Rivals of Sherlock Holmes, The Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Nick Rennison
floor, level with the cement. It was perfectly round and somewhat larger than a silver dollar. This was the way the rats had gone. He put his fingers deep into the opening; it seemed to be a disused drainage pipe and was dry and dusty.
  Having satisfied himself on this point, he sat on the bed again for an hour, then made another inspection of his 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 grey 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
  Having satisfied himself on this point, he sat on the bed again for an hour, then made another inspection of his 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 grey 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
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