The hand in which he holds it is gloved, for two fingers
are missing. The chief warder, WOODER, a tall, thin,
military-looking man of sixty, with grey moustache and
melancholy, monkey-like eyes, stands very upright two paces
from him.
THE GOVERNOR. [With a faint, abstracted smile] Queer-looking
affair, Mr. Wooder! Where did you find it?
WOODER. In his mattress, sir. Haven't come across such a thing for
two years now.
THE GOVERNOR. [With curiosity] Had he any set plan?
WOODER. He'd sawed his window-bar about that much. [He holds up his
thumb and finger a quarter of an inch apart]
THE GOVERNOR. I'll see him this afternoon. What's his name?
Moaney! An old hand, I think?
WOODER. Yes, sir-fourth spell of penal. You'd think an old lag like
him would have had more sense by now. [With pitying contempt]
Occupied his mind, he said. Breaking in and breaking out--that's all
they think about.
THE GOVERNOR. Who's next him?
WOODER. O'Cleary, sir.
THE GOVERNOR. The Irishman.
WOODER. Next him again there's that young fellow, Falder--star
class--and next him old Clipton.
THE GOVERNOR. Ah, yes! "The philosopher." I want to see him about
his eyes.
WOODER. Curious thing, sir: they seem to know when there's one of
these tries at escape going on. It makes them restive--there's a
regular wave going through them just now.
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