He was anxious to drive the thoughts of his position from his mind, and so began to make an inspection of the door of his cell, the intricacies of which afforded a welcome relief by diverting his ideas from the misery of his situation.
He had, throughout his life, taken great interest in mechanical appliances, and, to say the truth, it was, after all, but a poor consolation to employ his thoughts upon the solid fastenings of his door, but it was better than suffering the canker worm to gnaw at his heart. In the wall itself adjoining the door, about two feet from the top, was a something he could not make out.
At first he was inclined to think it was a ventilator, but upon further examination he came to the conclusion that he was mistaken.
It was no ventilator. He touched it, and immediately heard a sharp click outside. This made him start for a moment.
A gong bell was sounded, the trap in the door flew open inwards, forming a little shelf, and a voice exclaimed—
“Now then, what do you want?”
Through the aperture Peace saw the face of a warder, not the one, however, who had shown him into the cell.
He did not know very well what answer to make, and the man outside, in a still more emphatic manner said—
“Can’t you say what you want? Speak, man.”
“Oh,” cried Peace, “I beg your pardon for disturbing you, but I should like to have some writing paper, pens, and ink, if it not against the rules.”