“You will fall, Pat. Sit down. Here, steady, now. Give me some water quick. Have some water, Pat. He looks so queer. Oh! you feel all right, Pat?”
“I am not ailing. Why do you ask me if I feel all right? The only thing I see, I was standing up a while ago, and now I am sitting down.”
“Yes, Pat; you were acting very funny, and insisted on taking Officer Pearson to jail, instead of No. 78.”
“Faith, I think he will be there soon enough.”
“I don’t understand you. I am going to make you suffer for that talk. I shall not allow myself to be called a thief by my inferiors. I shall have a settlement with you, sir. Either you or I will leave here, and I think that you will be the one to go.”
“Don’t be too sure of that. You may be wearing stripes around here yourself, and I, the common Irishman, telling you what to do and throwing the bread and water at you.”
“Hey, Pat! What do you mean? Why are you doing all this talking? Are you accountable for what you are saying? I shall have to stop this talk at once. We are not in the habit of allowing our employees to talk in that manner.”
“I think that Pat has served his time here. He is beginning to think that he is the boss.”
“Well, I’d like to say the same thing about you in regard to serving time, but I don’t think you have started in on your time yet, and when your brother who is sitting here tells all he knows, you will be wearing his clothes and he will be wearing something better, for some of that money belonging to him which you have will enable him to do unto you as you should do unto him—and that is, help when in trouble.”
“Pat, I am speaking to you for the last time, and I shall have to discharge you if you do not quiet yourself.”
“You will not discharge him.”
“Well, did you decide what to do? Shall I take 78 back?”
“Pat, you talk and look and act quite differently now. What was wrong? Do tell.”
“I am just the same Irishman. Do you think I have changed in looks? I hope not, for who ever saw a homely Irishman?”
“You did change in looks, but look all right now. Put the prisoner in the other office—No. 2. I may need him soon. Then you may go.”
“Well, Mr. Pearson, what does all this mean? I don’t understand. But I shall not cease the investigation until I find out what is wrong.”
“You are paying too much attention to what Pat has been saying.”
“I am not referring to Pat’s sayings. I am asking you, or will do so, to explain about this man bearing the same name and having the same birth-place and the same number in his family as you have told me that you have. Your statements were identical, and do you not know that this is your brother? I believe that he is, and why do you not want to acknowledge him, or find out whether he is guilty or innocent?”
“How often, sir, do we meet men who have the same name as ourselves—many time the surname and the Christian name are the same. I am under the impression that this is one of those times.”
“And I am very sorry, Pearson, but I am thinking that, although it is very unfortunate for you, this is not an accident.”
“I do not understand you, sir.”
“Well, then, I will make it plainer. I think that the convict here is your brother, and you know it.”
“You are judging me too harshly. I am not deserving of that opinion from you.”
“You must do something to prove your innocence; otherwise I shall notify the authorities and lay the circumstances before them.”
Pearson was silent.
“You have my sympathy, but we should show no partiality in our dealings with our fellow-men. They must be treated fairly. Even prisoners must receive justice. I shall leave you to think this matter over, and you may report to me, later, how you feel about the matter.”
“I have nothing to think over and decide on.”
“Then you will acknowledge that you are his brother?”
“I may be, and if I am, I shall only be by birth. I shall never claim a murderer for a brother.”
“You are accusing him wrongfully. He is not a murderer.”
“Pearson, for God’s sake, where did that voice come from?”
“I can not tell.”
“Then I will show myself.”
“Mother, mother, mother! Help! help!”
“Well, I have stayed away long enough. I think it’s about time they was doing something to the poor convict.” It was Pat’s voice, this time. “Perhaps I will be needed. I hear a call for help. I may find the whole bunch dead.”
“Come quick, Pat!”
“What in the — is the matter, now?”
“I was talking to Pearson, and he threw up his hands and cried out, ‘Mother!’ three times, and called for help. He has fainted. You had better call a doctor, or go for one; the wires may be busy.”
“Yes, I think the wires is crossed at this end, and I am belaving someone will lose his job before they get them straightened, and if it is me, I am willing to go. Many a poor devil would be glad to lose his job here. I hope I find the doctor in and not busy. The poor officer may get tired laying in a fit so long.”
“Well, Pat, you have got another dead man for me to take care of, have you?”
“That is what I came for, and you had better make it lively. The superior officer don’t feel very comfortable over the affair.”
“You mean that I am wanted at the office?”
“And I would not be saying so if you were not wanted.”
“Well, Pat, I sometimes think that you are like the Dutchman. I must take you as you mean, and not as you say.”
“You had better get a move on you, for I mane it.”
“You are walking so fast I can not keep up.”
“Indade, he told me to go for you because I go faster than the wires, and I want to keep up my reputation with the boss.”
“You are trying to make a record for yourself, are you?”
CHAPTER XII.
Another Dead Man.
As the two entered the office the superintendent exclaimed: “You are slow about getting here. I believe Mr. Pearson is dead.”
“I hope not,” replied the doctor; “but I will see in a moment.” Then: “Pulsation very weak. Did he complain of feeling ill before he collapsed?”
“No, doctor; only some excitement and—”
“He seems to have been affected very deeply from it. I am alarmed.”
“Do you think that we should send for more help?”
“I am not of the opinion that they could do any more than I am doing.”
“You are going to need the stretcher.”
“To the 78 cell, doctor! And a stretcher to carry out the dead live ones!”
“Pat, step inside and see what is the matter with No. 78. I hear a noise.”
“I am going to have the club ready. I am not feeling very good, and I don’t think it would take much to get me—bated.”
“Now, doctor, I have a secret to tell you. I have been mistrusting a convict’s relationship to an employee of this office, and I have asked him for a complete explanation of the affair. I understand that he has shown some favors to the convict in my absence. And I can not, for the life of me, explain what the voices are that we hear in this office, at times, pertaining to this officer. He and I were here talking the matter over, and I asked him if he did not know this man was his brother. He said that he did not. At that moment we heard a voice, ‘I will show you!’ and a terrible scream came from him, and as he looked up he called his mother three times for help, and fell as you see him.”
“I have witnessed many fainting spells, but never did I find the pulse in such a condition.”
“Officer,” came the voice of Pat, “I am having a picnic, hearing the prisoner talk in his sleep, and with his eyes open. Would you mind coming in and getting some of the news?”
“You may go,” said the doctor; “I will take care of the patient. There is nothing that you can do.”
“Very well, I will see what is wrong.
“Well, Pat, you seem to be having a free entertainment.”
“You will have to name it. I call it a treat to see a fellow talk asleep and standing, with his eyes open all the time he is sleeping.”
“What is he talking about?”
“Listen, for yourself. He is going on so fast I can’t run and keep up.”
“I am telling you I am innocent. I did not murder, and I am not guilty, and my brother who was in a faint is all right now, and I am the spirit of the mother of those two boys—my sons, and I have been the mysterious one whose voice you have heard here trying to tell you and help my son out of this trouble. I have to explain this by inspiring my son, as I am doing now, and I can do so, as you see. And I have brought the woman who was murdered with me, and she is here to say that she was strangled to death by her husband, not by my son. My son is not guilty of that crime, and I want you to take this name and address which she will give me, and send for the real murderer. His name is Robert Devenart, and Mrs. Devenart is here to tell you all about the crime, and I will repeat the words after her:
“‘I was strangled to death, not by this man here, but by my husband. I will tell all. I was having trouble with him and as he threatened me I screamed, and the door opened, and this man, whom I knew slightly, entered and asked if he could be of any assistance. I tried to be brave, and told him that I did not need any assistance. He left, with an apology for intruding. Then my husband clutched me by the throat and choked me to death. Turn this man out and bring the real murderer in. Your officer is all right. I will go now.’”
“Very well, doctor.”
“Do you feel all right, Pearson?”
“I am all right. I’ll just step out for some fresh air.”
“I am not satisfied to think that he was in a faint, officer. I have never come in contact with anything like it in my whole experience as a physician. You had hardly left the room until he opened his eyes and looked around.”
“Had it not been for the fact that I might have missed some of the words that were being spoken, I should have called you, doctor. I stepped into the room, and there he—the prisoner, I mean—was standing, talking, his eyes open and apparently he was himself. I inquired of Pat what was wrong, and he—the prisoner—answered by saying, ‘I am not guilty.’ The murderer’s name was given, and many more things were said, which I dare not mention now.”
“Here is Pat.”
“Well, give me my time. I am a brave Irishman, I can bate a fellow to death if need be, but I am not brave enough, when the dead come around and talk to me, to stick around any longer. Faith, I did not see anything, but I surely heard, and I know that I will fall dead if I ever see one of the dead ones walking around here.”
“Pat, I can not give you your time. You are needed here. Go along and do your duty, and I will send for you if you are wanted.”
“I hope you will never send for me if the dead want me.”
“Pat is a good, trusty fellow, and, doctor, I am glad I can make a confidant of you in this matter. I am given the address of a person. I am going to write at once to the proper authorities and see if they can find the name, a very strange name. I never heard it before. I don’t think they can get the wrong fellow if they find one by that name.”
“I would advise you to investigate, officer. People are oftentimes innocent, although apparently proved guilty by law, and I am prejudiced against circumstantial evidence. Many poor men are serving time because of that kind of evidence.”
“I am going to thank you—”
“Did you speak? Did you?”
“No, doctor. You have heard some of that voice which we hear so often. Can you explain?”
“No, sir; and I do not intend to stay in here to hear any more of it, or to try to explain it. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, doctor.”
“I am going to ask you to allow me a vacation, officer. I am not feeling very well.”
“Mr. Pearson, I have some very important work to do in the next few days, and I shall need you badly.”
“I should like to leave by the first of the week, if possible.”
“It is more than likely that you can do so. You have nothing more to say in regard to the affair of which we were talking?”
“I have not. I do not feel that this man is any relation to me, therefore I am not going to bother anything about him.”
“What was your birth-place, Pearson?”
“I have secrets of my own. I don’t think that you or anyone should ask about them, and I refuse to tell you. I am not being tried for any crime. I do not have to answer your questions.”
“Very well. You may go back to your old position. I shall look after the office. Say, Pearson! Here! You may take along the prisoner here. I don’t care to have him in this room, keeping me alert at every noise.”
To the prisoner Pearson said: “Come. I will put you in your cell.”
“I am willing to go—to do anything that you request me to do.”
“Clarence—did I understand you to say that was your name?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Here is your cell. Step in. I will also go in. I want to talk to you. Clarence, do you remember anything about your old home, and your brothers and sisters, and your father and mother?”
“I have no father—he died when I was a small boy, and sisters I have none. I have one brother.”
“What was your father’s name? Of course, I know it was Pearson, but what was his Christian name—or have you forgotten it?”
“I have not forgotten anything about my home. I remember all very well. It seems only yesterday, I have such a vivid recollection of all. My brother’s name was William O. Pearson.”
“What was the O. for?”
“For Oliver, and I often called him by that name. You have such a strange way of looking at me, officer. Do you not believe me?”
“Yes, Clarence, I believe you. I am going to tell you why I look at you so strangely. You are my brother, and I am going to make this right with you, if you will change your story and say that you changed your name when you got into this trouble—or, rather, that you have gone under an assumed name since you committed this crime. If you will do as I say, at the end of your term, I will give you five thousand dollars—when you walk out of this place a free man.”
“I DO NOT WANT YOUR MONEY.”
CHAPTER XIII.
An Attempt to Bribe the Prisoner.
“I have been a wanderer, and have eaten many a back-door hand-out, but I have never stolen nor murdered. I did not commit this crime. You, my brother, are free, and have money to bribe me with, and yet you do not care enough for your own flesh and blood to look up the real murderer. I do not want your money. I have two strong arms, and can work, as I have always done.”
“Then you would work all your life, a poor man, rather than accept a little bribe, would you?”
“Yes, under the circumstances, I would. I feel that in the end I will be better prepared to meet my dear mother, when called home, than you will be. Did I not have something coming to me from the estate? My mother was a wealthy woman when I left home.”
“Well, we had many reverses in business affairs, and she died practically a poor woman.”
“I may be spared to live my sentence here if I am not found innocent and discharged, and then I shall return to the old home and investigate affairs and see if I am not entitled to a share in my dear mother’s estate.”
“Why can you not believe me? I have explained. She died practically a poor woman.”
“You are not a poor man, are you, brother?”
“Well, I have a comfortable home.”
“Is that all you have?”
“I do not feel disposed to explain everything to you.”
“Where were you to get the five thousand dollars to bribe me with? Have you got that much money besides your comfortable home?”
“I shall have ten years to get that.”
“Oh! you are buying me to commit a crime and have no money to give me after I have done so?”
“As I have stated, you are here for ten years. At the time of the expiration of your term I would in all probability have that amount.”
“May I ask you why you wish me to deny my name?”
“Well, Clarence, I am holding a good position here, and I could not, perhaps, if it were known that I had a brother inside of these walls. Besides, I have a family in society, and it would injure them if this should all come out.”
“You are thinking of yourself and your family and society, and not once have you given your poor brother a thought of sympathy. And he is innocent of crime.”
“I am trying to help you. Have I not offered you five thousand dollars at the end of your term?”
“You are not helping me. No, sir. I have registered under my own name, given me by my dear parents, and I have no cause to disown it. I did nothing to disgrace it, and I am not going to be tempted with your money.”
“I am sure that you will regret this, Clarence. I would favor you in many ways while you were serving your sentence.”
“Could you not do so, as you are one of the officials, without my doing as you wish me to do?”
“Well, no. I should be suspected.”
“Then how could you do so if I did as you request me to do—disown my name?”
“Well, well!”
“You are doing wrong, Oliver, to try to get me in deeper instead of helping me out. Why don’t you go out and look up the real murderer and prove your brother innocent? I am quite sure I should not disgrace you if it were proved that I had been sent here an innocent man.”
“You see, after one has been behind prison bars, he is always looked down upon by the public.”
“But not in the eyes of God. He knows the guilty from the innocent.”
“Then you feel that you would rather stay in prison and work ten years, and go out a broken man and penniless, than to receive five thousand dollars, as I have promised you?”
“If I have to lie for it, I’ll take the poverty and peace of mind.”
“I am sorry for you, Clarence, and I shall return and have another talk with you some day. Perhaps you will change your mind. Good-bye.”
“I thank you, brother, for the word spoken just now. Yes, my brother, you have a comfortable home and a family in society, and an innocent brother in prison for ten years.”
“You have the habit of talking to yourself, have you?” It was Pat who spoke.
“It helps a fellow, Pat, sometimes, when alone, to talk to himself.”
“I am sure I heard two voices in here. I was after looking for a convict who occupied the next cell, 79, and I felt rather uneasy about you, and I thought I would see what you were doing, and I heard a very strange conversation in here.”
“Pat, did you hear all that was said?”
“Sure I did. What was I listening for if not to hear what was said?”
“And did you see anyone leave here?”
“Sure I did. When I see a man passing this way, I looked to find if he was a broke-away.”
“And will you—”
“I will keep my mouth shut until I have to open it.”
“And would you tell all you heard?”
“Indade I would. Well, I think I will be going along. I will stroll by the office and see if he looks any the better off since he could not get rid of his five thousand dollars.”
“Pat, you always come just in time. Take this letter to the office. I want it to go out on the first mail. If I wait for it to be taken up, it would not get off on the first mail. Make haste, as I am quite anxious for this to go.”
“You can depend on it going if I have to take the train and carry it myself.”
To himself: “Well, I wonder what the rush was. I will pick up the torn pieces when I get the chance, and see what this means.”
“Mr. Pearson,” said the superintendent, “I am called to attend to some business affairs. I shall leave you in charge of the office. I may not return until late.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Well, I just made the train. The next time I would like a few minutes to think between this place and the train. I never went so fast in all my life. I would be a good messenger. I could get the bad news to them in a hurry, as all of the confounded things have bad news in them.
“There comes Pat. I will give him the order I left with Pearson.
“Pat, I am going on some business, and I want you to put all of those torn pieces of paper in the fire and burn them up. I do not want anyone to see them. I made some errors and re-wrote the letter,” said the superintendent.
“Now you have gone,” said Pearson, “I will take care of those torn pieces of paper. Here is an envelope addressed to the place where Clarence committed the murder, and here is all of the letter. Now I’ll see what was the cause for rush.”
The letter ran as follows:
“I am writing you for help in looking up the case of a convict by the name of Clarence Pearson. I have every reason to believe that he is innocent of the crime for which he is serving sentence. Wire me if you have a name in the directory of your city like this: Devenart. If there is such a man, hold him for murder.”
“My God!” gasped Pearson. “What does this mean? I am lost. I feel that they will find him innocent, and I guilty of crime; and I have sworn to the death of Clarence, so that I might receive his share of the estate. Now it is all to come out.”
“Well,” said Pat, “I met the officer, and he told me to clean up around and destroy the papers he has written on, and I don’t see any.”
“I had nothing to do and I put things in order,” said Pearson.
“Where did you throw the scraps?”
“I put them in the fire.”
“Did you lave the office to do it?”
“No, I did not leave the office.”
“Then where is the fire you put them in? I was told to burn them and I must obey orders. If you did not burn them, I will be after doing it.”
“You are always meddling in someone’s affairs, Pat. You go along. I am taking care of this place.”
“And I’m thinking you are taking care of some things in this place—at least, I would like to see those torn pieces of paper.”
“You may go to No. 78’s cell and see if he wants to come here. I would like to talk with him. Perhaps I can get some idea of the kind of work he could do.”
“I will obey you. Now it is up to the poor convict to take his choice of work. And if he plases to come, he can.”
To the prisoner: “Well, are you asleep? Would you like to take a walk over to the office? Now, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“I am willing, Pat, to do anything I am asked to do.”
“You are very obliging. I’m sure I would be plased if all the convicts would be as agreeable as you.”
“You may bring him in, Pat, and then go to your work. I shall not need you any more at present,” said Pearson.
“I’ll go, but devil a bit will I work. I don’t think annyone needs me now, and I’ll just sit down here until someone does need me.”
“Clarence, you have been thinking this over, have you—what we were talking about? I hope you will be sensible now, and make up your mind to do as I want you to.”
“You want me to swear that I am not Clarence Pearson?”
“Yes. You will be helping yourself by so doing.”
“Well, then, I will.”
“That will help you to look forward for something to live on ten years from now.”
“Well, what can I do to help you out of your trouble?”
“My trouble? I am not in trouble.”
“You are not worried over my not doing as you requested me to do?”
“No. Only for your own good.”
“Then tell me, if I change my mind when the time comes to deny it, what harm could it do you?”
“I should have to—”
“Finish what you were going to say.”
“I’ll tell you all, Clarence, if you will promise me that you will do as I want you to.”
“Well, tell me, brother.”
“I am going to make a clean breast of it all.”
“I think I had better be getting up closer,” whispered Pat. “I may think I’m hearing and not hear, for I am looking for the poor devil to tie a noose around his neck before he gets through with the clean breast he spoke of.”
“Go on, Oliver; tell me. You are talking to your brother. You need not fear my betraying you—never, Oliver!”
“You left home, Clarence, when a small boy. You never wrote and poor mother and I mourned you as dead. Years afterward mother died, and, not knowing where you were, I was called upon to swear that you were dead, and I did so. In that way I fell heir to all of the estate, which was numbered in the hundred thousands. And, not knowing of your whereabouts, I decided to invest it, and I lost it all, except what I have told you of.”
“I do not see the point in your demanding that I deny my name.”
“Do you not see that I have sworn falsely to obtain the money, and you know that places me just where you are to-day, Clarence.”
“Only you are guilty, Oliver, and I am not.”
“I BELAVE I’D BETTER NOT LISTEN ANNY MORE.”
“I belave I’d better not listen anny more. I am knowing too much. I may not be able to hold anny more in me head, for I have it crammed full now, and I have got to keep it there till I can let it out, a little at a time, and it takes a man a long time to tell the judge and keep from telling what he don’t want to.”
“I know that I am guilty, but you can save me if you will.”
“Brother Oliver, I am sorry for you and I will do all I can for you. I will do as you have asked me to do.”
“Thanks, dear brother. And I shall be a brother to you while you are in prison.”
“Now I think they have all the secrets told, and I’ll walk around and see if I can persuade the officer to tell me where the fire was. He was so obliging to do my work for me,” mumbled Pat.
“Come along, Pat; you may take the fellow back,” called Mr. Pearson.
Pat to himself: “Oh! he is being called a ‘fellow,’ is he? If I bring him here to the office many more times, he will be a gentleman, not a convict.”
Aloud: “Come along here! Back to your resting-place. Indade, that is all you have done lately—rest.”
The acting superintendent mused: “Now that Clarence is going to deny his name, I can see my way out of this. I shall not take my vacation now. I must stay and see this thing through. So my superior officer has written to where the murder was committed and asked for a wire in answer. And we may look for one to-morrow, as the letter went out on the early train. It will be received in the morning, and a wire will be received some time in the evening.”
“Well, ‘fellow,’ here is your place to rest till I come for you, and you may look for me soon, at that,” remarked Pat as he placed the prisoner in his cell.
CHAPTER XIV.
The Convict’s Prayer.
As the superintendent entered the office on his return he said to Pearson: “I am back. I have been looking up some of your history in the past.”
“I do not understand you, officer.”
“You will, however.”
“Why are you looking up my reputation?”
“I have every cause to do so. I see that you have the same name as the convict, or he has the same name as you have. Of course that is nothing unusual, for two men often have the same family name, and even Christian name; but you are favoring this prisoner in many ways, which looks suspicious. I have never noticed that you favored other prisoners, and I do not believe that you would do so without some secret reason, in this case.”
“I have only tried to treat him humanely.”
“I see the humane part of it, Pearson.”
“I think I will walk around and see how the fellow is looking after he has spent this five-thousand-dollar bribe and got the poor convict to deny his own name. I wonder what he will take for a name if he denies the one he has got. For the love of Mike, I hope it won’t be Pat! Indade, I don’t want to have a name like annyone of the prisoners in here, and, thank God! the place has no Pats. An Irishman is too slick to come here against his own free will.”
Pat was approaching the office.
“Well, officer, you back?”
“I am back, Pat.
“You may go, Pearson. I will send for you when I need you.”
“And if you knew all I know, you would need him now, before he went.”
“Well, Pat, have you done anything with Prisoner 78?”
“I? No, sirree; he is a ‘fellow’—a pet around here, he is.”
“What do you mean, Pat—a ‘fellow,’ ‘pet’?”
“Well, your honor, I never was a tell-tale, and I don’t want to begin now.”
“Do you know anything, Pat, that I should know?”
“I think if you knew all I do, you would have another prisoner in here to feed.”
“I have always trusted you, Pat. Can not you now trust me?”
“Sure I can trust you, but what about the other fellow. Can I trust him?”
“I will take care of that part of it if you will tell me what you know, Pat.”
“I am going to think it over myself a while. I don’t like to report too many times, for fear I don’t get it the same each time.”
“You may not have to repeat, Pat.”
“I hope not, for I feel sorry for the poor man, to think he has no feeling.”
“You would just as well tell all you know. I am investigating, as it is, and I think along those lines, and ‘murder will out,’ you know.”
“And some things will out themselves, as well as murder.”
“Pat, in justice to yourself, you will have to tell me what you know. Here comes Pearson. I will hear what you have to say later. You may go.”
“I am going to remain on guard to-night, officer, and I shall not be in the office. I speak of this so that you will not keep late hours for me.”
“Very well, Pearson.”
“I wonder what he is up to now,” thought the superintendent. “I must be on guard myself to-night, and I must remain where I can watch cell No. 78. It is now ten-thirty o’clock—a good hour to lock up the office. I’ll walk quietly to cell 77—it is empty to-night—and I may know more in the morning than I do to-night. Here comes Pat. I will tell him to keep watch on the office to-night, for emergency calls. He can hear the bells ringing, and if—well, by George! I’d rather Pat would not know where I am. I’ll have to take the chances of the bells ringing. I may hear them if they do. It is not a great distance to the office.”
“Your honor, I’m thinking of going to my bed. I am top-heavy, and would like to lay me down for a while. I think it would do me good. Too much to carry around, and too good to let it get away.”
“All right, Pat; you may go.”
To himself: “Now I shall learn something for myself. I’d better disguise myself, for fear of meeting Pearson. I’ll put on this slouch hat. He would not recognize me in that; a hat changes one’s looks sometimes so that even close friends could not be recognized.
“Hark! I hear voices! I believe it is Pearson’s voice in cell 78. I must be very quiet. Sure enough! Now I shall find out for myself.”
“I will try, Clarence, to favor you in having you placed in a position where you can make your get-away, and I will give you money to go on. Would you go if that opportunity presented itself?”
“Oliver, what do you mean? Are you trying to get me here for the rest of my life? I would not be here at all if you would do for me what a brother should do.”
“I am trying to help you, Clarence, and you won’t let me.”
“I don’t want your help, if I have to get it in that way. Why don’t you do unto me as you would have me do to you?”
“I have a family and they are in society, and I am not so free to go as you are, and if this comes out, I may have to remain here, but not by choice.”
“Can’t you see the trouble I’m in?”
“I can see if you would get out of here and they could not find you, then they would drop it all, and you would be a free man and so would I.”
“If I were to do as you want me to, where could I go and what could I do? I have no money.”
“Did I not say that I would help you? You can leave the city and I will send you money under an assumed name. I can take care of you.”
“You are looking out for yourself, I know, Oliver. If you had not stolen all my part of the estate, you would not be here this hour of the night, talking to me. You have no brotherly love for me, or you would get me out and prove to the world that I am innocent, and take me to your comfortable home as a long-lost brother. I would not disgrace your society family. My mother was a good woman, and if I did fail to get the education I should have received, I have a good, pure heart in me, and am one that has always tried to do right and will do so as long as I live. It is not always the one, Oliver, who had the advantages, who has the best education, that is the purest. I am at fault for not having an education, I know, for I ran away from home when I was a boy, but I have never committed a crime, as you have done.”
“You are not looking at this as you should. I am going to say to you that if you fail to do as you promised me you would—if you do not deny your name—I will murder you.”
“Then you would murder me for wealth and society, would you, Oliver?”
“I would.”
“Then what would you do? You could not enjoy either.”
“I might say you were disobedient and that I had to kill you. You know how much trouble you have caused since you were here, and it would be no trouble for me to get out of it. So this is your warning. Now remember, I am leaving you for the last time, to think this over, and I want your answer to-day. It will soon be daylight. I must not be seen in your cell. Think this over well.”
“And so my brother threatens to kill me if I do not commit a crime! And I must think this over and let him know to-day! Well, I could let him know now. I will not leave these prison walls without the proper orders, and I am afraid to say as much to him,” said the prisoner aloud. “What shall I do? To tell what he has done would mean a term for him in this very prison, and not to tell means death to me. Oh! what shall I do? Pray? Yes, pray that dear mother will come to me and help me; that she will not allow her honored son to murder her dishonored son, as he threatened to do. He said that mother mourned me as dead. Oh, if I had only died before all this happened! I am going to pray for help from her now—not for material help; I do not want any money or sympathy in poverty, I only want help from Heaven to know what to do. I shall kneel on this cold, hard floor and pray.
“Father above, I am not a murderer, as Thou knowest. I ask forgiveness for the sins that I have committed, for we all sin, though often unintentionally. O Father in Heaven, I ask that the spirit of my dear mother may be allowed to return to earth and watch over me, that her son Cain may not slay Abel. And, O dear Father, I am here for another’s crime, as Thou, blessed Father, knowest. I pray that I may be helped—not to be freed from here until it is proved to the world that I am innocent. I feel my dear mother’s presence near me. Oh, how grateful I am! Now, dear Father, give me help to show the one who has given me so short a time to pray the right way. The time is near when I must decide between life and death. Thou knowest best. I trust Thee to look after me in this hour of need. And, O dear Father, help my brother, that he may know and do the right. Forgive him, Father, and lead him. Go with each of us in our humble way. May we ever feel Thy presence near us. May holy angels hover around us and help and comfort us in this time of need. May we feel their presence. I ask this from a heart filled with faith, hope, and love. Amen.”
The trembling voice was silent. The heart of the superior officer went out in sympathy to the poor, abused convict who had the strength to resist temptation, and who could yet forgive his selfish, wicked brother.
CHAPTER XV.
“Thank God, He Is Innocent!”
“Well, I have been repaid for this night’s work. I must get back to the office, before I am seen coming from this cell,” said the official.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, Pearson. You are looking tired. Have you had a hard night of it?”
“Yes; I am trying to unravel a mystery, and I am somewhat worried.”
“So am I, Pearson. I am trying to look into the past life of this prisoner, No. 78. I want to see if he has been a bad fellow. I am under the impression that he is not guilty of the crime for which he is being punished; he seems so honest about his past, and he has even given his real name, and that is some proof that he is no crook, or murderer. He would surely deny his name if he were either, and I feel it my duty to look into this whole affair.”
“Well, officer, I am under the impression that he has registered under an assumed name—that he is holding back his real name.”
“Why have you formed such an impression?”
“Well, I have a feeling that he will tell his real name if pressed to do so.”
“I will send for him and we can press him for the truth.”
Pat’s voice was heard as he approached, saying: “I wonder what this day will bring forth. Here I am, walking to the office. I have a feeling that it is time the ‘pet-fellow’ had a little exercise, and I must be there in case I’m needed.”
“There you are, Pat. You are always on hand when you are needed. You may bring No. 78 into the office.”
“I am getting to be a fortune-teller indade. I can tell when I am wanted without being told. Here, you ‘pet-fellow’! Wake up! I am going to take you for your morning’s walk.”
“I am very willing to go.”
“I am quite sure that you will go, willing or not. When I am told to do anything, I usually do it. Here we are.”
“Bring him in, Pat.”
“Plase open the door. How do you expect me to do—break in?”
“The night lock is thrown on, officer. How did that happen? We never do so unless we all go inside of the prison. Were you in the prison last night?”
“We will discuss that later. We have sent for the prisoner and he is here. Let him in.”
“You may go, Pat. We have some investigations to make, and we prefer to be alone.”
Pat went, out, remaining within hearing and saying: “Here is a very comfortable seat. I will sit meself down and I won’t have to walk so far when I come back.”
“Now, did I understand you—No. 78 I am speaking to—did I understand you to say that you have given your real Christian name, and surname also, to be recorded in the prison books?”
“Well, I have been thinking.”
“About changing your name?”
“How do you know that, sir?”
“Mr. Pearson has told me so.”
“He told you so?”
“Do you deny it—can you, will you?”
“My God! what shall I do? You have told him all?”
“I have told him nothing.”
“Pearson, why are you so excited?”
“I am astonished at your falsehood.”
“And you may be more astonished before I get through with you.
“Come, did I understand you to say—or have you answered me? Do you hear me speak to you?”
“I do, sir. Well, then, I will have to be protected if I tell the truth.”
“From whom?”
“Oh, man! can not you see the danger I am in:”
“You in danger? Explain in what way. With your God, for swearing to falsehoods, or from your fellow-man?”
“I have not deceived my God.”
“Then you have given your own real name?”
“I will tell you. I have.”
“So you want protection, now you have told the truth? Give me the name of your enemy.”
“Officer, can you not relieve me of this torture? Can you not see?”
“Yes, I think I can.
“Well, Pearson, do you think you could rest comfortably behind the bars for a few hours?”
“I? What do you mean?”
“I mean that you have been trying to bribe this man to disown his name. Now I am not in the dark. I understand it all, and I am going to make a clean breast of it. I shall send him back to his cell, and send you to another one.”
“I’ll just get up and stretch myself. I may have to use my muscles, and club too,” commented Pat. “I hope he will like his new home.”
“You must have good hearing, Pat,” said the official. “I was just going to ring for you. You must hear my thoughts. You may take No. 78 back, and return at once.”
“I will, your honor.
“Walk up fast, ‘pet.’ I am going to fill the order to a minute, and I will sure be proud to see him leaving me alone for a while. Here we are. Get in gently, ‘pet.’ I’ll be closing the door aisy, to not shock you. Now I must be bating it back to the office to get the other man.”
“Well, Pearson, ‘murder will out.’”
“I have not murdered anyone, and why should you talk to me in that way?”
“I don’t think that your brother has, either.”
“My brother!”
“Yes, your brother. Do you not know that the convict is your brother? If you do not, I do.”
“We have the same name. Is that any reason why we should be brothers?”
“Not because you have the same name, no; but in this case the two men who bear the same name are brothers.”
“Tell me, why am I to be placed behind the bars?”
“So that you may not kill your brother.”
“Man! I’m not going behind the bars on any such freak ideas as yours. I shall not be disgraced by a prisoner who has no cause to fear me, just because he has a name like mine and makes the statement that he fears me.”
“You understand it all. Pearson, here is Pat. You may occupy cell No. 77, next to that of your brother.
“Come along, Pat. Take charge of Mr. Pearson, here.
“Give me your arms, officer.”
“I will never do so, not as long as I have a drop of blood in my body. I shall not give up my arms and allow Pat, the scoundrel, to place me behind the bars.”
“You will have it to do, sir. I will see that you do. Hand them over to me.”
“I refuse to do so. I will die before I do.”
“Well, me friend, you had better ask your God about that. Perhaps you are a little perverse about going.”
“You are not acting wisely, Pearson. You had just as well be brave and await the outcome.”
“Message here,” called out a voice.
“Give it to me. The charges? None? Very well.”
He read: “Your answer is, ‘Yes; we have the man in jail. Have his confession of murder of woman.’”
“My God! Can it be? He has received it, and my brother will be free.”
“I have not been deceived. Thank God, he is innocent!” exclaimed the superintendent.
CHAPTER XVI.
A New Prisoner in Cell 78.
“Mr. Pearson, have you decided to go quietly? I think you may now occupy your brother’s cell, since he is innocent of the crime, and the real murderer has confessed. This is the telegram which brought the news.”
“Perhaps if I would call him a ‘pet’ and ‘fellow,’ he would come along with me,” said Pat. “The officer requested me to take you, so here, you ‘pet-fellow,’ you must go.”
“Pat, Pat, don’t kill him! Let him up! I think he will go.”
“I think he will, too. Here, take his gun—no, perhaps I had better take it along. I may need two of them. I only have six cartridges, and I have been carrying them some time. I may get a chance now to get rid of them, and I may need more.”
“Pat, get some water. I’m afraid you have killed him.”
“Well, he said he would die before he would go, and devil take him if he wanted to rush off in a hurry.”
“I see his mouth twitch. I hope he will revive soon.”
“I think he is saying to himself what he will do when he gets up, but if I have anny strength left, I think he will come along with me, as soon as he is able to walk, and nary stretcher will I carry him on, until I know he is indade a dead one. He went to fight back. I think when he comes to he will see that fighting is hard on the eyes. See the eye turn black, will you? You would think he had been dead a long while and was mortifying.”
“Come, Pat, help me to get him on his feet.”
“You had better let him rest easy where he is.”
“I am asking you for help, and I want it.”
“I’ll help you, your honor. I never have refused a thing you have asked me to do.”
“Come, Pearson; can you stand up? Try.”
“I am not hurt. I am only dizzy.”
“I am glad. I hope that you will now obey orders, and not cause any more excitement.”
“What shall I do, officer?”
“Pat, show him the way.”
“Come along, officer—Mr. Pearson—‘pet’ ‘fellow.’ Oh, how I would like to add a few more pet names to them! Indade, when he has no gun he is willing to ask what to do. Well, I will show you. This way out. I feel that you was not so very much surprised, only in the one way.”
“So the poor fellow was innocent, and the guilty one has confessed. I hope I shall never have another innocent man here while I am in charge of the place. I must send word to Pearson’s family. They will be alarmed when he does not come home. It will be a great shock to the family—to those beautiful society daughters. It will be a calamity to them. How shall I break the news? I would not dare to send Pat. He has a grievance against Pearson, and would not show any mercy on the family. I shall call the officials together and state the whole circumstances, and then we can see what steps to take to protect his family. I am anxious to see Pat back. I hope he will not have any more trouble. Here he comes now. Well, Pat, is he all right?”
“I think he is able to talk. After he was locked up, I stepped to one side and he thought I had gone, and the poor brother was getting the devil, and he promised him more than I just now gave him. I think that the poor brother will be scared to leave the place when he is turned loose.”
“Pat, why are you referring to the brother? What do you know about it?”
“I guess what I know would do someone good and would bring someone harm.”
“Tell me, Pat, how did you hear these things?”
“I have not got these ears on the sides of my head just for looks. They was put there to hear with, and I am going to hear when there are annything to be heard.”
“When did you hear all this, Pat?”
“I am after hearing it some time ago.”
“Pat, I thought I could trust you to tell me everything that went wrong inside of these prison walls.”
“Faith, and you can, and I would of told you if it was wrong, your honor, but I thought it was all right if he is guilty of staling all the money, he ought to be punished, and I did not think it necessary to tell you. I expected to find out what he did with the money. Mebbe the poor fellow could get it back.”
“You have a secret, Pat, and you must tell me all about it.”
“Well, I have got to tell it some time, and if I tell it now, I will have to tell it over again, so what is the use of telling it twice?”
“I believe it is something I should know now, and perhaps I do know, but not exactly what you do.”
“If I tell you now, I may not tell it the same way the next time, and if you only hear anything once, you will always think that is right, and if you hear it twice and not alike, then ‘you have not told the truth’ is the first thing you are accused of.”
“Well, Pat, that is right; but can not you remember how to tell it both times the same way?”
“Yes, this ‘pen’ is holding three or four poor devils to-day for not remembering and telling it alike both times.”
“I will let you think it over, Pat. Try to make up your mind to remember as you heard it. You may go now, and see if Mr. Pearson is all right. Report within the next half-hour.”
“Now if he is all right, do you want me to report now, or wait the half-hour?”
“Pat, if anything is wrong, let me know at once.”
“That I will, your honor.”
“Now Pat is gone, I must let the family know, and I think I should let them know at once, for I may not be able to get the officials together as soon as I should like to. I will risk it and call them over the wires, and try to explain some minor part to them, so they will know something is wrong. I can say that he had some trouble with one of the prisoners, as he has a black eye that Pat gave him. No, that won’t do. They would ask why I was holding him behind the bars if he had trouble. That has often happened and the officers are compelled to subdue the unruly prisoners, but they do not get locked up for it. I shall have to say something. When you try to fix up something, you never get it said just as you had it fixed up, so I’ll get them on the wire and trust to saying the right thing.
“Central, give me Main 505, please.
“Hello! Is this Mrs. Pearson? Mrs. Pearson, I have something to say to you. I should like you to come to the office at once. No, I hardly have time to tell you over the ’phone. Very well. Good-bye.
“What did I say? I was so nervous I hardly knew. I don’t like to tell the family about the head of the household. I think that he could explain better himself. I really don’t know just what I did say. I think I did not tell them how bad things were. By George! I believe that is Mrs. Pearson coming—and the beautiful daughters too. It is. Did I tell her to come? Yes, and here comes Pat with Pearson. My God! has he had trouble with him again? He is covered with blood.”
“Your honor, here he is. Everything was all right when I went around, but the chap got smart and I have been bating him for a half-hour, then the time was up and you said report, and here I am with what is left of him. I hear a knock on the door.
“Come right in, ladies.
“Officer, here.”
“Oh, papa, papa!”
“My dear husband! What has happened to you?”
Pat muttered: “Only a good bating, and he deserved it.”
“Pat, I must censure you for speaking in that way. I did not intend that you should open the door, and I intended to place him in the second room. I had no chance to speak to you before you opened the door. Now you may go.”
“I will, your honor. You always told me to open the door when you heard a knock. Now you blame me for it. How do I know what to do and do it right?”
Outside, Pat whispered to himself: “I have had quite a time and feel pretty tired. I don’t think I will go, for I have a knowledge-place here where I get all my news, and I think I will get some more knowledge and sit meself down for a while. What the deuce is all of the crying for inside? I know I did not bate him to death.”
“My dear madam, calm yourself. I will explain the best I can. I hardly know how to do so. I think Mr. Pearson could do better than I could.”
“Mother, take papa home. Do, please, out of this horrid place, never to return.”
“I am very sorry, miss, but I—”
“You do not expect my husband to remain on duty when he is suffering, do you?
“Tell me how did you get so badly hurt,” said Mrs. Pearson, turning to her husband.
“Mother, do you not see that he can not raise his head?”
Pat, listening outside, remarked: “Not because he is hurt, little miss, but because he is ashamed to raise his head, and I am afraid you will not be able to raise your head up when this is all brought out. I feel I would of done the poor fellow a favor if I had bate him to death. Ho will have to die sometime, and perhaps this would of suited him better.”
“He will have to remain in the hospital, here, and we will take care of him.”
“Oh! I have a doctor, my family doctor, and I want him to look after him. What did you send for me for? Wasn’t it to take him home?” said Mrs. Pearson.
“No; I did not know at the time I was talking that he was injured. You know, he had this trouble—I told Pat to call around to his cell and see how he was getting along.”
“His cell! his cell!”
“Yes, my wife and dear children, I am a prisoner here. I can not go home with you.”
“Papa! oh, papa!”
“You a prisoner here? What have you done to be confined in this place, a prisoner?”
“I can not tell you. Go home. I may never get the chance again.”
“You a prisoner? My husband, whom I have promised to honor, a criminal? The father of my children a criminal? Oh, no! I do not believe it.”
“Madam, I think you had better take your daughters home. Calm yourself, and I will explain all to you later.”
“I can not leave this place without my husband.”
Pat, listening, said: “Another boarder. I know she will object to the kind of service she will get here, and the linen napkin. I think she will change her mind, and I hope she will change it now and not shed anny more tears. I’m a hard-hearted Irishman, and could bate a fellow to death, but when it comes to hearing the dear ladies cry, I am finding meself dropping a tear meself.”
“Oh, papa! tell us what you have done.”
“Daughter, I have deceived you all these years, and I can do so no longer. I will tell you now. Be brave, and listen. I was one of the two sons my dear mother bore, and my brother, when a small boy, ran away from home. We never heard from him, and I thought he was dead, as did my dear mother. Many years afterward my poor mother died, broken-hearted over her lost son, and I had to swear to falsehood to obtain the estate. I swore that I knew he was dead, and so got all of the estate. What to do after I had received it, I did not know. I thought to invest it would be to double the amount. Instead of that, I lost all except what I had when I married your mother. Now the lost brother is found in this prison, and I am an embezzler. Now I must suffer for the rest of my days.”
“You have carried that secret in your heart all these years, and I, your wife, did not know it? You deceived me, and now bring disgrace upon your daughters?”
“Oh, mother! can you not see that papa is punished enough? Do not torture him any more,” said one of the daughters.
“I will disown my father if he has committed a crime like that,” said the other one.
“Sister,” returned the first, “he is not at fault. Do not speak to him in that way. You and I are his only children, and we must not do as those two brothers did, drift apart. We must not make the same mistake.”