that he had done so. The book once secured, I
lost no time in examining that part which described the heart, its
functions, and especially its exact position in the body. I had
scarcely begun to read when the young man returned and took the book
from me, giving as his reason that an attendant had no right to let a
patient read a medical work. Maybe his change of heart was
providential.

As is usual in these institutions, all knives, forks, and other
articles that might be used by a patient for a dangerous purpose were
counted by the attendants after each meal. This I knew, and the
knowledge had a deterrent effect. I dared not take one. Though I might
at any time during the night have hanged myself, that method did not
appeal to me, and I kept it in mind only as a last resort. To get
possession of some sharp dagger-like instrument which I could plunge
into my heart at a moment's notice--this was my consuming desire. With
such a weapon I felt that I could, when the crisis came, rob the
detectives of their victory. During the summer months an employe spent
his entire time mowing the lawn with a large horse-drawn machine. This,
when not in use, was often left outdoors. Upon it was a square wooden
box, containing certain necessary tools, among them a sharp, spike-like
instrument, used to clean the oil-holes when they became clogged. This
bit of steel was five or six inches long, and was shaped like a pencil.
For at least three months, I seldom went out of doors that I did not go
with the intention of purloining that steel spike. I intended then to
keep it in my room against the day of my anticipated transfer to jail.

It was now that my delusions protected me from the very fate they had
induced me to court. For had I not believed that the eye of a detective
was on me every moment, I could have taken that spike a score of times.
Often, when it was not in use, I walked to the lawnmower and even laid
my hand upon the tool-box. But I dared not open it. My feelings were
much like those of Pandora about a certain other box. In my case,
however, the box upon which I looked with longing had Hope without, and
not within. Instinctively, perhaps, I realized this, for I did not lift
the lid.

One day, as the patients were returning to their wards, I saw, lying
directly in my path (I could even now point out the spot), the coveted
weapon. Never have I seen anything that I wanted more. To have stooped
and picked it up without detection