"Dexter, Colin - Inspector Morse 11 - Morse's Greatest Mystery and Other Stories (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dexter Colin)

Evans drew the razor carefully down his left cheek, and left a neat swath in the white lather.

"Can I ask you something, Mr. Jackson? Why did they 'ave to bug me bloody cell?" He nodded his head vaguely to a point above the door.

"Not a very neat job," conceded Jackson.

"They're not they don't honestly think I'm goin' to try to ' "They're taking no chances, Evans. Nobody in his bloody senses would take any chances with jwz/."

"Who's goin' to listen in?"

"I'll tell you who's going to listen in, laddy. It's the Governor himself, see? He don't trust you a bloody inch and nor do I. I'll be watching you like a bleedin' hawk, Evans, so keep your nose clean.

Clear?" He walked towards the door.

"And while we're on the subject of your nose, Evans, it's about time you changed that filthy snot-rag dangling from your arse pocket.

Clear?"

Evans nodded. He'd already thought of that, and Number Two Handkerchief was lying ready on the bunk a neatly folded square of off-white linen.

"Just one more thing, Einstein.9 "Ya? Wha's 'at?"

"Good luck, old son."

In the little lodge just inside the prison's main gates, the Reverend S. McLeery 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 ropeladder, 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?