Through the Wall Part 30

CHAPTER XIII

LLOYD AND ALICE

Kittredge was fortunate in having a sense of humor, it helped him through the horrors of his first night at the depot, which he pa.s.sed with the sc.u.m of Paris streets, thieves, beggars, vagrants, the miserable crop of Sat.u.r.day-night police takings, all herded into one foul room on filthy bunks so close together that a turn either way brought a man into direct contact with his neighbor.

Lloyd lay between an old pickpocket and a drunkard. He did not sleep, but pa.s.sed the hours thinking. And when he could think no longer, he listened to the pickpocket who was also wakeful, and who told wonderful yarns of his conquests among the fair s.e.x in the time of the Commune, when he was a strapping artilleryman.

"You're a pretty poor pickpocket, old chap," reflected Kittredge, "but you're an awful good liar!"

In spite of little sleep, he was serene and good-natured when they took him, handcuffed, before Judge Hauteville the next morning for his preliminary examination--a mere formality to establish the prisoner's ident.i.ty. Kittredge gave the desired facts about himself with perfect willingness; his age, nationality, occupation, and present address. He realized that there was no use hiding these. When asked if he had money to employ a lawyer, he said "no"; and when told that the court would a.s.sign Maitre Pleindeaux for his defense, he thanked the judge and went off smiling at the thought that his interests were now in the hands of Mr.

Full-of-Water. "I'll ask him to have a drink," chuckled Kittredge.

And he submitted uncomplainingly when they took him to the Bertillon measuring department and stood him up against the wall, bare as a babe, arms extended, and noted down his dimensions one by one, every limb and feature being precisely described in length and breadth, every physical peculiarity recorded, down to the impression of his thumb lines and the precise location of a small mole on his left arm.

All this happened Sunday morning, and in the afternoon other experiences awaited him--his first ride in a prison van, known as a _panier a salade_, and his initiation into real prison life at the Sante. The cell he took calmly, as well as the prison dress and food and the hard bed, for he had known rough camping in the Maine woods and was used to plain fare, but he winced a little at the regulation once a week prison shave, and the regulation bath once a month! And what disturbed him chiefly was the thought that now he would have absolutely nothing to do but sit in his cell and wait wearily for the hours to pa.s.s. Prisoners under sentence may be put to work, but one _au secret_ is shut up not only from the rest of the world, but even from his fellow-prisoners. He is utterly alone.

"Can't I have a pack of cards?" asked Lloyd with a happy inspiration.

"Against the rule," said the guard.

"But I know some games of solitaire. I never could see what they were invented for until now. Let me have part of a pack, just enough to play old-maid solitaire. Ever heard of that?"

The guard shook his head.

"Not even a part of a pack? You won't even let me play old-maid solitaire?"

And with the merry, cheery grin that had won him favor everywhere from wildest Bohemia to primest Presbyterian tea parties, Lloyd added: "That's a h.e.l.l of a way to treat a murderer!"

The Sunday morning service was just ending when Kittredge reached the prison, and he got his first impressions of the place as he listened to resounding Gregorian tones chanted, or rather shouted, by tiers on tiers of prisoners, each joining in the unison with full lung power through cell doors chained ajar. The making of this rough music was one of the pleasures of the week, and at once the newcomer's heart was gripped by the indescribable sadness of it.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "And when he could think no longer, he listened to the pickpocket."]

Having gone through the formalities of arrival and been instructed as to various detail of prison routine, Lloyd settled down as comfortably as might be in his cell to pa.s.s the afternoon over "The Last of the Mohicans."

He chose this because the librarian a.s.sured him that no books were as popular among French convicts as the translated works of Fenimore Cooper.

"Good old Stars and Stripes!" murmured Kittredge, but he stared at the same page for a long time before he began to read. And once he brushed a quick hand across his eyes.

Scarcely had Lloyd finished a single chapter when one of the guards appeared with as much of surprise on his stolid countenance as an overworked under jailer can show; for an unprecedented thing had happened--a prisoner _au secret_ was to receive a visitor, a young woman, at that, and, _sapristi_, a good-looking one, who came with a special order from the director of the prison. Moreover, he was to see her in the private parlor, with not even the customary barrier of iron bars to separate them.

They were to be left together for half an hour, the guard standing at the open door with instructions not to interfere except for serious reasons. In the memory of the oldest inhabitant such a thing had not been known!

Kittredge, however, was not surprised, first, because nothing could surprise him, and, also, because he had no idea what an extraordinary exception had been made in his favor. So he walked before the guard indifferently enough toward the door indicated, but when he crossed the threshold he started back with a cry of amazement.

"Alice!" he gasped, and his face lighted with transfiguring joy. It was a bare room with bare floors and bare yellow painted walls, the only furnishings being two cane chairs and a cheap table, but to Kittredge it was a marvelous and radiantly happy place, for Alice was there; he stared at her almost unbelieving, but it was true--by some kind miracle Alice, his Alice, was there!

Then, without any prelude, without so much as asking for an explanation or giving her time to make one, Lloyd sprang forward and caught the trembling girl in his arms and drew her close to him with tender words, while the guard muttered: "_Nom d'un chien! Il ne perd pas de temps, celui-la!_"

This was not at all the meeting that Alice had planned, but as she felt her lover's arms about her and his warm breath on her face, she forgot the message that she brought and the questions she was to ask, she forgot his danger and her own responsibility, she forgot everything but this one blessed fact of their great love, his and hers, the love that had drawn them together and was holding them together now here, together, close together, she and her Lloyd.

"You darling," he whispered, "you brave, beautiful darling! I love you! I love you!" And he would have said it still again had not his lips been closed by her warm, red lips. So they stood silent, she limp in his arms, gasping, thrilling, weeping and laughing, he feasting insatiable on her lips, on the fragrance of her hair, on the lithe roundness of her body.

"_Voyons, voyons!_" warned the guard. "_Soyons serieux!_"

"He is right," murmured Alice, "we must be serious. Lloyd, let me go," and with an effort she freed herself. "I can only stay here half an hour, and I don't know how much of it we have wasted already." She tried to look at him reproachfully, but her eyes were swimming with tenderness.

"It wasn't wasted, dear," he answered fondly. "To have held you in my arms like that will give me courage for whatever is to come."

"But, Lloyd," she reasoned, "nothing bad will come if you do what I say. I am here to help you, to get you out of this dreadful place."

"You little angel!" he smiled. "How are you going to do it?"

"I'll tell you in a moment," she said, "but, first, you must answer some questions. Never mind why I ask them, just answer. You will, won't you, Lloyd? You trust me?"

"Of course I trust you, sweetheart, and I'll answer anything that I--that I can."

"Good. I'll begin with the easiest question," she said, consulting her list. "Sit down here--that's right. Now, then, have you ever had gout or rheumatism? Don't laugh--it's important."

"Never," he answered, and she wrote it down.

"Do you play tennis with your right hand or your left hand?"

"Oh, see here," he protested, "what's the use of----"

"No, no," she insisted, "you must tell me. Please, the right hand or the left?"

"I use both hands," he answered, and she wrote it down.

"Now," she continued, "you have a chest of drawers in your room with two bra.s.s dogs fighting about the lock plates?"

Kittredge stared at her. "How the devil did you know that?"

"Never mind. You usually keep the right-hand upper drawer locked, don't you?"

"That's true."

"Do you remember going to this drawer any time lately and finding it unlocked?"

He thought a moment. "No, I don't."

Alice hesitated, and then, with a flush of embarra.s.sment, she went on bravely: "Now, Lloyd, I come to the hardest part. You must help me and--and not think that I am hurt or--or jealous."

"Well?"

"It's about the lady who--who called for you. This is all her fault, so--so naturally she wants to help you."

"How do you know she does?" he asked quickly.

"Because I have seen her."