The Captain, however, still held an ace. He turned to O’Halloran, who stood leaning against the wall at his right. “Merlini picked your pocket yesterday. You’re charging him with that. Understand?”
“But I returned his property to him,” Merlini said.
“Maybe so,” Schafer returned, “maybe not. If you’ve got any evidence or witnesses to prove it, you can produce them before the judge tomorrow. In the meantime—”
Merlini faced O’Halloran. “Well,” he said, “whose side are you playing on?”
O’Halloran took his cigarette from his mouth and tapped the ashes into a tray on the desk. He gave Merlini a wink as he did so and crossed the first two fingers of his right hand, which was on the side away from Schafer, but visible to us. “I can’t help myself very well, can I?” he answered.
I decided then to make a last stand myself. “You aren’t locking me up as a material witness without a court order,” I stated.
Schafer said, “A sea lawyer, eh? Okay, then I’ll get one. Hooper, get Judge Ewing on the phone.”
As the Chief reached for the instrument, Merlini took a step forward, gave me a dig in the ribs with his elbow and said, “I guess he wins this round, Ross. Come on. Let’s see your dungeon, Hooper.”
Hooper put the phone down. He and Stevens started to take us out. Schafer said, “Don’t forget those picklocks of his, Chief. Inspector Gavigan said it would be a good idea to strip them both. He says Merlini knows how to escape from packing boxes that have been nailed up and dumped in the river.”
Hooper snorted. “This jail ain’t no packing box. He’ll find that out.”
The prospect of jail hadn’t bothered me much until I heard this. I’d figured that Merlini might be able to roll up his sleeves and pass a minor miracle that would circumvent the stone walls and iron bars. I was beginning to have doubts, and in a few moments I had more of them.
If Merlini was bothered, however, he pretended not to show it. As our guides ushered us into the jail proper, he said lightly, “I’d like a nice roomy cell with a southern exposure, please.”
“You’ll take what you get,” Hooper growled. “And none of the cells have any windows, so if you’re thinking of sawing your way out, forget it. Every bar in the place is case-hardened steel, and if I gave you a hacksaw you’d still be trying six months from now.”
The cells, a dozen barred steel cages, were arranged in two rows on either side of a corridor within the cell-block that ran the length of the long cement-floored room. Another exterior corridor, ten feet wide, completely circled the cell-block, so that it was a steel-ringed island completely isolated from the outside walls. There were a half-dozen smallish windows in one wall, but from the interior of the cell-block they were completely inaccessible, and the grating of thick, close-set bars that crossed them looked distinctly formidable.
Hooper opened the door of an electrical control box on the wall and pulled a switch. “Each cell has its own individual lock,” he said proudly. “And this switch operates an additional bolt on all the cells simultaneously, double locking them. Your arms are plenty long, but they’d have to be about ten feet longer yet to get at this switch. A ghost couldn’t get outta here unless I let him.”
“Very nice,” Merlini commented. “And you don’t believe in ghosts, I suppose?”
Hooper didn’t think that merited an answer. He took a ring of keys from Stevens and fitted one in the lock of the single door that opened into the cell-block corridor. “We’ll put Merlini in Cell Two with Harte across from him, well out of reach of that switch even if they had a twenty-foot pole, but in sight of the door so I can look in now and then and keep an eye on them.” He turned to Merlini. “I guess we can take them cuffs off now.” As Stevens removed them, Hooper added, “And your duds too. Peel them off.”
“All of them?” Merlini asked.
“Yeah, you ain’t too modest, are you?”
“I’m very susceptible to colds, Chief,” Merlini replied. “And, warm as the weather is, these cells are built so as to allow the maximum number of drafts. If one of your prisoners dies of pneumonia you’ll have a newspaper scandal on your hands. What’s more, I’ll come back and haunt you.”
“Stop jabbering and undress. Stevens, there are a couple of old uniforms in the locker room. Have Robbins get them. They won’t fit so well, but these guys aren’t going any place.”
The Chief investigated the pockets of Merlini’s clothes as they came off. He found, among other things, a couple of decks of cards, a red and green silk handkerchief, several vari-colored thimbles, a spool of black silk thread, and two or three queer-looking gadgets of an indeterminate nature.
“Lunatic,” Hooper said. “If you get violent you can try our padded cell. First chance I’ve had to use it.” Then he found a key ring that held a dozen oddly shaped angular bits of metal — the picklocks. “That’s that,” he grinned. “I’ll let Burns add these to the Crime Museum he’s collecting.”
“Not unless they execute me,” Merlini objected. “I want those returned when I leave here. Some of those picks are collector’s items. They were once Houdini’s.”
“Okay,” Hooper said. “If you leave.”
“Any objection if the condemned men keep their cigarettes?” asked Merlini, indicating his pack of Camels and a cigarette lighter the Chief had taken from his pockets.
Hooper looked at him suspiciously, carefully examined the two articles in question, and then handed them over. “I guess not,” he said, and, turning, gave my discarded clothes equal attention. When we had completely disrobed, he eyed us both inquisitively as if he were making sure that neither of us were equipped by nature, like kangaroos, with pockets in our skins.
Hooper, satisfied but wary, ushered us into our respective cells and locked the doors behind us himself.
The metallic clang of my door as it closed and the shooting over of the heavy bolt were final, irrevocable sounds that were anything but reassuring. Chief Hooper’s satisfied smile was even less so.
He and Stevens went out through the cell-block door; and, as Stevens was locking that, Hooper threw the switch in the wall. I heard the extra bolts click over solidly all down the line.
Hooper gave us a last malevolent grin and then went out. He slammed the door behind him.
Chapter Seventeen
Fond Farewell
The cot in my cell was a wooden shelf with a leather-covered mattress on it. I sat down and lit a cigarette. Then, for the first time, I noticed that we had company. Farther down the line of cells toward the rear of the cell-block, two cells were occupied. One held a heavy-set, blue-jowled individual whose round bulbous nose shone like a red danger signal. I guessed that he might be the town drunk. He stood at the door of his cell watching us interestedly. The other man, lying on his cot, also regarded us, half-raised on one elbow. His languid posture, his sleepy drawling voice, and his ill-kempt clothes suggested a knight of the road who was doing his 30 days for vagrancy.
Weary Willie, when he saw me light up, asked, “How about a smoke down this way, buddy? We ran out a couple days back and we’re both too flat to buy more.”
I took two cigarettes from my pack, put my arm between the bars, and pitched them one at a time down the corridor. They managed to reach them and snake them in. I looked across at Merlini, who was absorbed in an examination of the lock on his cell door.
“What I can’t understand,” I told him, “is why you didn’t shuck those handcuffs long ago and make a break for it instead of waiting until we landed in this pocket edition of Alcatraz. Don’t tell me the Chief has a new style of cuff that you can’t beat?”