9:18 A.M. before the Governor heard their voices again, and it was clear that the examination was going to be more than a little late in getting under way.
McLeery:
“Ye’ve got a watch?”
Evans:
“Yes, sir.”
McLeery:
“I’ll be telling ye when to start, and again when ye’ve five minutes left. A’ right?”
Silence.
McLeery:
“There’s plenty more o’ this writing paper should ye need it.”
Silence.
McLeery:
“Now. Write the name of the paper, 021–1, in the top left-hand corner.”
Silence.
McLeery:
“In the top right-hand corner write your index number—313. And in the box just below that, write your centre number—271.
A’ right?”
Silence. 9:20 A.M.
McLeery:
“I’m now going to—”
Evans:
“ ’E’s not goin’ to stay ’ere, is ’e?”
McLeery:
“I don’t know about that. I—”
Stephens:
“Mr. Jackson’s given me strict instructions to—”
Evans:
“ ’Ow the ’ell am I supposed to concentrate on me exam with a bleedin’ screw breathin’ down me neck? Christ! Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean—”
The Governor reached for the phone. “Jackson? Ah, good. Get Stephens out of that cell, will you? I think we’re perhaps overdoing things.”
“As you wish, sir.”
The Governor heard the exchanges in the cell, heard the door clang to once more, and heard McLeery announce that the examination had begun at last.
It was 9:25 A.M. ; and there was a great calm.
At 9:40 A.M. die Examinations Board rang through, and the Assistant Secretary with special responsibility for modern languages asked to speak to the Governor. The examination had already started, no doubt? Ah, a quarter of an hour ago. Yes. Well, there was a correction slipwhich some fool had forgotten to place in the examination package. Very brief. Could the Governor please …?
“Yes, of course. I’ll put you straight through to Mr. Jackson in D Wing. Hold the line a minute.”
Was this the sort of thing the Governor had feared? Was the phone call a fake? Some signal? Some secret message …? But he could check on that immediately. He dialled the number of the Examinations Board, but heard only the staccato bleeps of a line engaged. But then the line
was
engaged, wasn’t it? Yes. Not very intelligent, that …
Two minutes later he heard some whispered communications in the cell, and then McLeery’s broad Scots voice:
“Will ye please stop writing a wee while, Mir. Evans, and listen carefully. Candidates offering German, 021–1, should note the following correction. On page three, line fifteen, the fourth word should read
goldenen
, not
goldene;
and the whole phrase will therefore read
zum goldenen Löwen
, not
zum goldene Löwen.’
I will repeat that …”
The Governor listened and smiled. He had taken German in the sixth form himself, and he remembered all about the agreements of adjectives. And so did McLeery, by the sound of things, for the minister’s pronunciation was most impressive. But what about Evans?
He
probably didn’t know what an adjective
was
.
The phone rang again. The Magistrates’ Court. They needed a prison van and a couple of prison officers. Remand case. And within two minutes the Governor was wondering whether
that
could be a hoax. He told himself not to be so silly. His imagination was beginning to run riot.
Evans!
* * *
For the first quarter of an hour Stephens had dutifully peered through the peep-hole at intervals of one minute or so; and after that, every two minutes. At 10:45 A.M. he nipped off to the gents’, and was in such a hurry to get back that he found he’d dribbled down his trousers. But everything was still all right as he looked through the peep-hole once more. It took four or five seconds—no more. What was the point? It was always more or less the same. Evans, his pen between his lips, sat staring straight in front of him towards the door, seeking—it seemed—some sorely needed inspiration from somewhere. And opposite him
McLeery:
“Ye’ve got a watch?”
Evans:
“Yes, sir.”
McLeery:
“I’ll be telling ye when to start, and again when ye’ve five minutes left. A’ right?”
Silence.
McLeery:
“There’s plenty more o’ this writing paper should ye need it.”
Silence.
McLeery:
“Now. Write the name of the paper, 021–1, in the top left-hand corner.”
Silence.
McLeery:
“In the top right-hand corner write your index number—313. And in the box just below that, write your centre number—271.
A’ right?”
Silence. 9:20 A.M.
McLeery:
“I’m now going to—”
Evans:
“ ’E’s not goin’ to stay ’ere, is ’e?”
McLeery:
“I don’t know about that. I—”
Stephens:
“Mr. Jackson’s given me strict instructions to—”
Evans:
“ ’Ow the ’ell am I supposed to concentrate on me exam with a bleedin’ screw breathin’ down me neck? Christ! Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean—”
The Governor reached for the phone. “Jackson? Ah, good. Get Stephens out of that cell, will you? I think we’re perhaps overdoing things.”
“As you wish, sir.”
The Governor heard the exchanges in the cell, heard the door clang to once more, and heard McLeery announce that the examination had begun at last.
It was 9:25 A.M. ; and there was a great calm.
At 9:40 A.M. die Examinations Board rang through, and the Assistant Secretary with special responsibility for modern languages asked to speak to the Governor. The examination had already started, no doubt? Ah, a quarter of an hour ago. Yes. Well, there was a correction slipwhich some fool had forgotten to place in the examination package. Very brief. Could the Governor please …?
“Yes, of course. I’ll put you straight through to Mr. Jackson in D Wing. Hold the line a minute.”
Was this the sort of thing the Governor had feared? Was the phone call a fake? Some signal? Some secret message …? But he could check on that immediately. He dialled the number of the Examinations Board, but heard only the staccato bleeps of a line engaged. But then the line
was
engaged, wasn’t it? Yes. Not very intelligent, that …
Two minutes later he heard some whispered communications in the cell, and then McLeery’s broad Scots voice:
“Will ye please stop writing a wee while, Mir. Evans, and listen carefully. Candidates offering German, 021–1, should note the following correction. On page three, line fifteen, the fourth word should read
goldenen
, not
goldene;
and the whole phrase will therefore read
zum goldenen Löwen
, not
zum goldene Löwen.’
I will repeat that …”
The Governor listened and smiled. He had taken German in the sixth form himself, and he remembered all about the agreements of adjectives. And so did McLeery, by the sound of things, for the minister’s pronunciation was most impressive. But what about Evans?
He
probably didn’t know what an adjective
was
.
The phone rang again. The Magistrates’ Court. They needed a prison van and a couple of prison officers. Remand case. And within two minutes the Governor was wondering whether
that
could be a hoax. He told himself not to be so silly. His imagination was beginning to run riot.
Evans!
* * *
For the first quarter of an hour Stephens had dutifully peered through the peep-hole at intervals of one minute or so; and after that, every two minutes. At 10:45 A.M. he nipped off to the gents’, and was in such a hurry to get back that he found he’d dribbled down his trousers. But everything was still all right as he looked through the peep-hole once more. It took four or five seconds—no more. What was the point? It was always more or less the same. Evans, his pen between his lips, sat staring straight in front of him towards the door, seeking—it seemed—some sorely needed inspiration from somewhere. And opposite him
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