The guard glanced in at the cell. “We always strip ’em down as far as we can. The gas sticks to clothes and it makes it difficult for us to get ’em out.”
“There’s goin’ to be a mighty rush for tickets when they put a dame in there,” I said.
The guard made a grimace. I guess he wasn’t feeling too good. “Yeah,” he said, “but they’ll keep you bums outta here.”
Vessi was a big guy, with a sullen, heavy face. Considering what was coming to him, I thought he was taking it pretty well. There was a glassy look in his eyes, and he was looking glum, but he wasn’t in a panic.
The chaplain, a short, fat, worried-looking guy, sat on a chair, his head lowered, intoning a prayer. Vessi looked at him every now and then and licked his lips. I could see he wished the chaplain would stop the intoning.
I felt a sudden shiver run through me, as if it had turned cold. But it hadn’t. I was sweating. The warden came down the passage quickly. There was a greenish pallor on his face, and he didn’t look at me.
He just said “Okay” to the guard.
They unlocked the door to the little cell. Vessi’s skin tightened, and he looked beyond the guards at me. I didn’t like meeting that guy’s eye, but I thought maybe I’d better give him a little encouragement. I winked at him. It was a hell of a thing to do, but I just had to tell him I was feeling for him.
The guard tapped him on the shoulder, and he stood up. He was steadier on his feet than I was.
The chaplain droned on. I could guess how Vessi felt about it. I had to hold myself in. Those prayers didn’t seem to be getting us anywhere.
Vessi came out of the cell. He was handcuffed, and he kept twisting his wrists, fidgeting with the bracelets.
The warden read the death-warrant in a sombre, get-it-over sort of voice. I could see a trickle of sweat running down behind his ear. When he was through he said: “Any last words?”
This was what I’d been waiting for. I moved forward so that I was close to Vessi. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the other guys pressed against the glass window, taking it all in, and watching me closely. Vessi looked right at me. “You got the wrong guy,” he said, his voice not quite steady. “I didn’t do it.”
The guards closed round him, but Vessi suddenly stiffened. He continued to look at me. “Break it open, Mason,” he said in a low mumble. “Lu Spencer pulled it. You gotta get him—it was Lu— do you hear—?”
The guards bustled him and he was shoved into the chamber. I made a note to please the boys, but I left the last angle out.
They put Vessi in the steel chair with the pellets under it. The straps were tightened. While this was going on—it took under forty-five seconds—he kept his eyes on my face. I nodded to him, trying to tell him I was going to do something about it. He saw he’d got my attention and relaxed in the chair.
A guard brought a crock of sulphuric acid and put it under the chair—directly under the pellets. Then he took it on the lam quick. The warden inspected the straps—one around Vessi’s chest, two on each arm, and one on each leg. He put his hand on Vessi’s shoulder. “You’ll go quick, boy,” he said. “Take a deep breath—you won’t know anythin’ about it.” Then he walked out of the chamber.
Vessi was in there alone.
The guard swung the heavy steel door shut, and shoved home the bolts. I and the warden stood looking into the chamber through the little window by the door. Ten seconds to wait, and those ten seconds seemed like ten years. I felt my heart bumping.
Vessi turned his head slowly, looking at the faces watching him. He was beginning to realise what was coming to him.
The warden had his eye on his watch. He reached out and put his hand on the lever which dropped the pellets into the acid. I could see him screwing up his will to pull that lever, and I was glad he had to do it and not me. I couldn’t look at Vessi any more. I found my eyes on the warden’s hand. I could see his muscles gradually tightening. Then with a little sigh, that came through his clenched teeth in a hiss, he jerked the lever down. The pellets dropped into the crock with a distinct flop. Vessi heard it and stiffened in his chair. A white gas began to drift from the acid. I could see the muscles of his arms suddenly bulge as he strained on the straps.
The gas rose rapidly. I thought I could taste bitter almonds— but I knew that was cock-eyed. My imagination was getting the better of me.
Vessi smelt the gas. He tossed his head back, twisting to escape the fumes. The steel chair held him. I could see him holding his breath. This guy was making it bad for himself. Finally he couldn’t hold it any longer, and he gasped. He got a big dose of the gas that time. He screamed suddenly: “No! No!” The sound of his yell rattled round the chamber. It came to us muffled and eerie.
I found myself gripping on to the steel bolt of the door. This was getting me in the guts.
Vessi choked, gasped and writhed against his bonds. I wanted to take a gun out and finish him quick.
The doctor at my elbow kept one eye on a stop-watch. Thirty seconds—thirty-five—Vessi still choked. Forty- five seconds and his head dropped back. The doctor scribbled the time opposite a blank on the sheet before him. Vessi seemed unconscious.
His head was back, and he had stopped coughing. The fumes filled the chamber. Slowly, very slowly, his head came forward. Gradually it dropped between his shoulders,, his long, black hair fell across his eyes. I could see his stomach muscles were still contracting. Three minutes had gone past. With a little shake his head came up a bit.
The doctor said, in a low, bored voice: “He’s dead.”
I stepped away from the window. Hughson came rushing round from the other side of the chamber, followed by the mob. They all looked pop-eyed and slightly sick. I felt that way myself. It took Vessi four minutes and a bit to die.
“What did he say?” Hughson demanded.
I shrugged. “He said, ‘You got the wrong guy, I didn’t do it’.”
“Yeah?” Hackenschmidt sneered. “That’s been his yap right through the trial.”
Hughson was looking at me suspiciously. “Did he say anythin’ else?”
I shook my head. “No… just that.”
They made a dive to get out. There was an immediate scramble for ’phones and the telegraph office. I let the rush get on ahead, then I turned to follow.
The warden touched my arm. He was trying to look casual. “I shouldn’t pin much to the Spencer angle,” he said.
I paused and looked at him, but he was wearing a dead pan.
“You don’t think so?” I said hopefully.
He shook his head. “I should forget all about it.”
I pushed my hat a little over my eyes. “Did you hear the one about the guy with a wooden leg, playin’ ping- pong…?”
The warden nodded his head. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s got round to me.”
I edged towards the exit. “I guessed maybe it had,” I said, and left him.
CHAPTER TWO
I WENT OVER to the Press room at Police Headquarters. There was one guy I wanted to talk to, and I was hoping he’d be there. He was.
I pushed open the door and looked around the smoke-laden room. Four of the usual mob were playing cards round a small table in the centre of the room. I just gave them a quick glance and looked further. Over in the corner, on a battered couch, Ackie was sleeping.
Ackie was the ugliest guy I’d ever seen. He was a little runt, with coarse hair growing out of his ears, his nose and out of his collar. His face must have given the midwife a series of nightmares when he was born, but I knew he was about the smartest Press man on the beat.
I wandered over to him and pulled up a chair. Then I shook him awake.
When he saw me, he sat up and glared. “You’re a sweet pal,” he said. “Can’t you let me snatch some
