Captures - Audiolibro Gratis

LATE—299

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It was disconcerting to the Governor. The man’s smile was so peculiar. Of course, these educated prisoners—doctors, solicitors, parsons—one could never say good-bye to them quite without awkwardness; couldn’t dismiss them with the usual “Shake hands! Hope you’ll keep straight and have luck.” No! With the finish of his sentence a gentleman resumed a kind of equality, ceased to be a number, ceased even being a name without a prefix, to which the law and the newspapers with their unfailing sense of what was proper at once reduced a prisoner on, or even before, his conviction. No. 299 was once more Dr. Philip Raider, in a suit of dark-grey tweeds, lean and limber, with grey hair grown again in readiness for the outer world, with deep-set, shining eyes, and that peculiar smile—a difficult subject. The Governor decided suddenly to say only: “Well, good-bye, Dr. Raider”; and, holding out his hand, he found it remain in contact with nothing.

So the fellow was going out in defiant mood—was he! The Governor felt it rather hard after more than two years; and his mind retraced his recollections of this prisoner. An illegal operation case! Not a good ‘mixer’—not that his prisoners were allowed to mix; still, always reassuring to know that they would if not strenuously prevented! Record—Exemplary. Chaplain’s report—Nothing doing (or words to that effect). Work—Bookbinding. Quite! But—chief memory—that of a long loose figure loping round at exercise, rather like a wolf. And there he stood! The tall Governor felt at the moment oddly short. He raised his hand from its posture of not too splendid isolation, and put the closure with a gesture. No. 299’s lips moved:

“Is that all?”

Accustomed to being ‘sirred’ to the last, the Governor reddened. But the accent was so refined that he decided not to mention it.

“Yes, that’s all.”

“Thank you. Good-morning.”

The eyes shone from under the brows, the smile curled the lips under the long, fine, slightly hooked nose; the man loped easily to the door. He carried his hands well. He made no noise going out. Damn! The fellow had looked so exactly as if he had been thinking, ‘You poor devil!’ The Governor gazed round his office. Highly specialised life, no doubt! The windows had bars; it was here that he saw refractory prisoners in the morning, early. And, thrusting his hands into his pockets, he frowned....

Outside, the head warder, straight, blue-clothed, grizzled, walked ahead, with a bunch of keys.

“All in order,” he said to the blue-clothed janitor. “No. 299—going out. Anyone waiting for him?”

“No, sir.”

“Right. Open!”

The door clanged under the key.

“Good-day to you,” said the head warder.

The released prisoner turned his smiling face and nodded; turned it to the janitor, nodded again, and walked out between them, putting on a grey felt hat. The door clanged under the key.

“Smiling!” remarked the janitor.

“Ah! Cool customer,” said the head warder. “Clever man, though, I’m told.”

His voice sounded resentful, a little surprised, as if he had missed the last word by saying it....

Hands in pockets, the released prisoner walked at leisure in the centre of the pavement. An October day of misty sunshine, and the streets full of people seeking the midday meal. And if they chanced to glance at this passer-by their eyes would fly away at once, as a finger flies from a too hot iron....