When I had decided that my chance for securing the little stiletto spike was very uncertain, I at once busied myself with plans which were designed to bring about my death by drowning.  There was in the ward a large bath tub.  Access to it could be had at any time, except from the hour of nine (when the patients were locked in their rooms for the night) until the following morning.  How to reach it during the night was the problem which confronted me.  The attendant in charge was supposed to see that each patient was in his room before his door was locked.  As it rarely happened that the patients were not in their rooms at the appointed time, the attendants naturally grew careless, and often locked a door without looking in.  “Good night”—­a salutation usually devoid of sentiment—­might, or might not, elicit a response, and the absence of a response would not tend to arouse suspicion—­especially in a case like mine, for I would sometimes say “good night,” but more often not.

My simple and easy plan was to hide behind a piece of furniture in the corridor and there remain until the attendant had locked the doors of the rooms and gone to bed.  I had even advanced so far in my plan as to select a convenient nook within twenty feet of my own room.  Should the attendant, when about to lock the door, discover my absence, I should, of course, immediately reveal my hiding-place by leaving it; and it would have been an easy matter to convince him that I had done the thing as a test of his own vigilance.  On the other hand, if I escaped discovery, I should then have nine hours at my disposal with little fear of interruption.  True, the night watch passed through the ward once every hour.  But death by drowning requires a time no longer than that necessary to boil an egg.  I had even calculated how long it would take to fill the tub with water.  To make sure of a fatal result, I had secreted a piece of wire which I intended so to use that my head, once under water, could by no possibility be raised above the surface in the inevitable death struggle.

I have said that I did not desire death; nor did I. Had the supposed detectives been able to convince me that they would keep their word, I would willingly have signed an agreement stipulating on my side that I must live the rest of my life in confinement, and on theirs that I should never undergo a trial for crime.

Fortunately, during these dismal preparations, I had not lost interest in other schemes which probably saved my life.  In these the fellow-patient who had won my confidence played the role of my own private detective.  That he and I could defeat the combined forces arrayed against me hardly seemed probable, but the seeming impossibility of so doing only lent zest to the undertaking.  My friend, who, of course, did not realize that he was engaged in combat with the Secret Service, was allowed to go where he pleased within the limits of the city where the hospital was