The fifteen cells — A Reader’s Guide

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In Category - Crime Investigation

Authors: Martin, Stuart, 1882- Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2026 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Detective and mystery stories; Criminals -- Fiction; Storytelling -- Fiction; Crime -- Fiction; Prisons -- Fiction Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 81,305

Reading time 354 min

Text sections 17

The catalog record for The fifteen cells — A Reader’s Guide provides practical reading context through 81,305 words, 5 hr 54 min estimated reading time, and 17 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 12.4 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Detective and mystery stories,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #78778

Stuart Martin's 1928 crime novel uses a frame narrative: a visitor hears the stories of fifteen prisoners in their cells. The opening establishes a grim prison routine, while later excerpts focus on the escape attempt of Harry Sarlon and the relentless warder Tully, revealing a clash of opposites.

Editorial Edition Score 4.8/5

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg78778

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Why did the Governor not leap up and over-power this visitor who menaced him? Because the Governor knew men. He knew from the way this individual handled his weapon that he was a master and that before he could raise his arm to sweep it from the desk the bullet would be fired. The Governor could read men. It was his business to read them. He was aware that he faced a man capable of extraordinary things, and of ordinary things too; but for the moment the extraordinary predominated.

The Governor took up the cigar he had laid on the ash-tray beside his chair and lit it leisurely.

"Will you kindly come to business?" he asked. "What is it that you want?"

"You have a man in the condemned cell?"

"He is due to be hanged to-morrow morning?"

"At eight o'clock exactly."

"He must not be hanged."

"It is the law, and I am afraid that he will be."

"If he is hanged you will die quickly."

"I don't see how I can prevent it."

"You can sign this paper."

The stranger pulled a blue sheet of foolscap from his pocket and tossed it across the desk. The Governor glanced at it.

"You have procured this at the Home Office."

"I brought it from the Home Office specially for you."

"That means you stole it. Burglary of State documents."

"What does it matter? I mean you to sign it. It will constitute the completion of an official reprieve. You will notice that the Home Secretary's signature is there."

"You may put it that way. I obtained his signature and traced it by using a piece of carbon paper. Over that tracing I used ink. You will be able to plead that the document has all the signs of genuineness."

"You mean that I have to act on this as an official reprieve?"

"That is what I am about to compel you to do."

The Governor stared at his visitor. The whole thing was preposterous; but it was possible. One point was obscure and presented a difficulty.

"Supposing the condemned man is freed on this paper, there are formalities to be gone through. The trick would be found out in the morning----"

"By that time he would be safe."

"I don't quite follow."

"It is simplicity itself. I suggest that you, in your official capacity, send for the prisoner to be brought to this room. Your warders would bring him."

"This would be quite in the usual course of procedure. When he arrives you would acquaint your officers with the arrival of the official reprieve. I should be here. It would not be untrue to say that I have come direct from the Home Office with it."

"And if I refused to do this?"

"Well, sir, you would die. I shoot straight. Do you care to see proof of my shooting?"

"It would be interesting to have such proof, but----"

"Please hold your cigar up above your head."

The Governor did so. The visitor raised his revolver with the swiftness of a flash of light, a sharp "ping" sounded, followed by a second similar sound. The ash of the cigar fell in a cloud on the Governor's knees.

"You see?" said the visitor quietly.

"Where did the bullet go?"

"Ah, you expected to hear the crash of it against the furniture, a sound that might have brought one of your warders--is it not so? If you will note the angle at which I fired you will see that the bullet went through the bottom right-hand corner of the window about six inches from the sash."

The Governor turned his head and saw that such was the case. A small, perfectly drilled hole had been cut in the glass.

"It was well gauged," said the Governor. "You can shoot. But still I insist that the shooting of myself would not help you personally, nor your friend the prisoner. My warders would fall on you. Ultimately you would be hanged."

"You are wrong. You would send two warders only for the prisoner. That is the usual number. There are still five rounds in this gun."

"It is usual for a Governor to acquaint a prisoner with his reprieve in the cell."

"We must depart from routine on this occasion."

The Governor considered while he gazed at the carpet. Presently he lifted his head.

"And if I accepted this as a genuine, official document?"

"The rest would be easy. The warders would be dismissed while you acquainted the prisoner with the lifting of the death sentence. I would do the few necessary acts that are required for the plan I have formed. The prisoner would be dressed in another suit of clothes----"

"Where would he get them?"

Continue Reading →

The novel opens not with a crime but with a prison governor's routine: the same salutes, the same reports, the same adjudications. The prose mirrors this monotony, repeating “All correct, sir” and “for years” to establish a world where even a condemned man's execution is a matter of paperwork. The fog that “had been coming up all day” and the grave being dug in the corner set a tone of grim inevitability.

This is the frame for the fifteen stories that follow. A visitor—whose identity is not revealed in the excerpts—will hear each occupant's tale. The structure is explicit: the table of contents lists “THE VISITOR” followed by fifteen cell stories. The reader, like the visitor, is positioned as an observer of confessions.

Routine as a Character

The opening pages are almost a procedural manual. The governor's day is parsed into precise segments: morning correspondence, adjudication, lunch, afternoon petitions, tea, signing a death warrant, a walk. The repetition of “All correct, sir” becomes a refrain that underscores the prison's mechanical order. The narrator notes that “every prisoner has a right to petition. Very few have their petitions granted”—a dry observation that hints at the futility within the system.

This emphasis on routine does more than set atmosphere. It establishes the prison as a character in its own right, one that operates with clockwork predictability. When the escape attempt later disrupts this order, the contrast is stark. The reader understands what is being broken.

The Escape and the Dogs

The later excerpt shifts to Harry Sarlon, a prisoner who has escaped and is being tracked. The narrative voice becomes more intimate, revealing details that the opening withheld. We learn that “two dogs are kept in this prison” and that the idea of using them was the narrator's own—a rare first-person intrusion. Sarlon has entered a canal to throw the dogs off his scent, but the dogs are following the smell of paint on his clothes, a detail that turns his disguise into a liability.

The chase is described with sensory precision: the fog, the lantern, the baying hound. Sarlon's moment of “terrific concentration” as he wonders if his efforts will be frustrated shows a mind calculating under pressure. The excerpt does not reveal whether he succeeds, leaving the outcome uncertain.

Tully: The Warder as Antagonist

Warder Tully is introduced as Sarlon's foil. He is “the clearest-headed warder,” “the most relentless in pursuit,” and “the most feared, as well as the most hated.” The narrator describes him in absolute terms: “as remorseless as iron and as merciless as logic.” Tully views prisoners as “weeds in God's garden” and prison as “the refuse heap.” His suspicion is so ingrained that he disbelieves every plea and even questions the doctor's leniency.

This characterization is blunt but effective. Tully is not a complex figure; he is a force. The text states he “was incapable of compassion” but believed he was just. The clash between Sarlon and Tully is framed as “the clash of opposites”—one selfish and honorless, the other rigid and pitiless. The reader is left to weigh which is more dangerous.

A Frame of Unresolved Tension

The excerpts provide only the frame and one cell story (the first, concerning Sarlon). The visitor who listens to these tales is never named or described in the provided text. The structure promises fourteen more stories, each presumably from a different occupant. Whether these stories are connected or standalone is not indicated.

The narrative voice shifts between detached observation (the governor's routine) and involved commentary (the dogs were “my” idea). This inconsistency may be a deliberate technique or a quirk of the source. The reader should note that the frame is not resolved in the excerpts: the visitor's reaction, the fate of Sarlon, and the purpose of the gathering remain unknown.

The fifteen cells are not just a setting but a structure: each story is a cell, and the reader, like the visitor, moves through them one by one. The excerpts suggest a book more interested in character and atmosphere than in plot mechanics. Pay attention to the narrator's occasional first-person asides—they may hint at a larger design. Approach each cell story as a self-contained portrait, and let the frame accumulate meaning as you read.

Reading about Sarlon pacing his cell, I remembered long winter afternoons at my grandmother’s, turning pages of Doors of the Night — Key Ideas to Explore while the light faded. Both books hold that hush of waiting, where a locked door feels strangely protective. The warder Tully’s footsteps echo like the quiet ticking of her hallway clock, measuring time we didn’t know we were sharing.