Yet in that brief respite, Herbert had learned to hate crime. Not only that, he felt a meek willingness to bear the burden of those years ahead. Freedom would be his, some day; then he would begin again, secure in the knowledge that he could live by right, instead of wrong.
A week went by — a month. Still, the memory of those stirring events remained with Herbert Carpenter. The pay off had been made. Death to the double-crossers whose evil minds were steeped in crime — imprisonment to him who deserved it.
Then, on a clear autumn day, when all the world was gay outside of prison walls, Herbert Carpenter was summoned to the warden’s office. Despite his drab gray garb, he stood with raised head and clear eye as he faced the warden.
The warden was a middle-aged man, hard-faced and stern — one who seldom changed expression. He reached forward with his left hand and gave Herbert Carpenter a paper to read.
Complete amazement dominated Convict 9648 as he perused the words before him. Mechanically, he thrust forward his right hand and received the warden’s clasp of friendship.
A pardon!
The paper was signed by the governor. To Herbert Carpenter it meant freedom. He was to have liberty in return for the part he had played in the ending of the crime kings.
The governor’s signature. There it was, in black and white. But what was that, stretching across the paper, indelibly impressed upon the sheet?
Herbert Carpenter stared — unbelieving; then he realized that his eyes had not deceived him.
Upon the paper was the perfect outline of a grayish shadow — a mark that could not change. The governor had signed this pardon; but the act had been the making of another.