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! There was the yellow hair! Again the warden looked at the man beside him and wondered at the strangeness of his own dreams.
With trembling hands he unlocked the cell door and The Thinking Machine passed inside.
"See here," he said.
He kicked at the steel bars in the bottom of the cell door and three of them were pushed out of place. A fourth broke off and rolled away in the corridor.
"And here, too," directed the erstwhile prisoner as he stood on the bed to reach the small window. He swept his hand across the opening and every bar came out.
"What's this in the bed?" demanded the warden, who was slowly recovering.
"A wig," was the reply. "Turn down the cover."
The warden did so. Beneath it lay a large coil of strong rope, thirty feet or more, a dagger, three files, ten feet of electric wire, a thin, powerful pair of steel pliers, a small tack hammer with its handle, and -- and a Derringer pistol.
"'How did you do it?" demanded the warden.
"You gentlemen have an engagement to supper with me at halfpast nine o'clock," said The Thinking Machine. "Come on, or we shall be late."
"But how did you do it?" insisted the warden.
"Don't ever think you can hold any man who can use his brain," said The Thinking Machine. "Come on; we shall be late."
VI.
It was an impatient supper party in the rooms of Professor Van Dusen and a somewhat silent one. The guests were Dr. Ransome, Albert Fielding, the warden, and Hutchinson Hatch, reporter. The meal was served to the minute, in accordance with Professor Van Dusen's instructions of one week before; Dr. Ransome found the artichokes delicious At last the supper was finished and The Thinking Machine turned full on Dr. Ransome and squinted at him fiercely.
"Do you believe it now?" he demanded.
"I do," replied Dr. Ransome.
"Do you admit that it was a fair test?"
"I do."
With the others, particularly the warden, he was waiting anxiously for the explanation.
"Suppose you tell us how -- " began Mr. Fielding.
"Yes, tell us how," said the warden.
The Thinking Machine readjusted his glasses, took a couple of preparatory squints at his audience, and began the story. He told it from the beginning logically; and no man ever talked to more interested listeners.
"My agreement was," he began, "to go into a cell, carrying nothing except what was necessary to wear, and to leave that cell within a week. I had never seen Chisholm Prison. When I went into the cell I asked for tooth powder, two ten and one five-dollar bills, and also to have my shoes blacked. Even if these requests had been refused it would not have mattered seriously. But you agreed to them."
"I knew there would be nothing in the cell which you thought I might use to advantage. So when the warden locked the door on me I was apparently helpless, unless I could turn three seemingly innocent things to use. They were things which would have been permitted any prisoner under sentence of death, were they not, warden?"