“Well, here we are. I shall soon see.
“Good morning, Mr. Officer. What have we here? A sick man?”
“Good morning, doctor.”
“Doctor, what would you do in a case like this? I am not able to tell
what is wrong.”
“Have you taken his temperature?”
“I have.”
“And what is it?”
“Normal.”
“In so dead a faint, and normal?”
“You may take his temperature and see if I am mistaken.”
“You are right, doctor. The best thing to do is to let the patient rest
a few moments. I see no serious danger. I do not really understand the
case.”
“Pat, you may bring in the stretcher and we will take him to the
hospital.”
“I have been set to carrying the dead to the cemetery when they could not
speak any more.”
“You are having some trouble with one of your prisoners here, I
understand.”
“We are, doctor, and here he is.”
“He does not look like a sickly man, but, my dear sir, you can not always
tell by looking at a man what strength he has.”
The prisoner interposed: “I am not a strong man, doctor, but I am strong
enough to work if I were given work that I could do.”
“We have placed him in many places, and we have not been able to find out
what he can do.”
“I am doing all that is required of me, am I not, at the last work you
have given me to do?”
“You are, as far as I know, but you were sentenced here to hard labor. I
must obey the orders of the courts.”
“What is the poor man here for? He talks as if he were a good sort of a
fellow.”
“Murder. Does that sound as if he were a good fellow? And a poor woman,
at that—strangled her to death. A horrible death.”
At that moment a voice was heard saying: “_You are accusing him
wrongfully. He is not a murderer._”
Turning to look for the speaker, they were surprised to see Mr. Pearson
ready to speak.
“Well, sir, you have recovered. How do you feel?”
“I have not been ill.”
“Well, we have been very busy for the last half-hour, trying to get you
to speak.”
“Pat, you may take the stretcher back. The patient will be able to walk
to the hospital if he needs to go.”
“The way these fellows have of dying and coming to life again must be a
trade they have learned.”
“Are you not going to let me work, sir, at what I was last given to do?”
“You are going to hard labor. No more of this playing off around here.”
“Very well, sir.”
“I don’t think that you need my services any longer,” said the doctor.
“The officer seems all right, and he says that he is. I shall return to
the hospital.”
“Now, Mr. Pearson,” said the superintendent, “please explain to me—when
orders were given to put this man to hard work, you gave him a trusty
job.”
“I did the best I could. I am not a heartless man. The poor fellow said
he could not do hard manual labor, and I believe he told the truth, and I
am willing to give him a trial, for proof of his honesty.”
“You know of all the crimes he has committed while in here, do you not?
Or, at least, tried to and failed.”
“In what way, pray tell me?”
“Trying to murder the guards. I, for one, had a peculiar experience with
him. Found myself in the hospital—fortunately, not hurt, however, but not
able to explain what had happened.”
“Now you will have to work, sir, and I am going to call Pat. I can trust
him to see that you do.
“Pat, take this fellow to the booth where they prepare iron for shipping,
and see that he works. And I shall assign you, Pat, to take care of him,
and him alone. We shall see if this mystery can be cleared up.”
“Come along with me, pet 78. I will make a sure enough dead one out of
you if you trifle with me. When I have instructions to do anything, I
generally do it.”
“Now, Mr. Pearson, I shall have to reprimand you. You are working under
my instructions. I, bear in mind, hold a higher position over you, and
you will have to explain to me the whys and wherefores of what you did,
as you did not follow my directions.”
“I followed your instructions, sir, the best I could, after Pat spoke of
a letter which was received here by you, written as a confession of the
crime for which this poor fellow was doing time.”
“So your sympathies got such a hold over you that you use the expression
‘poor fellow,’ do you? My opinion is that the letter was a hoax to get
sympathy for him while here. It was probably written by some friend of
the man’s on the outside.”
A voice said: “_You are accusing my son wrongfully, and you must suffer
for it._”
“My God! Did you hear that?”
“Did I hear that? Yes, and I have heard that and more so many times that
I have become quite familiar with the voice and do not feel alarmed at
hearing it. Tell me what it was—_you!_”
“_You, you_, tell me what you think it was, and I will tell you
something, then.”
“Well, sir, I am not going to try to express myself, for I can not do so,
but I will go back to my part of the work.”
“You will remain here with me and express yourself as to what your belief
is in regard to the mysterious voice we hear.”
“Come, quick!”
It was Pat’s voice.
“Come quick! The fellow is talking himself to death. I have bate him for
half an hour and he is still talking, and devil a bit does he care for my
bating.”
“I will leave you and go with Pat.”
“You will have to do something quick. He has disturbed the whole prison
and the bating I gave him helped to excite the other prisoners’ curiosity
to know what the man was being baten for.”
“Right this way, I think, is the nearest, Pat. Avoid excitement as much
as possible.”
“You will see the poor devil throwing his hands and telling that he is
not the murderer. And he is mumbling something about not going to be
punished for a crime he never committed.”
“You in trouble again? Not satisfied without disturbing the prisoners as
well as the officials?”
“I beg your pardon, sir, I have been doing all I could do, and working,
sir, since you placed me here. I felt a dizziness come over me. I don’t
know how long I stood before I regained myself.”
“Do you feel as if you had had a good beating?”
“I? No, sir, I do not.”
“Then the devil take the man I will ever punish again,” said Pat; “I’ve
been working myself out of breath bating him and then he stands up there
and tells that he didn’t know he got a bating.”
“You feel as if you could do the work, do you?”
“I will try, sir. It is awful hard and I feel I haven’t strength to last
the day through, but I will go as long as I can.”
“Now, Pat, we will return to the office, and I want you to tell Mr.
Pearson the trouble you had with this fellow, and while you are telling
him, and telling how quietly he was working, you as well as I will watch
Mr. Pearson’s face and see how much sympathy, if any, goes out to the
prisoner.”
“Indade, your honor, I have noticed the sympathy shown to the prisoner by
Mr. Pearson, while you were away. He even offered to exchange coat and
hat with the man, and job too.”
“Pat, are you telling me the truth? A man holding the position which Mr.
Pearson does, making such sacrifices as that with a prisoner, and one
who is here sentenced for the crime which he is? Now, before we go in, I
caution you to be watchful.”
“Well, Mr. Pearson, a time we have had with the 78 convict, a murderer,
and the worst hypocrite I ever saw.”
“You found things as Pat represented them, did you?”
“No, I did not. The fellow was working very hard when we reached the
place.”
“The same thing occurred with me. I once hastened to investigate and
found him as you did, doing his duty. So, sometimes, we are not to judge
the poor prisoner too harshly, for we are not always informed correctly.”
“I am here to speak for myself. I am the one who has informed you, as
well you know, and I will prove to you, your honor,” said Pat, “that I
gave the man a good bating.”
“Yes, that would not be hard for me to believe. You did that, but it
would be hard to make me believe some of the reports that have been made
against the prisoner.”
“You seem to take a deep interest in No. 78. What is the secret, pray
tell me?”
“I have no secret, sir.”
“_I have a secret which I shall tell some day, and you will believe me_,”
a voice was heard to say.