Room 13 Read online

  The sound of voices came faintly up to him, and he heard a door bang and the clicking of locks; and with that at sound he recalled the happenings of the evening. It must be Peter: they had got him too. In spite of his discomfiture, in spite of the awful danger in which he knew he was, he laughed softly to himself.

  Above his bed was a window with scarcely a whole pane. But there was no escape that way. A thought struck him, and, leaning down, he tapped a Morse message on the floor. If it was Peter, he could understand. He heard the answering tap which came feebly, and when he signalled again he knew that whoever was in the cell below had no knowledge of the Morse code. He searched his pockets and found a tiny scrap of pencil, but could find no paper, except a bundle of five-pound notes, which his captors had not troubled to remove. Here was both stationery and the means of writing, but how could he communciate with the occupant of the cell below? Presently a plan suggested itself, and he tore off the lapel of his dinner-jacket and unravelled the silk. Tying the pencil to the end to give it weight, he slowly lowered his message, hoping, though it seemed unlikely, that his fellow prisoner would be able to see the paper.

  To his joy he felt a tug, and when, a few minutes later, he carefully drew up the message, it was to find, written underneath his own, one which left him white and shaking.

  Marney here! He groaned aloud at the thought. It was too light now to risk any further communication. There was a ewer of water and a basin in the cell, and with this he relieved the aching in his head; and when breakfast came, he was ready.

  The man who brought in the tray was a stranger to him, as also was the man who stood on guard at the door, revolver in hand.

  “What’s the great idea?” asked Johnny coolly, sitting on the bed and swinging his legs. “Has Jeff bought a jail to practise in? Wouldn’t it have been cheaper to have gone over the Alps?”

  “You shut up, Johnny Gray,” growled the man. “You’ll be sorry for yourself before you’re out of here.”

  “Who isn’t?” asked Johnny. “How is Peter?”

  “You know damned well Peter has escaped,” said the other before he could check himself.

  “Escaped!” said the delighted Johnny. “You don’t mean that?”

  “Never mind what I mean,” growled the man, realising he had said too much. “You keep a civil tongue in your head, Gray, and you’ll be treated square. If you don’t, there are plenty of men on the spot to make Dartmoor a paradise compared with Keytown.”

  The door slammed in Johnny Gray’s face, but he was so absorbed in the news which the man had unwillingly given to him that he had to force himself to eat.

  Soon after the man came to take away the tray.

  “What’s your name, bo’, anyway?” said Johnny carelessly. “I hate calling you ‘face’ – it’s low.”

  “Bill’s my name,” said the man, “and you needn’t call me Bill either. You say ‘sir’ to me.”

  “Woof!” said Johnny admiringly. “You’re talking like a real screw!”

  The door slammed in his face. He had further time to consider his plans. They had taken away his watch and chain, his gold cigarette-case and the small pen-knife he carried, but these losses did not worry him in the slightest. His chief anxiety was to know the exact character of Keytown Prison. And that he determined to learn at the earliest opportunity.

  It was late in the afternoon; he guessed it was somewhere in the neighbourhood of four when his lunch came, and he was quite ready to eat it, though a little suspicious of its possible accessories.

  “No poison in this, Bill?” he asked pleasantly as he took the bread and cheese from the man’s hand.

  “There’s no need to poison you; we could starve you, couldn’t we?” said the other. “If Jeff was here, maybe I’d get a rapping for giving you anything.”

  “Gone away, has he? Well, prisons are more pleasant when the governor’s away. Am I right, Bill? Now what do you say to a couple of hundred of real money?”

  “For what?” asked the man, stopping at the door. “If you mean it’s for letting you make a get-away, why, you’re silly! You’re going to stay here till Jeff fixes you.”

  All the day Johnny had heard, or rather felt, a peculiar whirr of sound coming from some remote quarter of the prison.

  “Got electric light here, Bill?” he said conversationally.

  “Yes, we have,” said the other. “This is a model boob, this is.”

  “I’ll bet it is,” said Johnny grimly. “Are you running any electric radiators in my cell tonight, or do you want all the power for the press?”

  He saw the man’s face twitch.

  “Of course, you’re running the slush factory here – everybody knows that. Take my advice, Bill – go whilst the going’s good. Or the bulls will have you inside the realest boob you’ve seen.”

  He had made the guard more than a little uncomfortable, as he saw, and sought to press home the impression he had created.

  “Jeffrey’s going to shop you sooner or later, because he’s a natural born shopper. And he’s got the money, Bill, to get away with, and the motor-cars and aeroplanes. You haven’t got that. You’ll have to walk on your own pads. And the bulls will get you half-way over the field.”

  Oh, shut up!” said the man uncomfortably, and the conversation ended, as in the morning, with the slamming of the door.

  Presently a little spy-hole in the cell door opened.

  “What made you think this is a print-shop?” asked Bill’s voice.

  “I don’t think anything about it; I know,” said Johnny decisively. “If you like to come to me this evening I’ll tell you the name of every worker here, the position of every press, and the length of the lagging you’ll get.”

  The cover of the spy-hole dropped.

  Jeffrey was away; that was all to the good. If he remained away for the whole of the night… He was worried about Marney, and it required all his strength of will not to fret himself into a state of nerves.

  In an hour Bill returned, and this time he brought no guard but himself, but, for safety’s sake, carried on his conversation through a little grille in the door.

  “You’re bluffing, Johnny Gray. We’ve got a fellow here who was in boob with you, and he says you’re the biggest bluffer that ever lived. You don’t know anything.”

  “I know almost everything,” said Johnny immodestly. “For instance, I know you’ve got a young lady in the cell below. How’s she doing?”

  The man was taken aback for a moment.

  “Who told you?” he asked suspiciously. “Nobody else has been here, have they?”

  “Nobody at all. It is part of my general knowledge Now listen, Bill. How are you treating that lady? And your life hangs on your answer – don’t forget it.”

  “She’s all right,” said Bill casually. ‘They’ve given her the condemned cell, with a bathroom and all, and a proper bed – not like yours. And you can’t scare me, Gray.”

  “I’ll bet I can’t,” said Johnny. “Bring me some water.”

  But the water was not forthcoming, and it was dark before the man made his reappearance. John listened at the door; he was coming alone. Johnny pulled up the leg of his trousers and showed those suspenders which were Parker’s pride. But they were not ordinary suspenders. Strapped to the inside of the calf was a small holster. The automatic it carried was less then four inches in length, but its little blunt-nosed bullets were man-stoppers of a peculiarly deadly kind.

  The door swung open, and Bill stepped in.

  “Jeff’s back–” he began, and then:

  “Step in, and step lively,” said Johnny.

  His arm had shot out, and the pistol hand of the jailer was pinned to his side.

  “This gun may look pretty paltry, but it would blow a square inch out of your heart, and that’s enou
gh to seriously inconvenience you for the remainder of your short life.”

  With a turn of his wrist he wrenched the revolver from the man’s grasp.

  “Sit over there,” he said. “Is anybody in the hall?”

  “For God’s sake don’t let Jeff see you. He’ll kill me,” pleaded the agitated prisoner.

  “I’d hate for him to do that,” said Johnny.

  He peeped out into the hall: it was empty, and he went back to his prisoner.

  “Stand against the wall. I’m going to give you the twice-over.”

  His hands searched quickly but effectively. The key he was putting in his pocket when he noticed the design of the ward.

  “Pass-key, I fancy. Now, don’t make a fuss, Bill, because you’ll be let out first thing in the morning, and maybe I’ll have a good word to say for you at the Oxford Assizes. There’s something about you that I like. Give me the simple criminal, and the Lord knows you’re simple enough!”

  He stepped out of the cell, snapped the lock of the door, and, keeping in the shadow, walked swiftly along the gallery until he came to the open stairway on to the floor below.

  The hall was untenanted. Apparently Bill was the only jailer. He had reached the floor when the door at the end of the hall opened and somebody came in. He flattened himself in one of the recessed cell doorways. Two men entered, and one, he guessed, was Jeff. One, two, three, four – the fourth door from the end. That was Marney’s door, immediately under his own. He saw Jeffrey stop, heard the too familiar grind of the lock, and his enemy disappeared, leaving the second man on guard outside.

  If Jeffrey had made an attempt to close the door behind him, Jimmy would have shot down the guard and taken the consequences. But the man was absent for only a few minutes. When he came out, he was shouting incoherently threats that made the hair rise on Johnny Gray’s neck. But they were only threats.

  The hall door closed on Jeffrey Legge and Johnny moved swiftly to No. 4. As the door opened, the girl shrank back against the wall.

  “Don’t touch me!” she cried.

  “Marney!”

  At the sound of his voice she stood, rooted to the spot. The next second she was laughing and weeping in his arms.

  “But, Johnny, how did you get here?…where were you?…you won’t leave me?”

  He soothed her and quietened her as only Johnny Gray could.

  “I’ll stay… I think this fellow will come back. If he does he will wish he hadn’t!”

  And Jeffrey came. As the grip of strong hands closed on his throat, and the hateful voice of his enemy came to his ears, Johnny’s prophecy was justified.

  32

  For a second Legge was paralysed with rage and fear. Then, in the wilderness 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 bathroom,” 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 bathroom 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.