"That's my business," said The Thinking Machine.
"Did any of my men change this money for you--on your word of honor?"
The Thinking Machine paused just a fraction of a second.
"No," he said.
"Well, do you make it?" asked the warden. He was prepared to believe anything.
"That's my business," again said the prisoner.
The warden glared at the eminent scientist fiercely. He felt--he knew--that this man was making a fool of him, yet he didn't know how. If he were a real prisoner he would get the truth--but, then, perhaps, those inexplicable things which had happened would not have been brought before him so sharply. Neither of the men spoke for a long time, then suddenly the warden turned fiercely and left the cell, slamming the door behind him. He didn't dare to speak, then.
He glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes to four. He had hardly settled himself in bed when again came that heart-breaking shriek through the prison. With a few muttered words, which, while not elegant, were highly expressive, he relighted his lantern and rushed through the prison again to the cell on the upper floor.
Again Ballard was crushing himself against the steel door, shrieking, shrieking at the top of his voice. He stopped only when the warden flashed his lamp in the cell.
"Take me out, take me out," he screamed. "I did it, I did it, I killed her. Take it away."