The Problem of Cell 13 by Jacques Futrelle. Part 6
Watch on KineScope.
CHAPTER FOUR
A Strange Voice
As they ran they heard the scream again. The white faces of prisoners appeared at cell doors. They were afraid.
“It’s that crazy man in Cell 13.” the warden said.
He stopped and looked into the cell. “That crazy man in Cell 13” was sleeping comfortably in his bed. They heard the scream again. It was coming from somewhere above. The warden and the guards went upstairs. There they found a man in Cell 43, directly above Cell 13. He was sitting in the corner of his cell like a child.
“What’s wrong?” demanded the warden.
“Thank God you’ve come!’ said the prisoner.
“What is it?” demanded the warden again.
He opened the door and went into Cell 43. The prisoner’s face was white with terror.
“Take me out of this cell, please take me out,” he said.
“What is it?” asked the warden.
“I heard something – something.”
“What did you hear?”
“I can’t tell you,” said the prisoner. “Please take me out of this cell – put me anywhere – but take me out of here.”
“Who is this man?” the warden asked the guard.
“His name is Joseph Ballard,” the guard replied.
“And what is his crime?”
“They say he killed a woman with acid.”
“But they can’t prove it,” said the prisoner. “They can’t prove it!” The warden was silent for a minute.
“Listen to me, Ballard,” he said, finally. “If you heard something, I want to know what it was. Now tell me.”
“I can’t tell you.” Ballard was crying now. “Where did it come from?”
“I don’t know. Everywhere – nowhere. I don’t know.”
“Was it a voice?”
“I can’t tell you,” said the prisoner. “You must tell me,” said the warden, angrily.
“It was a voice – but – but – it wasn’t human,” said the prisoner.
“A voice, but not human?” repeated the warden. He was confused.
“It was strange and very far away, like a ghost.”
“Did it come from inside or outside the prison?”
“It didn’t come from anywhere. It was here, there, everywhere. I heard it. I heard it!”
For an hour the warden tried to get the story, but Ballard became silent and didn’t say anything more. Finally the warden went away. He was very confused. Ballard sat at his cell door until morning, his white face staring through the bars.
It was the fourth day of The Thinking Machine’s incarceration. He stood at his cell window and threw another piece of linen to the guard outside. And once more the guard took it to the warden. The warden read the message on it. It said:
“Only three days more.”
The warden was not surprised by the message. He knew The Thinking Machine meant that there were only three days more before he escaped.
“But how did he write it?” the warden thought. “Where did he find another piece of linen? Where? How?” He looked at the linen. It was white, like the material from a shirt. He took The Thinking Machine’s shirt and put the two original pieces of linen on the torn places. The third piece was completely superfluous. But it was the same material. “Where did he get it? And where – where does he get anything to write with?”
Later on the fourth day The Thinking Machine spoke to the guard outside his window.
“What day of the month is it?” he asked.
“The fifteenth.”
The Thinking Machine made a mental astronomical calculation. “Good,” he thought. “Tonight the moon will not rise before nine o’clock.” Then he asked another question.
“Who looks after the big lights on the roof?”
“An electrician from the company.”
“You have no electricians in the building?”
“No.”
At the end of the afternoon, just before he finished work, the outside guard saw The Thinking Machine’s head again at the window. He had something in his hand which he threw to the ground. It was a five-dollar bill.
“That’s for you,” said the prisoner.
Once again, the guard took it to the warden.
“He said it was for me.”
“I imagine it’s a present from him. I think you can accept it,” said the warden. Then suddenly he stopped. “Wait a minute. When the professor went into the cell he had one five-dollar bill and two ten-dollar bills. There was a five-dollar bill with the first message. I have it here. But now he has given you another five- dollar bill. It’s impossible. He has only two ten-dollar bills.”
“Perhaps somebody changed a ten-dollar bill for him,” said the guard.
“Perhaps. But tonight we are going to search Cell 13 again. We are going to search it as no cell has ever been searched before.”
So that night at three o’clock in the morning the warden and his guards searched The Thinking Machine’s cell again. The warden found the hole in the floor. He put his hand into it. There was something there. He pulled it out. A dead rat. He threw it to the floor in disgust. But he continued the search. Once more he examined the bars on the window but found them to be solid. He then examined The Thinking Machine’s clothes. In his trousers he found some money.
“Five one-dollar bills!” said the warden. He was very surprised.
“That’s right,” said the prisoner.
“But the… you had two tens and a five… how do you do it?”
“That’s my business,” said The Thinking Machine.
“Did any of my men change this money for you?”
“No.”
“Well, do you make it?” asked the warden.
“That’s my business,” said the prisoner again.
The warden was very angry. He left the cell and went back to bed.
About an hour later he heard the scream again. He got up and ran immediately to Cell 43, where he saw Ballard, his face pressed against the bars of the door.
“Take me out, take me out,” he screamed. “I did it. I did it. I killed her. Take me out of here.”
“Was it the voice again?” asked the warden.
“Yes,” said Ballard.
“What did it say?”
“Acid – acid – acid!” said the prisoner. “It knew. I threw the acid in the woman’s face and killed her. Oh!”
“Acid?” repeated the warden, more confused than ever.