Infantry, borrowed for the occasion.
Into the prison marched a file of soldiers, at their head a man in clerical garb, and a civilian. The warden was notified.
Congreve, who was in civilian clothes, stepped up to him.
"By orders of the Governor-General, the prisoner Mitchell is to be delivered to this firing squad for immediate execution."
The warden's eyes narrowed. "I understood he was to be shot in the morning." Congreve nodded. "Circumstances have arisen compelling the execution to take place immediately. There are matters of grave diplomatic consequence at stake. Here are your orders." He tended a neatly forged document to the warden.
The grey-haired man looked at it sleepily and nodded. "Send your men out into the prison yard. I'll take you and the minister to get the prisoner."
The short man was soundly asleep. Nadir Khan, who had told the warden that Mitchell was a convert of his, entered the cell and bent over the sleeper, awakening him.
"Keep quiet and don't recognize Congreve," he whispered. "We're friends; we are getting you out."
Mitchell blinked his eyes and sat up. He stared at them a moment, then got into his clothes while Nadir stood there mumbling religious chants in a dull monotone.
They filed out of the cell, police guards falling in by Mitchell's side, and the "spy" was led into the yard.
Congreve requested that the warden dismiss all police present, explaining that the thing must be done with as few observers as possible. In a moment there were none remaining in the dark courtyard, save the Dualists, the two Americans, and the warden. The police official spoke up.
"I shall have to witness the execution. It's part of my duty."
"Of course," said Congreve quietly, shoving a revolver into the pit of the man's back. "Only you'll be dead before that happens."
The warden turned about; Nadir Khan whipped out his pistol and struck him with the butt. Catching the warden's body, he eased it gently to the ground. Two of the men bound and gagged the official.
The warden was left hidden in a
dark corner of the yard. One of
the pretended soldiers produced a
uniform from his knapsack while
others came forward and quickly
they put together a rifle as Mitchell
donned the clothes.
"What's it all about, and who are these guys?" whispered Mitchell as he slipped into uniform.
"Keep quiet," commanded Congreve. "I'll explain later."
"O.K.?" whispered the lanky astronaut. Mitchell nodded.
Congreve turned to the others. "Take aim!" he yelled in a voice that should carry to any possible person who might be within earshot, adding in a low tone "in the air." The firing squad obeyed.
"Fire!" A volley rang out in the night air. A second later, Congreve fired a pistol in the air, which would be taken as a "mercy shot."
"Fall in!" he commanded and they formed a line and marched out.
None of the police around the halls and main entrance of the prison noticed that there was one more soldier going out than had come in. The warden's absence they took to indicate that he was directing the removal of the body.
Once in the street, Congreve,
Mitchell, and Nadir Khan hur-
