The Problem of Cell 13 | Page 5

surroundings through the small cell window. One of the outside guards stood directly opposite, beside the wall, and happened to be looking at the window of Cell 13 when the head of The Thinking Machine appeared. But the scientist didn't notice the guard.
Noon came and the jailer appeared with the prison dinner of repulsively plain food. At home The Thinking Machine merely ate to live; here he took what was offered without comment. Occasionally he spoke to the jailer who stood outside the door watching him.
"Any improvements made here in the last few years?" he asked.
"Nothing particularly," replied the jailer. "New wall was built four years ago."
"Anything done to the prison proper?"
"Painted the woodwork outside, and I believe about seven years ago a new system of plumbing was put in."
"Ah!" said the prisoner. "How far is the river over there?"
"About three hundred feet. The boys have a baseball ground between the wall and the river."
The Thinking Machine had nothing further to say just then, but when the jailer was ready to go he asked for some water.
"I get very thirsty here," he explained. "Would it be possible for you to leave a little water in a bowl for me?"
"I'll ask the warden," replied the jailer, and he went away. Half an hour later he returned with water in a small earthen bowl.
"The warden says you may keep this bowl," he informed the prisoner. "But you must show it to me when I ask for it. If it is broken, it will be the last."
"Thank you," said The Thinking Machine. "I shan't break it."
The jailer went on about his duties. For just the fraction of a second it seemed that The Thinking Machine wanted to ask a question, but he didn't.
Two hours later this same jailer, in passing the door of Cell No. 13, heard a noise inside and stopped. The Thinking Machine was down on his hands and knees in a corner of the cell, and from that same corner came several frightened squeaks. The jailer looked on interestedly.
"Ah, I've got you," he heard the prisoner say.
"Got what?" he asked, sharply.
"One of these rats," was the reply. "See?" And between the scientist's long fingers the jailer saw a small gray rat struggling. The prisoner brought it over to the light and looked at it closely. "It's a water rat," he said.
"Ain't you got anything better to do than to catch rats?" asked the jailer.
"It's disgraceful that they should be here at all," was the irritated reply. "Take this one away and kill it. There are dozens more where it came from."
The jailer took the wriggling, squirmy rodent and flung it down on the floor violently. It gave one squeak and lay still. Later he reported the incident to the warden, who only smiled.
Still later that afternoon the outside armed guard on Cell 13 side of the prison looked up again at the window and saw the prisoner looking out. He saw a hand raised to the barred window and then something white fluttered to the ground, directly under the window of Cell 13. It was a little roll of linen, evidently of white shirting material, and tied around it was a five-dollar bill. The guard looked up at the window again, but the face had disappeared.
With a grim smile he took the little linen roll and the five-dollar bill to the warden's office. There together they deciphered something which was written on it with a queer sort of ink, frequently blurred. On the outside was this:
"Finder of this please deliver to Dr. Charles Ransome."
"Ah," said the warden, with a chuckle. "Plan of escape number one has gone wrong." Then, as an afterthought: "But why did he address it to Dr. Ransome?"
"And where did he get the pen and ink to write with?" asked the guard.
The warden looked at the guard and the guard looked at the warden. There was no apparent solution of that mystery. The warden studied the writing carefully, then shook his head.
"Well, let's see what he was going to say to Dr. Ransome," he said at length, still puzzled, and he unrolled the inner piece of linen.
"Well, if that -- what -- what do you think of that?" he asked, dazed.
The guard took the bit of linen and read this:
"Epa cseot d'net niiy awe htto n'si sih. "T."
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III
The warden spent an hour wondering what sort of a cipher it was, and half an hour wondering why his prisoner should attempt to communicate with Dr. Ransome, who was the cause of him being there. After this the warden devoted some thought to the question of where the prisoner got writing materials., and what sort of writing materials he had. With the idea of illuminating this point, he examined the linen again. It was a torn part of a