“That must have cut short the projects of escape.”
“For the dead man, yes,” replied M. de Boville, “but not for the survivor; on the contrary, this Dantès saw a means of accelerating his escape. He, no doubt, thought that prisoners who died in the Château d’If were interred in an ordinary burial-ground, and he conveyed the dead man into his own cell, took his place in the sack in which they had sewed up the corpse, and awaited the moment of interment.”
“It was a bold step, and one that showed some courage,” remarked the Englishman.
“As I have already told you, sir, he was a very dangerous man; and, fortunately, by his own act disembarrassed the government of the fears it had on his account.”
“How was that?”
“How? Do you not comprehend?”
“No.”
“The Château d’If has no cemetery, and they simply throw the dead into the sea, after fastening a thirty-six-pound cannonball to their feet.”
“Well?” observed the Englishman as if he were slow of comprehension.
“Well, they fastened a thirty-six-pound ball to his feet, and threw him into the sea.”
“Really!” exclaimed the Englishman.
“Yes, sir,” continued the inspector of prisons. “You may imagine the amazement of the fugitive when he found himself flung headlong over the rocks! I should like to have seen his face at that moment.”
“That would have been difficult.”