Chapter XXX The Prison Telegraph
But had Jenő held no communication with his brother Richard before his death? Yes; Richard was a prisoner in the same building, and it was fitted with a telegraph which communicated with all the cells and was never idle. It could not be silenced; the prisoners could not be prevented from making use of it at all hours of the day and night. It consisted simply of the prison walls.
No wall is so thick that a knocking on one side cannot be heard on the other. One rap stood for A, two for B, three for C, and so on through the alphabet. The rapping went on continually all over the building, and each new prisoner learned its meaning on the very day of his arrival, and became a telegraph operator himself. A message sent out from one cell was passed along until it reached its destination, when an answer was returned by the same route.
On the day which was destined to be Jenő’s last on earth, the following questions and answers passed from cell to cell.
“What news?”
“Death sentence.”
“Who?”
“Baradlay.”
“Which one?”
“The oldest.”
Through Richard’s cell, too, passed this cryptogram, and he asked again:
“First name?”
But the only reply he could elicit was a repetition of the above: “The oldest.”