“I think I know who it is,” remarked the governor, in a careless manner. “Just under the window here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s where it is—the exact spot.”
“Ah, the vagabonds, they will work out of hours and disturb people. I’ll see and put a stop to them. When do they begin—about dusk?”
“Some little time after nightfall, and they go on till it’s light. I never hear it in the day time.”
“I am glad you have spoken of this, my man. You won’t hear it again. If you do send for me.”
“All right, and thank you,” returned the pirate.
Seven days had elapsed since the night on which Giles first began putting into practice his plan of escape. On the eighth day the prisoner was still in bed, although it was half-past ten o’clock. He was aroused by the unlocking and opening of his door, but he did not move from his hammock.
He was a little surprised, however, upon beholding the governor, accompanied by two turnkeys, enter the cell.
The governor, who, like most governors of prisons, was a retired military officer, and on this occasion he was arrayed in his best uniform, looked more than usually severe and imposing. He twirled his heavy iron-gray moustache, and glanced suspiciously around the cell.
“You are taking it easy,” he observed, addressing the prisoner. “Do you not know, sir—and if you do not it is time that you did—that to be in bed at this hour is against the rules and regulations?”