It was deemed necessary that prisoners should have exercise, and so there was no other course open to him than to comply with the usual regulations.
He had a good opportunity of looking at his fellow-prisoners.
They were of all grades of society, from the fraudulent merchant to the small boy who had been taught to pick pockets.
There were forgers, embezzling clerks, housebreakers, and villains of every conceivable type.
Peace glanced at them, protruding his lower jaw the while, and distorting his features in such a way as to render recognition difficult and almost impossible.
“What are you in for?” whispered a youth of the Artful Dodger species.
Peace made no answer.
“I say, old man,” observed the precocious youth aforesaid, “you let fly at a bobby—didn’t yer? S’help me taters, I wouldn’t be in your shoes.”
All this was said in a whisper, but it was loud enough for Peace to hear.
“Hold your tongue, yer fool,” cried another of the group, addressing himself to the pickpocket. “Can’t yer see as how the gentleman don’t like it?”