STRONGER THAN BOLTS AND BARS.
The great detective set his men to work and called up the prison before
leaving New York. As a result of the telephone conversation, the warden
gave up the search for the fugitive in the neighborhood of Ossining.
Ossining is up the Hudson, about an hour’s ride, by train, from the
metropolis. It did not take Nick long to reach his destination.
He found Warden Kennedy in the latter’s office, and listened to a
characteristic account of Doctor Grantley’s escape, which--in view of
the fugitive’s subsequent appearance at the theater--need not be
repeated here.
Bradley, the keeper, was still unconscious, and nobody seemed to know
what was the matter with him. Nick had a theory, which almost amounted
to a certainty; but it remained to confirm it by a personal examination.
The warden presently led the way to the prison hospital, where the
unfortunate keeper lay. No second glance was necessary to convince the
detective that he had been right.
The man was in a sort of semirigid state, curiously like that of a
trance. All ordinary restoratives had been tried and had failed, yet
there did not appear to be anything alarming about his condition.
The prison physician started to describe the efforts which had been
made, but Nick interrupted him quietly.
“Never mind about that, doctor,” he said. “I know what is the matter
with him, and I believe I can revive him--unless Grantley has blocked
the way.”
“Is it possible!” exclaimed Kennedy and the doctor, in concert. “What is
it?” added the former, while the latter demanded: “What do you mean by
‘blocking the way’?”
“Your ex-guest hypnotized him, Kennedy,” was the simple reply, “and, as
I have had more or less experience along that line myself, I ought to be
able to bring Bradley out of the hypnotic sleep, providing the man who
plunged him into it did not impress upon his victim’s mind too strong a
suggestion to the contrary. Grantley has gone deep into hypnotism, and
it is possible that he has discovered some way of preventing a third
person from reviving his subjects. There would have been nothing for him
to gain by it in this case, but he may--out of mere malice--have thrown
Bradley under a spell which no one but he can break. Let us hope not,
however.”
“Hypnotism, eh?” ejaculated Kennedy. “By the powers, why didn’t we think
of that, doctor?”
The prison physician hastily sought an excuse for his ignorance, but, as
a matter of fact, he could not be greatly blamed. He was not one of the
shining lights of his profession, as his not very tempting position
proved, and comparatively few medical practitioners have had any
practical experience with hypnotism or its occasional victims.
Nick Carter, on the other hand, had made an exhaustive study of the
subject, both from a theoretical and a practical standpoint, and had
often had occasion to utilize his extensive knowledge.
While Warden Kennedy, the physician, and a couple of nurses leaned
forward curiously, the detective bent over the figure on the narrow
white bed and rubbed the forehead and eyes a few times, in a peculiar
way.
Then he spoke to the man.
“Come, wake up, Bradley!” he said commandingly. “I want you! You’re
conscious! You’re answering me. You cannot resist! Get up!”
And to the amazement of the onlookers, the keeper opened his eyes in a
dazed, uncomprehending sort of way, threw his feet over the edge of the
bed, and sat up.
“What is it? Where have I been?” he asked, looking about him. And then
he added, in astonishment: “What--what am I doing here?”
“You’ve been taking a long nap, but you’re all right now, Bradley,” the
detective assured him. “You remember what happened, don’t you?”
For a few moments the man’s face was blank, but soon a look of shamed
understanding, mingled with resentment, overspread it.
“It was that cursed Number Sixty Thousand One Hundred and Thirteen!” he
exclaimed, giving Grantley’s prison number. “He called to me, while I
was making my rounds--was it last night?”
Nick nodded, and the keeper went on:
“What do you know about that! Is he gone?”
This time it was the warden who replied.
“Yes, he’s skipped, Bradley; but we know he was down in New York later
in the night, and Carter here can be counted on to bring him back,
sooner or later.”
Kennedy had begun mildly enough, owing to the experience which his
subordinate had so recently undergone, but, at this point, the autocrat
in him got the better of his sympathy.
“What the devil did you mean, though, by going into his cell, keys and
all, like a confounded imbecile?” he demanded harshly. “Isn’t that the
first thing you had drilled into that reënforced-concrete dome of
yours--not to give any of these fellows a chance to jump you when you
have your keys with you? If you hadn’t fallen for his little game----”
“But I didn’t fall for nothing, warden!” the keeper interrupted warmly.
“I didn’t go into his cell at all. I know better than that, believe me!”
“You didn’t--what? What are you trying to put over, Bradley?” Kennedy
burst out. “You were found in his cell, with the door unlocked and the
keys gone, not to mention Number Sixty Thousand One Hundred and
Thirteen, curse him! Maybe that ain’t proof.”
“It ain’t proof,” insisted the keeper, “no matter how it looks. He
called to me, and I started toward the grating to see what he wanted. He
fixed his eyes on me, like he was looking me through and through, and
made some funny motions with his hands. I’ll swear that’s all I
remember. If I was found in his cell, I don’t know how I got there, or
anything about it, so help me!”
The warden started to give Bradley another tongue-lashing, but Nick
interposed.
“He’s telling the truth, Kennedy,” he said.
“But how in thunder----”
“Very easily. It hadn’t occurred to me before, but it is evident that
Grantley hypnotized him through the bars and then commanded him to
unlock the door and come inside. There is nothing in hypnotism to
interfere; on the contrary, that would be the easiest and surest thing
to do, under the circumstances. Grantley is too clever to try any of the
old, outworn devices--such as feigning sickness, for instance--in order
to get a keeper in his power. All that was necessary was for him to
catch Bradley’s eye. The rest was as easy as rolling off a log. When he
got our friend inside, he put him to sleep, took his keys and his outer
clothing, and then--good-by, Sing Sing! It’s rather strange that he
succeeded in getting away without discovery of the deception, but he
evidently did; or else he bribed somebody. You might look into that
possibility, if you think best. The supposition isn’t essential,
however, for accident, or good luck, might easily have aided him. As for
the means he used to cover his trail after leaving the vicinity of the
prison, we need not waste any time over that question. Fortunately, we
have hit upon his trail down the river, and all that remains to do is to
keep on it, in the right direction, until we come up with him. It may be
a matter of hours or days or months, but Grantley is going to be brought
back here before we’re through. You can bank on that, gentlemen. And
when I return him to you it will be up to you to take some extraordinary
precautions to see that he doesn’t hypnotize any more keepers.”
“I guess that’s right, Carter,” agreed Warden Kennedy, tugging at his
big mustache. “Bolts and bars are no good to keep in a man like that,
who can make anybody let him out just by looking at him and telling him
to hand over the keys. I suppose I’d have done it, too, if I’d been in
Bradley’s place.”
“Exactly!” the detective responded, with a laugh. “You couldn’t have
helped yourself. Don’t worry, though. I think we can keep him from
trying any more tricks of that sort, when we turn him over to you
again.”
“Hanged if I see how, unless we give him a dose of solitary confinement,
in a dark cell, and have the men blindfold themselves when they poke his
food in through the grating.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Nick assured the warden as he prepared to
leave. “We can get around it easier than that.”
Half an hour later Nick was on his way back to New York City.
He was not as light-hearted or confident as he had allowed Warden
Kennedy to suppose, however.
The fact that Grantley had turned to that mysterious and terrifying
agency, hypnotism, with all of its many evil possibilities, caused him
profound disquiet.
Already the fugitive had used his mastery of the uncanny force in two
widely different ways: He had escaped from prison with startling ease by
means of it, and then, not content with that, he had hypnotized a famous
actress in the midst of one of her greatest triumphs--for Nick had known
all along that Helga Lund had yielded to hypnotic influence.