LITMIR.BIZ

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can't get any of the doors of the night-cells open."

      "You can't get-what?"

      "There seems to be something the matter with the locks."

      "The locks? All of them? Absurd!"

      "Well, there they are, and there's the men inside of them, and we can't get 'em out-at least I've tried my hand, and I know I can't."

      "I'll come with you at once, and see what you mean."

      Mr. Paley was as good as his word. He started off just as he was. As they were going, the chief warder made another remark.

      "By the way, there is one cell we managed to get open-I opened it myself."

      "I thought you said there was none?"

      "There's that one-it's that man Mankell."

      "Mankell? Who is he?"

      "He came in yesterday. It's that magician."

      When they reached the cells, it was easy to perceive that something was wrong. The warders hung about in twos and threes; the noise was deafening; the prisoners were keeping holiday.

      "Get me the keys and let me see what I can do. It is impossible that all the locks can have been tampered with."

      They presented Mr. Paley with the keys. In his turn he tried every lock in the jail This was not a work of a minute or two. The prison contained some three hundred night-cells. To visit them all necessitated not only a good deal of running up and down stairs, but a good deal of actual walking; for they were not only in different floors and in different blocks, but the prison itself was divided into two entirely separate divisions-north and south-and to pass from one division to the other entailed a walk of at least a hundred yards. By the time he had completed the round of the locks, Mr. Paley had had about enough of it. It was not surprising that he felt a little bewildered-not one of the locks had shown any more readiness to yield to him than to the others.

      In passing from one ward to the other, he had passed the row of day-cells in which was situated B 27. Here they found Oliver Mankell sitting in silent state awaiting the call to work. The governor pulled up at the sight of him.

      "Well, Mankell, so there was nothing the matter with the lock of your door?"

      Mankell simply inclined his head.

      "I suppose you know nothing about the locks of the other doors?"

      Again the inclination of the head. The man seemed to be habitually chary of speech.

      "What's the matter with you? Are you dumb? Can't you speak when you're spoken to?"

      This time Mankell extended the palms of his hands with a gesture which might mean anything or nothing. The governor passed on. The round finished, he held a consultation with the chief warder.

      "Have you any suspicions?"

      "It's queer." Mr. Murray stroked his bristly chin.

      "It's very queer that that man Mankell's should be the only cell in the prison left untampered with."

      "Very queer, indeed."

      "What are we to do? We can't leave the men locked up all day. It's breakfast-time already. I suppose the cooks haven't gone down to the cookhouse?"

      "They're locked up with the rest. Barnes has been up to know what he's to do."

      Barnes was the prison cook. The cooks referred to were six good-behaviour men who were told off to assist him in his duties.

      "If the food were cooked, I don't see how we should give it to the men."

      "That's the question." Mr. Murray pondered.

      "We might pass it through the gas-holes."

      "We should have to break the glass to do it. You wouldn't find it easy. It's plate-glass, an inch in thickness, and built into the solid wall."

      There was a pause for consideration.

      "Well, this is a pretty start. I've never come across anything like it in all my days before."

      Mr. Paley passed his hand through his hair. He had never come across anything like it either.

      "I shall have to telegraph to the commissioners. I can't do anything without their sanction."

      The following telegram was sent:

      "Cannot get prisoners out of night-cells. Something the matter with locks. Cannot give them any food. The matter is very urgent. What shall I do?"

      The following answer was received:

      "Inspector coming down."

      The inspector came down-Major William Hardinge. A tall, portly gentleman, with a very decided manner. When he saw the governor he came to the point at once.

      "What's all this stuff?"

      "We can't get the prisoners out of the night-cells."

      "Why?"

      "There's something the matter with the locks."

      "Have you given them any food?"

      "We have not been able to."

      "When were they locked up?"

      "Yesterday evening at six o'clock."

      "This is a very extraordinary state of things."

      "It is, or I shouldn't have asked for instructions."

      "It's now three o'clock in the afternoon. They've been without food for twenty-one hours. You've no right to keep them without food all that time."

      "We are helpless. The construction of the night-cells does not permit of our introducing food into the interior when the doors are closed."

      "Have they been quiet?"

      "They've been as quiet as under the circumstance was to be expected."

      As they were crossing towards the north division the governor spoke again:

      "We've been able to get one man out."

      "One! – out of the lot! How did you get him?"

      "Oddly enough, the lock of his cell was the only one in the prison which had not been tampered with."

      "Hum! I should like to see that man."

      "His name's Mankell. He only came in yesterday. He's been pretending to magic powers-telling fortunes, and that kind of thing."

      "Only came in yesterday? He's begun early. Perhaps we shall have to tell him what his fortune's likely to be."

      When they reached the wards the keys were handed to the inspector, who in his turn tried his hand. A couple of locksmiths had been fetched up from the town. When the Major had tried two or three of the locks it was enough for him. He turned to the makers of locks.

      "What's the matter with these locks?"

      "Well, that's exactly what we can't make out. The keys go in all right, but they won't turn. Seems as though somebody had been having a lark with them."

      "Can't you pick them?"

      "They're not easy locks to pick, but we'll have a try!"

      "Have a try!"

      They had a try, but they tried in vain. As it happened, the cell on which they commenced operations was occupied by a gentleman who had had a considerable experience in picking locks-experience which had ended in placing him on the other side that door. He derided the locksmiths through the door.

      "Well, you are a couple of keen ones! What, can't pick the lock! Why, there ain't a lock in England I couldn't pick with a bent 'airpin. I only wish you was this side, starving like I am, and I was where you are, it wouldn't be a lock that would keep me from giving you food."

      This was not the sort of language Major Hardinge was accustomed to hear from the average prisoner, but the Major probably felt that on this occasion the candid proficient in the art of picking locks had a certain excuse. He addressed the baffled workmen.

      "If you can't pick the lock, what can you do? The question is, what is the shortest way of getting inside that cell?"

      "Get

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