The Dime Museum Murders (36 page)

And
so it came to pass that Harry got himself locked up in the Sing-Sing
State Prison after all, while a retinue of journalists awaited news
of his success or failure in the warden's office. It was arranged
that I should join him in this adventure as well, so that I might
share in the expected publicity windfall. Now, locked away in
separate cells facing one another across a gloomy expanse of prison
corridor, I found myself regretting my decision to participate. First
of all, I had not realized that I would be obliged to submit to the
most rigorous and degrading medical body search that one could
possibly imagine. Also, Harry and I were both stark naked. The

guards
had taken away all of our clothing, to forestall any possibility that
we had tools concealed in them.

"Harry,"
I called, "can you hear me?" I leaned against the cell door
and then quickly recoiled. The bars were freezing cold.

"Of
course I can hear you, Dash."

"What
are we doing here? You never did manage to break out of the lock-up
at the precinct house. What makes you think you'll have any better
luck here at Sing-Sing?"

"Call
it a hunch," he answered. "I saw an opportunity and I
seized it. We couldn't possibly ask for a better advertisement! Did
you see how many newspapermen there were out there? Our names will be
in every paper in town!"

"Madman
and Brother Locked Away at Own Request,"
I said, imagining the headline my friend Biggs was likely to supply.
"Best
For All Concerned, Says Governor."
I
sat down on the metal bunk in my cell. "Good Lord, that's cold!"
I cried, jumping up again. "Did they have to take away our
clothing?"

"I'm
afraid I insisted on it. I thought it would make our triumph more
dramatic."

"But
Harry, I don't see how you can possibly have concealed the lock-pick
and reaching tool."

"I
didn't."

"Pardon?"

"I
don't have a lock-pick. I don't have a reaching tool."

I
stepped to the door and gripped the bars. "Harry—''

"I
learned a great deal down there in that tunnel beneath Mr. Wintour's
house," Harry said. "I learned a great deal about treachery
and deceit, and about what makes a man brave and what makes him
foolish. I suppose Bess was right all along. I'm no hero, Dash. Josef
and Frieda Graff are dead, and the world is no better for their
passing. We might just as well have stayed at the dime museum."

"Harry,
you know that's not—"

"There's
one other thing I learned, Dash. I learned that appearances count for
a great deal—perhaps more than the truth itself. Mr. Hendricks
hoped to win a fortune by making it appear that he had done something
he had not. I intend to do the same."

"What?"

"For
weeks now I have been concentrating all my energy on how to escape
from these cells. This was foolish. All that matters is to make it
appear
that
I have escaped from the cell. I have Mr. Hendricks to thank for
this."

"I'm
not following you, Harry. This is no stage set. We're locked in a
pair of cells at Sing-Sing. Either we escape or we don't. There's no
room for window dressing."

"We're
not locked in," said Harry.

"We're
not?"

"No."

"Gee,
Harry. These bars look pretty solid, and that lock seems awfully
secure. Unless you're planning to bribe one of the guards, I really
don't see how—"

"I
would never bribe the guards. That would be dishonest."

"Then
how do you propose to get out of here? You have no lock-pick, and
even if you did, the lock is all the way down at the end of the
corridor!"

"Do
you remember when we used to play round robin, Dash? When we were
boys in Appleton?"

"Harry,
let me call the guard. You're clearly not yourself."

"Do
you remember all those long afternoons I spent throwing a ball
against the side of our house? Throwing and catching, for hours and
hours at a time?"

"Of
course, Harry, but—"

I
heard a ragged, coughing sound from Harry's cell. His hands went to
his mouth.

"What
do you have there, Harry?"

"An
India rubber ball. I swallowed it forty minutes ago."

"Harry,
what in God's name—?"

"Watch
this, Dash." He leaned against the door of his cell and let his
arms dangle' through the bars. I could just see the little rubber
ball clutched in his right hand. "You see the lock?"

"Of
course."

"How
far away do you suppose it is?"

"I
don't know. Ten feet?"

"Eleven
and three-quarters. Keep your eyes on the lock, Dash." Harry
drew his right hand back and sailed the rubber ball at the opposite
wall. I heard a faint thudding noise as the ball bounced against the
brick, caromed off the floor, and struck the metal padlock squarely
in the middle. To my astonishment, the heavy padlock instantly popped
open and dropped to the floor with a noisy clatter.

"Harry—how—?"

"It
was never locked, Dash. When I asked the warden to let me examine it,
I stuffed a packet of cotton wadding down into the opening. It was
sufficient to hold the shackle-bar in place, but it prevented the
lock mechanism from engaging. The padlock was never properly
fastened. We were never truly locked in."

I
stared at the open lock on the floor between us. "That's
absolutely brilliant," I said. "Why didn't I think of it?"

"Because,
Dash," said Harry, pulling open the door of his cell, "you
have no imagination."