The Classic Mystery Collection - Arthur Conan Doyle [3532]
"Confound it, that man's a hoodoo," thundered the official. "Everything has happened since he's been here."
The guard went back to his post in the darkness, and the warden 'phoned to the electric light company.
"This is Chisholm Prison," he said through the 'phone. "Send three or four men down here quick, to fix an arc light."
The reply was evidently satisfactory, for the warden hung up the receiver and passed out into the yard. While Dr. Ransome and Mr. Fielding sat waiting the guard at the outer gate came in with a special delivery letter. Dr. Ransome happened to notice the address, and, when the guard went out, looked at the letter more closely.
"By George!" he exclaimed.
"What is it?" asked Mr. Fielding.
Silently the doctor offered the letter. Mr. Fielding examined it closely.
"Coincidence," he said. "It must be."
It was nearly eight o'clock when the warden returned to his office. The electricians had arrived in a wagon, and were now at work. The warden pressed the buzz-button communicating with the man at the outer gate in the wall.
"How many electricians came in?" he asked, over the short 'phone. "Four? Three workmen in jumpers and overalls and the manager? Frock coat and silk hat? All right. Be certain that only four go out. That's all."
He turned to Dr. Ransome and Mr. Fielding. "We have to be careful here -- particularly," and there was broad sarcasm in his tone, "since we have scientists locked up."
The warden picked up the special delivery letter carelessly, and then began to open it.
"When I read this I want to tell you gentlemen something about how -- Great Caesar!" he ended, suddenly, as he glanced at the letter. He sat with mouth open, motionless, from astonishment.
"What is it?" asked Mr. Fielding.
"A special delivery from Cell 13," gasped the warden. "An invitation to supper."
"What?" and the two others arose, unanimously.
The warden sat dazed, staring at the letter for a moment, then called sharply to a guard outside in the corridor.
"Run down to Cell 13 and see if that man's in there."
The guard went as directed, while Dr. Ransome and Mr. Fielding examined the letter.
"It's Van Dusen's handwriting; there's no question of that," said Dr. Ransome. "I've seen too much of it."
Just then the buzz on the telephone from the outer gate sounded, and the warden, in a semi-trance, picked up the receiver.
"Hello! Two reporters, eh? Let 'em come in." He turned suddenly to the doctor and Mr. Fielding. "Why, the man can't be out. He must be in his cell."
Just at that moment the guard returned.
"He's still in his cell, sir," he reported. "I saw him. He's lying down."
"There, I told you so," said the warden, and he breathed freely again. "But how did he mail that letter?"
There was a rap on the steel door which led from the jail yard into the warden's office.
"It's the reporters," said the warden. "Let them in," he instructed the guard; then to the two other gentlemen: "Don't say anything about this before them, because I'd never hear the last of it."
The door opened, and the two men from the front gate entered.
"Good-evening, gentlemen," said one. That was Hutchinson Hatch; the warden knew him well.
"Well?" demanded the other, irritably. "I'm here."
That was The Thinking Machine.
He squinted belligerently at the warden, who sat with mouth agape. For the moment that official had nothing to say. Dr. Ransome and Mr. Fielding were amazed, but they didn't know what the warden knew. They were only amazed; he was paralyzed. Hutchinson Hatch, the reporter, took in the scene with greedy eyes.
"How -- how -- how did you do it?" gasped the warden, finally.
"Come back to the cell," said The Thinking Machine, in the irritated voice which his scientific associates knew so well.
The warden, still in a condition bordering on trance, led the way.
"Flash your light in there," directed The Thinking Machine.
The warden did so. There was nothing unusual in the appearance of the cell, and there -- there on the bed lay the figure of The Thinking Machine. Certainly!