The Death Chamber (30 page)

McNulty gestured to O’Kane to step onto the machine. A faint puzzlement flickered in O’Kane’s eyes, as if he might be thinking, but we’ve already done all this, then he
gave a half shrug and did as he was bidden. A tiny nerve was jumping in McNulty’s cheek, but he worked swiftly, moving the tiny metal weights along the rack, and scribbling his findings in a
notebook. He repeated the process, but when he seemed set to make a third check, Lewis said, ‘Enough. Mr O’Kane, I’m sorry but we must fasten on the straps in here.’

‘Here? I had hoped to walk unfettered to my death, Sir Lewis.’

‘I’m truly sorry, but it’s necessary.’ He handed the ankle straps to McNulty.

‘Doctor, would you—’

But McNulty had already taken the looped leather straps with the thick buckles and was half kneeling, fastening them about O’Kane’s ankles. His head was bent, and Lewis glanced
behind him to the quarter-open cell door and the waiting men just out of sight in the corridor. He took a deep breath and pulled from his pocket the heavy glass paperweight he had taken from his
desk earlier on. He brought it down hard on McNulty’s head, and there was a dreadful dull crunch and then a grunt as McNulty toppled forward. He lay prone on the floor, and a faint rim of
white showed under his eyelids. Nicholas O’Kane backed away, and turned wide uncomprehending eyes on Calvary’s governor.

Keeping his voice low, Lewis said, ‘Quickly, man. Change clothes with him, and help me to put the straps on him.’

‘But what—’

‘Don’t ask questions, just do it. Then you’ll be free and so will I.’ He shot a quick look towards the door again, and gestured to O’Kane to move so that he was out
of its line of sight. ‘We have just over ten minutes if we’re lucky.’

‘I guessed you were a risk taker,’ said O’Kane, pulling off McNulty’s distinctive frock coat and then his own things. ‘But I didn’t know you were an outright
gambler.’

‘I’m many things.’ Lewis was dragging off McNulty’s shoes and his trousers. ‘Don’t bother about the underclothes. Just get your prison things onto him –
you’re much the same height. Pull on his coat. The shoes might not fit, but do the best you can.’

‘Believe me, I’d walk over burning coals to get out of this place,’ said O’Kane.

They pulled the blue serge shirt and trousers onto McNulty’s unconscious form. Just over six minutes left, thought Lewis, glancing at his watch. We’re cutting it dangerously fine. He
looked back at O’Kane who had donned the coat and the dark trousers. ‘Yes, that’s all right. Hunch your shoulders a bit. You’ll have to keep your wits about you now, because
for the next few minutes you’re Denzil McNulty, and this man is Nicholas O’Kane.’

‘Caradoc, this will never work! I’ll be recognized—’

‘Not if you keep a handkerchief to your face,’ said Lewis, handing him his own. ‘The only two who really know McNulty are the chaplain and Millichip, and I’ve already
planted the idea of a head cold in their minds. It’s a dark morning, but keep well back from the others. No one will be looking at you, though – everyone will be concentrating on the
man they think is the prisoner.’ He took a second handkerchief from his pocket and pushed it into McNulty’s slack mouth. ‘I’d like to gag him properly in case he comes round
and cries out, but this is the best I can manage.’

‘But they’ll know McNulty isn’t me,’ said O’Kane in a strained voice.

Lewis produced the hood – the canvas bag with its drawstring neck and eyelets for breathing, largely intended to hide the worst of the gallows’ stark ugliness from the condemned man.
He pulled it down over McNulty’s head and adjusted the strings. ‘They won’t know,’ he said.

‘God Almighty,’ said Nicholas O’Kane, half under his breath, staring down. ‘That’s a faceless creature you’ve made of him.’

O’Kane was right. With the pulling on of the hood, the thing they were supporting between them no longer seemed to be Denzil McNulty: it had turned into a macabre puppet, the head formless
inside its pale sack. Take away a man’s face, and what is left of him?

‘You’ll have to pronounce death immediately afterwards,’ said Lewis. ‘Can you do that?’

‘God, how do I know?’

‘You’ve been fighting in a war, O’Kane, even if it was on the wrong side. You must know what death looks like. And it won’t be much more than a formality –
Pierrepoint’s never bungled an execution yet and everyone knows it. He’ll leave a timber plank in place across part of the trap and there’s a stethoscope in your pocket –
I’ve checked that. All you do is step onto the plank, then kneel, and reach down. His chest will be about level with the floor – you’ll be able to apply the stethoscope. Listen to
the heart for a few minutes. It’ll get weaker and then stop. All right?’

‘No, it’s not all right,’ said O’Kane. ‘But I’ll do it. What about afterwards?’

‘Afterwards,’ said Lewis, ‘you and I will have to go down to the brick vault and cut the body down. Pierrepoint would normally supervise that, but I’ve got rid of him.
Just take your lead from me. And when it’s over, we let a blackmailing villain be buried in a grave intended for you.’

‘And I walk free?’

‘And you walk free.

Two minutes to eight. There was a sound from beyond the cell door. We’re behind the usual timing, thought Lewis, and they’re wondering what’s happening. But before he could
give way to real panic he heard his voice calling out, quite coolly, that the prisoner had swooned.

‘We’ve tried to rouse him, but he’s out cold. We’re going to carry him out in a minute.’

Millichip murmured an assent and Lewis heard with thankfulness that there was no suspicion in his voice. It was not, indeed, a suspicious situation, because it was not unknown for a man to faint
from sheer terror in the final moments.

‘Sir Lewis – wait. Are you actually letting him go to the gallows in my place?’

‘Yes.’

‘In God’s name, why?’

‘I don’t know if it’s in God’s name at all,’ said Lewis. ‘But I’m letting him go to the gallows because he’s a blood-sucking blackmailer, and he
deserves to die.’ He met Nicholas O’Kane’s eyes very straightly. ‘Although unlike you, he hasn’t a dream he’s prepared to die for,’ he said.
‘O’Kane, I’m trusting you more than I’ve ever trusted any man in my whole life.’

‘Why?’ said O’Kane again.

‘Too many reasons to list. Now take his feet, and keep in the shadows.’

For an incredible moment he thought O’Kane was going to protest, but he did not. He made a half gesture with one hand as if saying, on your head be it, and bent to pick up McNulty’s
ankles. As they carried McNulty out into the corridor the prison bell began the sonorous tolling. That means we should already be inside the execution shed, thought Lewis, hearing it.

‘Sir Lewis, shall I take him?’

It was Millichip, respectfully anxious to take on the task of carrying the unconscious man. Lewis said, ‘Thank you but I have him securely and Dr McNulty is helping me. It’ll be
easier if we stay with him. You go ahead of us, please. Mr Pilbeam, begin if you will.’

‘Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live . . .’

The dozen steps from the condemned cell to the execution shed seemed to stretch out like something in a nightmare. We’ll never do it, thought Lewis. At any minute they’ll realize
this isn’t O’Kane we’re carrying. McNulty’s harsh breathing filled the narrow passage, mingling horridly with the chaplain’s sombre tones. We’re going to be
late, thought Lewis, panic rising once again. No, it’s all right, we’re at the door of the execution chamber. But at any second McNulty might recover from the blow to the head, and if
he did, would he have time to realize what was happening? Lewis could not begin to think what he would do if McNulty managed to spit out the makeshift gag and shout out the truth.

At least Millichip knew the procedure from here. Open the door, stand respectfully back and let them get on with it. Lewis’s arms were starting to ache with the strain of carrying the dead
weight that was Denzil McNulty and a sudden pain tightened around his chest. Heart attack? For pity’s sake, I can’t die of a heart attack in here! He nodded to O’Kane to let go of
McNulty’s ankles, and leave it to him from here on, and O’Kane did so. Thank God, at least, for a man who could pick up a meaning from a look. Millichip started forward intending to
help, and there was a movement from the under-sheriff as well, but Lewis shook his head.

‘I’m just placing him on the trap and then leaving it to Mr Pierrepoint,’ he said, doing so before anyone could intervene, seeing that the plank was in place for the
doctor’s pronouncement of death. So far so good.

He stepped back. ‘Will you need the chair?’ he said to Pierrepoint.

‘I’d prefer not, Sir Lewis. It upsets the balance of the weights.’ He surveyed the unconscious man. ‘Difficult for us when this happens,’ he said. ‘But happen
it’s best for him. If he’s lucky he’ll go out not knowing.’

Pilbeam was reaching the end of the service as the five-minute tolling bell stopped and the first chime of eight sounded. Pierrepoint had drawn down the waiting rope from the crossbeam and
adjusted it around McNulty’s neck. The second chime of eight sounded. It was then that the hooded head moved.

‘He’s coming round,’ said the under sheriff, sounding panic-stricken.

Lewis said sharply, ‘Stay where you are. Mr Pierrepoint knows how to handle this.’

‘He’s not really conscious, anyway,’ said Pierrepoint.

But McNulty was conscious. He turned his head from side to side, and then, clearly finding himself unable to see, feeling the presence of the handkerchief in his mouth, he began to draw in
panic-stricken breaths so that the hood was frenziedly sucked in and out. The clock’s still chiming, thought Lewis in agony. He’s supposed to be dead by the time the last stroke sounds,
but he won’t be, he won’t—

At least the clock was drowning whatever grunting cries McNulty might be making, and the canvas hood and handkerchief muffled his cries. That’s the last stroke of eight, thought Lewis.
Pierrepoint, for God’s sake do it, move the lever, draw the bolt, break his neck . . .

The lever was drawn across and there was the faint shuddering of the floor. The gallows trap fell inwards and down and McNulty’s body dropped like a stone into the brick-lined vault and
hung there, swaying slightly.

I’ve done it, thought Lewis, staring at the dreadful figure. I’ve killed a fellow human being. And the utterly terrible thing is that I feel no compunction whatsoever. I don’t
feel anything at all. He caught O’Kane’s eye, and O’Kane moved onto the plank at once, taking the stethoscope from his pocket as he did so. Lewis was glad to see he had the sense
to keep his back to most of the room so that no one saw his face.

Still keeping his face turned away from the watchers, O’Kane knelt and reached down, placing the stethoscope on McNulty’s chest which was level with the floor as Lewis had told him.
He bent his head, listening through the earpiece. There was absolute silence in the room, and Lewis, trying not to clench his fists, waited. Two minutes. Three. Surely the heart had stopped now?
Five minutes. Six. Oh God, let him say it, let him say the man’s dead.

Then Nicholas O’Kane removed the stethoscope and stepped back, and before anyone could speak, Lewis said, ‘He’s gone, doctor?’

‘Yes.’ No one could have told that the single syllable was not McNulty’s voice.

‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ said Lewis, and made a gesture to usher them out. As they moved to the door, he drew a deep sigh of relief. O’Kane was still at his side; it was a
strange feeling to know that the young man who had betrayed his country and consorted with rebels and dissidents – who must have known people high up in the German intelligence services
– was unsure and nervous.

They both waited until the other men had gone out, and then Lewis moved to the door.

Behind him, O’Kane said in a low urgent voice, ‘Caradoc – wait.’

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘I don’t think he’s dead.’

Lewis spun round at once.

‘The heart didn’t stop beating,’ said Nicholas, ‘but I didn’t dare risk leaving it any longer.’

‘It happens like that sometimes. The heart muscle keeps going for a little while. It doesn’t mean anything.’ But Lewis was staring at McNulty’s body. The trap had sent
him half inside the vault.

‘He’s moving,’ said O’Kane suddenly, and cold horror flooded Lewis’s body.

‘Muscle spasm. Quite common.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘No. Oh God, no, I’m not sure.’

‘Nor am I. Can we bring the trapdoors back up?’

‘Yes, but it’s a slow process and it’s noisy. Can’t you reach him from there?’

‘Of course I can’t bloody reach him from here!’

Lewis was just grasping the lever when McNulty began to struggle.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

His hands were pinioned behind his back and his ankles were fettered, and he squirmed like a fish on the end of a hook. He really is alive, thought Lewis, his mind spinning.
He’s alive and he’s slowly strangling. I meant him to die swiftly from a snapped neck, I didn’t mean this to happen . . . Oh God, oh God, we’ve got to free him.