signed his name neatly in the visitors’ book, and thence walked side by side with a silent prison officer across the exercise yard to D Wing, where he was greeted by Jackson. The Wing’s heavy outer door was unlocked, and locked behind them, the heavy inner door the same, and McLeery was handed into Stephens’s keeping.
“Get the razor?” murmured Jackson.
Stephens nodded.
“Well, keep your eyes skinned. Clear?”
Stephens nodded again; and McLeery, his feet clanging up the iron stairs, followed his new guide, and finally stood before a cell door, where Stephens opened the peep-hole and looked through.
“That’s him, sir.”
Evans, facing the door, sat quietly at the farther of the two tables, his whole attention riveted to a textbook of elementary German grammar. Stephens took the key from its ring, and the cell lock sprang back with a thudded, metallic twang.
It was 9:10 A.M. when the Governor switched on the receiver. He had instructed Jackson to tell Evans of the temporary little precaution—that was only fair. (As if Evans wouldn’t spot it!) But wasn’t it all a bit theatrical? Schoolboyish, almost? How on earth was Evans going to try anything on today? If he was so anxious to make another break, why in heaven’s name hadn’t he tried it from the Recreational Block? Much easier. But he hadn’t.And there he was now—sitting in a locked cell, all the prison officers on the alert, two more locked doors between his cell and the yard, and a yard with a wall as high as a haystack. Yes, Evans was as safe as houses …
Anyway, it wouldn’t be any trouble at all to have the receiver turned on for the next couple of hours or so. It wasn’t as if there was going to be anything to listen to, was it? Amongst other things, an invigilator’s duty was to ensure that the strictest silence was observed. But … but still that little nagging doubt! Might Evans try to take advantage of McLeery? Get him to smuggle in a chisel or two, or a rope-ladder, or—
The Governor sat up sharply. It was all very well getting rid of any potential weapon that
Evans
could have used; but what about
McLeery
? What if, quite unwittingly, the innocent McLeery had brought in something himself? A jack-knife, perhaps? And what if Evans held him hostage with such a weapon? Sort of hi-jack-knifed him?
The Governor reached for the phone. It was 9:12 A.M.
The examinee and the invigilator had already been introduced by Stephens when Jackson came back and shouted to McLeery through the cell door. “Can you come outside a minute, sir? You, too, Stephens.”
Jackson quickly explained the Governor’s worries, and McLeery patiently held out his arms at shoulder-level whilst Jackson lightly frisked his clothes. “Something hard here, sir.”
“Ma reading glasses,” replied McLeery, looking down at the spectacle case.
Jackson quickly reassured him, and bending down on the landing thumb-flicked the catches on the suitcase. Hepicked up each envelope in turn, carefully passed his palms along their surfaces—and seemed satisfied. He riffled cursorily through a few pages of Holy Writ, and vaguely shook
The Church Times
. All right, so far. But one of the objects in McLeery’s suitcase was puzzling him sorely.
“Do you mind telling me why you’ve brought this, sir?” He held up a smallish semi-inflated rubber ring, such as a young child with a waist of about twelve inches might have struggled into. “You thinking of going for a swim, sir?”
McLeery’s hitherto amiable demeanour was slightly ruffled by this tasteless little pleasantry, and he answered Jackson somewhat sourly. “If ye must know, I suffer from haemorrhoids, and when I’m sitting down for any length o’ time—”
“Very sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to, er …” The embarrassment was still reddening Jackson’s cheeks when he found the paper-knife at the bottom of the case. “I think I’d better keep this though, if you don’t mind, that is, sir.”
It was
“Get the razor?” murmured Jackson.
Stephens nodded.
“Well, keep your eyes skinned. Clear?”
Stephens nodded again; and McLeery, his feet clanging up the iron stairs, followed his new guide, and finally stood before a cell door, where Stephens opened the peep-hole and looked through.
“That’s him, sir.”
Evans, facing the door, sat quietly at the farther of the two tables, his whole attention riveted to a textbook of elementary German grammar. Stephens took the key from its ring, and the cell lock sprang back with a thudded, metallic twang.
It was 9:10 A.M. when the Governor switched on the receiver. He had instructed Jackson to tell Evans of the temporary little precaution—that was only fair. (As if Evans wouldn’t spot it!) But wasn’t it all a bit theatrical? Schoolboyish, almost? How on earth was Evans going to try anything on today? If he was so anxious to make another break, why in heaven’s name hadn’t he tried it from the Recreational Block? Much easier. But he hadn’t.And there he was now—sitting in a locked cell, all the prison officers on the alert, two more locked doors between his cell and the yard, and a yard with a wall as high as a haystack. Yes, Evans was as safe as houses …
Anyway, it wouldn’t be any trouble at all to have the receiver turned on for the next couple of hours or so. It wasn’t as if there was going to be anything to listen to, was it? Amongst other things, an invigilator’s duty was to ensure that the strictest silence was observed. But … but still that little nagging doubt! Might Evans try to take advantage of McLeery? Get him to smuggle in a chisel or two, or a rope-ladder, or—
The Governor sat up sharply. It was all very well getting rid of any potential weapon that
Evans
could have used; but what about
McLeery
? What if, quite unwittingly, the innocent McLeery had brought in something himself? A jack-knife, perhaps? And what if Evans held him hostage with such a weapon? Sort of hi-jack-knifed him?
The Governor reached for the phone. It was 9:12 A.M.
The examinee and the invigilator had already been introduced by Stephens when Jackson came back and shouted to McLeery through the cell door. “Can you come outside a minute, sir? You, too, Stephens.”
Jackson quickly explained the Governor’s worries, and McLeery patiently held out his arms at shoulder-level whilst Jackson lightly frisked his clothes. “Something hard here, sir.”
“Ma reading glasses,” replied McLeery, looking down at the spectacle case.
Jackson quickly reassured him, and bending down on the landing thumb-flicked the catches on the suitcase. Hepicked up each envelope in turn, carefully passed his palms along their surfaces—and seemed satisfied. He riffled cursorily through a few pages of Holy Writ, and vaguely shook
The Church Times
. All right, so far. But one of the objects in McLeery’s suitcase was puzzling him sorely.
“Do you mind telling me why you’ve brought this, sir?” He held up a smallish semi-inflated rubber ring, such as a young child with a waist of about twelve inches might have struggled into. “You thinking of going for a swim, sir?”
McLeery’s hitherto amiable demeanour was slightly ruffled by this tasteless little pleasantry, and he answered Jackson somewhat sourly. “If ye must know, I suffer from haemorrhoids, and when I’m sitting down for any length o’ time—”
“Very sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to, er …” The embarrassment was still reddening Jackson’s cheeks when he found the paper-knife at the bottom of the case. “I think I’d better keep this though, if you don’t mind, that is, sir.”
It was
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