The Tragedy of Z Read Online Free

housed one of the state penitentiaries, Algonquin Prison.
    Mr. Lane had opened his eyes and for some minutes had been watching the lips of the Governor with a curious intentness, for no reason I could fathom. I saw his keen old eyes sparkle at mention of the prison.
    â€œAlgonquin, eh?” he cried. “That’s most interesting. Several years ago—before your election to the governorship, Bruno—Lieutenant-Governor Morton arranged with Warden Magnus to allow me inside the walls on a tour of inspection. Fascinating place. I met an old friend there—Father Muir, the chaplain. I’d known him in the old days—before your time, I fancy. He was the patron saint of the Bowery when the Bowery was bad. Give Father Muir my sincerest regards, Inspector, if you see him.”
    â€œFat chance. My prison-inspection days are over.… Going already, Bruno?”
    The Governor had climbed reluctantly to his feet. “I must. Capitol Hill’s calling. I sneaked off in the midst of very important business.”
    Mr. Lane’s smile vanished, and the age-lines sprang back to his worn face. “Oh, come now, Bruno. You can’t desert us this way. Why—we’ve only just begun, you know.…”
    â€œSorry, old fellow, I really must. Thumm, you’re staying on?”
    Father scratched his jaw, and the old gentleman snapped: “Of course the Inspector and Patience will remain overnight. I’m sure there’s no hurry.”
    â€œOh, well, this Fawcett bird’ll keep, I guess,” said father with a sigh as he stretched his legs luxuriously. And I nodded.
    And yet, had we proceeded to Leeds that night, things might have worked out very differently. We should probably have met Dr. Fawcett before he went on his mysterious trip, for one thing. And much that was foggy later might have been cleared up.… As it was, we succumbed gratefully to the magic of The Hamlet and stayed on.
    Governor Bruno regretfully took his leave in the midst of his troopers, and very shortly after his departure I was rolling in an ecstasy of fatigue between the soft sheets of a gigantic Tudor bed, blissfully unaware of what the future held in store.

2. I MEET A DEAD MAN
    Leeds was a charming and busy little town sprawled at the foot of a conical hill. It was the center of a rural county, surrounded on all sides by rolling farms and a haze of blue uplands. Had it not been for the frowning fortress that crowned the hill, it would have been a paradise. As it was, the heavy gray walls topped by sentry-boxes, the ugly stacks of the prison mills, the oppressive solidity and menace of the immense prison, hung over the neat countryside and town like a shroud. Not even the green woody shanks of the hill softened the picture. I wondered aloud how many desperate men crushed between those unyielding walls thought longingly of the cool woods so very near their prison, and yet as remote as a Martian forest.
    â€œYou’ll get over that, Patty,” said father as we taxied from the railroad station. “Most of the men in there are pretty bad. Its not a Sunday school, kid. Don’t waste too much sympathy on them.”
    Perhaps his lifelong association with criminals had hardened him; but to me it did not seem just that men should be shut away from the green earth and the blue sky; and I could not think of depravity deep enough to warrant such wanton cruelty.
    We were both silent on the short ride to Elihu Clay’s house.
    The Clay mansion—it was a large white pillared house in the richest Colonial tradition—lay halfway up the hill on the outskirts of the town. Elihu Clay himself was waiting for us at the portico. He was gracious and a thoughtful host, and from his manner it would have been impossible to perceive that in a sense we were his employees. He put us at our ease at once, had his housekeeper assign us to pleasant bedrooms, and spent the remainder of the afternoon chatting about