And yet all was not silence in solitary.  Early in my confinement I used to hear, at irregular intervals, faint, low tappings.  From farther away I also heard fainter and lower tappings.  Continually these tappings were interrupted by the snarling of the guard.  On occasion, when the tapping went on too persistently, extra guards were summoned, and I knew by the sounds that men were being strait-jacketed.

The matter was easy of explanation.  I had known, as every prisoner in San Quentin knew, that the two men in solitary were Ed Morrell and Jake Oppenheimer.  And I knew that these were the two men who tapped knuckle-talk to each other and were punished for so doing.

That the code they used was simple I had not the slightest doubt, yet I devoted many hours to a vain effort to work it out.  Heaven knows—it had to be simple, yet I could not make head nor tail of it.  And simple it proved to be, when I learned it; and simplest of all proved the trick they employed which had so baffled me.  Not only each day did they change the point in the alphabet where the code initialled, but they changed it every conversation, and, often, in the midst of a conversation.

Thus, there came a day when I caught the code at the right initial, listened to two clear sentences of conversation, and, the next time they talked, failed to understand a word.  But that first time!

“Say—Ed—what—would— you—give—right—now—for—brown—papers—and—a—sack—of—Bull—Durham!” asked the one who tapped from farther away.

I nearly cried out in my joy.  Here was communication!  Here was companionship!  I listened eagerly, and the nearer tapping, which I guessed must be Ed Morrell’s, replied:

“I—would—do—twenty—hours—strait—in—the—jacket—for—a—five—cent—sack—”

Then came the snarling interruption of the guard: “Cut that out, Morrell!”

It may be thought by the layman that the worst has been done to men sentenced to solitary for life, and therefore that a mere guard has no way of compelling obedience to his order to cease tapping.