The three men were driven to Chisholm Prison, where the Warden was awaiting them, having been informed of the matter by telephone. He understood merely that the eminent Professor Van Dusen was to be his prisoner, if he could keep him, for one week; that he had committed no crime, but that he was to be treated as all other prisoners were treated.
"Search him," instructed Dr. Ransome.
The Thinking Machine was searched. Nothing was found on him; the pockets of the trousers were empty; the white, stiff-bosomed shirt had no pocket. The shoes and stockings were removed, examined, then replaced. As he watched all these preliminaries--the rigid search and noted the pitiful, childlike physical weakness of the man, the colorless face, and the thin, white hands--Dr. Ransome almost regretted his part in the affair.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked.
"Would you be convinced if I did not?" inquired The Thinking Machine in turn.
"No."
"All right. I'll do it."
What sympathy Dr. Ransome had was dissipated by the tone. It nettled him, and he resolved to see the experiment to the end; it would be a stinging reproof to egotism.
"It will be impossible for him to communicate with anyone outside?" he asked.
"Absolutely impossible," replied the warden. "He will not be permitted writing materials of any sort."