“Oh, yes, he’s in quod, aint he?”
Peace’s companion nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “Poor Casey isn’t likely to trouble anybody outside the walls of a prison for a jolly long time to come. They’ve given it him worth his money.”
“Yes, but about the safe? How did you purpose opening it?” inquired Peace, for whom the conversation had special interest.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” answered his companion. “I did not intend to set to work on the lock—that is, not make any attempt to pick it. My plan was to drill a hole, and get into the ‘jack.’ When this was accomplished I could, with an instrument I had with me, get moving power sufficient to open any safe.”
“You could?”
“Oh dear, yes! The great difficulty is to get the time. The work I can easily do; but then Jim, my pal, is one of the best locksmiths in England, and he’s as true as steel. I always take him with me for a job of that sort. But, mum, the warder’s got his eye upon us,” said the “cracksman.”
This was true enough, but, situated as he was, he was unable to hear one word of the foregoing conversation. The other prisoners were laughing and talking so that there was too much din and clatter for the warder in charge of them to comprehend the nature of the discussion between Peace and his companion.
The officers in charge of the prisoners allowed them to have it pretty much their own way in respect to social gossip.
As the train proceeded on its journey the prisoners continued to converse together in whispers almost incessantly.