CHAPTER XVI
"CONFESSED!"
The sombre, battlemented walls of the jail looked grim and mercilessthrough the gray of the day. To Scanlon they seemed of appallingthickness and hardness; the turrets, which occurred at regularintervals, he knew held men, armed and sleepless, who watchedtirelessly. Hundreds and hundreds of dingy souls drooped inside; guilthung over the whole place like a palpable thing.
"Crime will never be cured by placing criminals in institutions likethis," said Ashton-Kirk, as they waited at the gate. "Instead, it breedshere. Prison-keepers are a race of themselves; as a rule they arebullies and grafters. And men placed for terms of years at the mercy ofthese can't be expected to grow, except toward the shadows. A youth,who, because of idleness, impulse or dissipation, offends society insome way, is thrown into this pit of moral filth to cleanse himself.Very few men have the fibre of the true criminal; and when a casuallawbreaker sees this dreadful blow leveled at his soul, he is at firstbewildered and afraid; then, if he has any spleen, he arrays himselfagainst the force which struck the blow. And, so, society has gainedanother enemy."
They were admitted by a uniformed guard, and in a few moments were inthe office. A white-haired man in a formal frock coat of a decade agogreeted Ashton-Kirk warmly.
"I am delighted to see you," said he, as they shook hands. "I doubt ifyou have been here since that forgery case of Hamilton & Durbon. OldClark had reason to be thankful for your visit that day, sir, for itsaved him a long term of undeserved imprisonment."
Ashton-Kirk smiled.
"It was rather a simple matter, and took only a few minutes todemonstrate," said he. "The firm was struck by panic, and frightenedpeople usually want a victim. If this had not been so in their case--ifthey had used the ordinary intelligence of the day's work--they wouldhave seen the truth themselves."
Here Ashton-Kirk presented Scanlon to the warden. The latter put on hiseye-glasses and bowed with old-fashioned courtesy.
"We should like to see Frank Burton, the young man accused of murderinghis father," said the investigator, after a little.
"Ah, yes!" The warden nodded, sadly. "That is a very dreadful case. I amtold there is little doubt he is guilty. And a very prepossessing boy.It is a great pity."
He went to the other side of the office to ring a bell, and Bat took theopportunity to say:
"What name did you give him?"
"Eastabrook! You may have heard of him. He has written books onpenology, and goes about lecturing on prison conditions."
Scanlon looked dubious.
"I hope it won't depend on his say-so," said he. "He don't sound like aheavyweight to me."
"He's as easily deceived as a child--and I rather think that is why heis here. His great obsession is loyalty; every guard in the place may bea grafter and a rascal, but as long as there is an effusive display ofloyalty to him, his eyes are closed. One honest man of his type is moreof a clog to reform than all the scoundrels combined."
Here the old warden returned; at the same time a guard entered theoffice.
"Healey will show you the way, Mr. Ashton-Kirk," as he shook hands withthe investigator. "And I trust your interest in this unfortunate youngman will have happy results."
He also shook Scanlon's hand and expressed much gratification at havingmet him; then the two followed the guard out into the courtyard and intothe gloomy corridors of the jail. There was a stale, confined smell inthe place; a chill was in the air--the sort of thing that comes fromcontinued damp. The blank steel doors with their rows of rivet heads,and the criminal history of the cell's inhabitant hanging beside them ona neat card, oppressed Bat.
"There is a movement on foot to do away with capital punishment," saidhe, to Ashton-Kirk. "What makes them think life imprisonment isn't asbad?"
The investigator shrugged his shoulders.
"They _don't_ think that," said he. "They merely present theindisputable fact that a legal murder cannot in any way make amends foran illegal one. When that is acted upon, I'm of the opinion that thejailing of men will get more attention."
The guard was a heavy-faced man, who walked with a limp. He hadoverheard these remarks, and now spoke.
"We hear lots of things like that," said he, resentfully. "People comehere in gangs sometimes and talk their heads off, pitying men who can behandled only when they're locked up. If sheep could talk they'd saythings just like these people; and these people, if the criminalsweren't jailed, would be just as helpless among them as the sheep."
Bat Scanlon looked somewhat impressed.
"You've said something," said he, with a shake of the head, "but youhaven't said it all."
"There was a woman here this morning," said the guard. "Was also in tosee this fellow, Burton," as an afterthought. "And she talked thatstuff, too."
"Came to see Burton, did she?" Ashton-Kirk looked interested. "Who wasshe?"
"Some kind of a relative, I think. It was Miss Cavanaugh, the actress."
Just then they came to a cell before which the guard stopped.
"Here you are," said he. "This is the man you want."
There was a shooting of bolts and the pressure of an opening door. Theinner door was of close bars; they saw a narrow cell with unrelievedwalls and a grated opening through which came a small trickle ofdaylight. A figure arose from the cot at the far end and stood lookinguncertainly at the doorway.
"Want to go inside?" asked the guard. "The warden said it'd be allright."
"Thanks," said Ashton-Kirk; "if you please."
The barred door was unlocked and opened; the two entered, and stood faceto face with young Burton.
"How are you?" said Scanlon, holding out a ready hand. "Remember me? Isaw you at your place at Stanwick one day."
"The day I was arrested," said the young man. "I remember you."
Scanlon waved the hand, which the other had neglected to take, towardhis friend.
"This is Mr. Ashton-Kirk. You may have heard of him. He's interested inthis case."
The young artist made a weary gesture.
"That can be said of a great many people," he said. His face was whiteand had a harassed look; his eyes shone feverishly. "I have been, tospeak frankly, plagued to death by their interest. It isn't a pleasantthing to feel that almost every one is consumed with the desire to placea brand of some sort upon a fellow creature."
Ashton-Kirk regarded him without resentment.
"I understand the feeling, I think," said he, quietly. "It comes fromthe shock of the charge laid against you, and the depression of thejail. But consider this," and the singular eyes held the young mansteadily; "if the truth is to come out in this matter, interest must betaken by some one. If you are to be freed of this charge it will be verylikely, by placing the weight of it upon some one else."
A look of despair was in the hot eyes of the prisoner; his handsclenched tightly.
"All his life," he said, as though speaking to himself, "all his life hedid evil; and now that he is dead, the evil continues." He pointed to abench at one side and added: "Will you sit down?" The two having seatedthemselves, he sank down weakly upon the edge of the cot. "I've been inpoor shape since I came here," said he. "I can't sleep, and my nervesare gone."
"That's bad," said Bat Scanlon. "Nothing wears a man out like loss ofsleep. Try to quit thinking of this affair; if you don't----"
"Quit thinking of it!" Young Burton laughed in a high pitched fashionthat was very disagreeable to hear. "Quit it? You might as well ask meto stop the sun from coming up. I could do it just as easily."
There was a short silence; young Burton picked at the coverings of hisbed with nervous fingers; and then he resumed:
"They say that any good thing brought into the world remains; that goodcan never be destroyed. I wonder if the same cannot be said of evil. Heis dead; and yet what he did is living after him."
"That is probably one of the things that will oppress mankind forever.The persistence of evil is the thought behind many ancient religions.Inde
ed, one might include modern creeds as well," added Ashton-Kirk,"for Christianity teaches that evil clings from generation togeneration, from age to age."
"I recall _him_ first as a man whom I felt to be a stranger, but whom Iwas told to call father," said young Burton. "He did not live with us,only appealing now and then and making my mother very unhappy. Eventhen, small boy as I was, I hated him; and I know he detested me."
The young man was in that queerly relaxing state which causes men totell their private griefs to even casual acquaintances.
"Very often," he went on, "we were rather happy, but that was alwayswhen my father was away. I remember a little white house on theoutskirts where we lived unmolested for several years. My sister was atschool; I was employed by an old wood engraver, one of the last of hiskind; my mother earned a good living and we were quite comfortable andhappy. My father had been away for so long that I had almost forgottenhim; when a thought of him did come into my mind, it was as of an oldtrouble--and one that would never come again.
"But one evening when I reached home I found him there. My mother's facewas white and she was trembling. But he was smiling! I would rather,"and young Burton raised a shaking hand, "have heard another man cursethan see him smile."
"I know the feeling," said Bat Scanlon. "I've felt something like itmyself."
"He wanted money," proceeded the young artist. "I knew my mother had alittle store somewhere, which she had put away, for the winter wascoming on. He was cunning and must have divined this--it was the kind ofthing she would do. When she refused, he smiled and insisted. Andfinally--the smile still on his mouth, remember--he struck her! I hadbeen silent until that; but when I saw the blow fall, I became amaddened young animal. I flew at him blindly, and he beat me like a dog.A half hour later he went away, and with him went what money my motherhad saved."
"Bad!" said Bat Scanlon. "Very bad!"
"And now," said the young man, "he's dead. But the evil which his lifebrought into the world still lives!" Oddly, his mind seemed to cling tothis thought; his eyes, looking straight ahead, were filled withapprehension; his fingers picked nervously at the edge of a blanket.
"Evil is fear, and fear can be conquered," said Ashton-Kirk, quietly;"if a man wills it, he can stamp it out."
"Evil is fear!" The prisoner looked at Ashton-Kirk in sudden inquiry."In what way?"
"In every way," replied the investigator. "No matter what its form, evilhas its base in fear. And it is one of the plain offices of man todestroy this monster which has ridden him from the beginning. For whenthe race was young, the world was filled with unnamed dread--thedarkness was peopled with unseen things. From this fear sprangsuperstition. The future held the first men cowed; the past had left themarks of trials and the memory of pain. And the fear of life has sincemade more criminals than perhaps any other thing; while dread ofrepeating the past has broken countless lives."
Ashton-Kirk paused for a moment, his eyes still fixed upon the youngman; then he went on:
"This evil which oppresses you so has its roots in a fear, has it not?"
Again there was a pause; the prisoner's eyes met those of theinvestigator, fixedly.
"Don't allow it to crush you. You are in deadly danger; you need yourmind to save yourself."
He arose and stood before the other; one hand went out and touched theprisoner's shoulder.
"I have brought you news. New clues have been found. Before this, thepolice have worked only along lines which led to you. Now they've goneoff on another track. There is a woman in the case," and he patted thedrooping shoulder, "and they hope to fasten the crime upon her."
Young Burton came to his feet with a jerk.
"A woman!" he cried. "They are crazy! A woman!" Once more he uttered thehigh pitched laugh which had affected Bat so disagreeably. "What canthey be thinking of!" He stared with excited eyes at the investigator,then at Scanlon, then back again to Ashton-Kirk. "I will not allow it,"he cried. "Do you hear? I'll not allow it. No woman did this thing. Tellthem I said so. I will not permit an innocent person to be blamed. I didit! I did it--alone!"