He took an interest in the most extraordinary or trivial things. A spider spun its web across two bars of the window in his cell. He took more interest in that spider's larder than probably did the spider itself; it was with mingled feelings of joy and horror that he saw the first fly caught—his feelings were so equally divided between the miserable captive and the other hungry insect. Once the spider dropped down with a silken thread right on his foot. Rupert held his breath, not daring to move a muscle, and he experienced the first thrill since he had been in prison when the tiny thing eventually crawled up his leg and ran across his hand!
A day later, when he cleaned out his cell, he was told to wipe away the spider's web. He nearly refused, and the tears actually swam in his eyes as he obeyed.
Under his breath he cursed the warder. Had the man no feelings; was he indeed a brute in human shape!
For forty-eight hours afterwards he waited for the return of the spider, waited for it to climb down on its silken thread and run across his hand again: but in vain.
One day as he exercised with his gang in the prison yard he noticed a man who once or twice before had been his leader in the dreary round—a young fellow with dark eyes, and protruding jaws that had evidently been broken in a fight. He noticed that he was talking to him. A spasmodic movement of his hands told Rupert that he wanted to say something.
As they turned Rupert caught his eye and signalled that he was ready to receive a message. He was not yet an adept in this new art of conversation, but his senses were alert and his instincts already preternaturally sharpened. He concentrated his whole mind on his fellow convict, and, perhaps unconsciously, he read his thoughts even before he understood the message which hand and foot, head and shoulders sent with lightning-like rapidity.
Translated, it meant that some of them were going to be removed from Wormwood Scrubbs prison.
"Good," Rupert signalled back. He found himself grinning until he read another signal of "Shut up!" from the blue-eyed convict.
The change might be for the worse, but that did not trouble Rupert. There was to be a change! Perhaps a journey somewhere. Outside the prison walls. The silence would be broken.
He wanted to shout aloud with joy. The silence would be broken! They would go out into the streets. The streets where there were cabs and omnibuses, and great drays with horses in them, and men and women hurrying to and fro; and children playing. They might even go a journey; in a train through fields and forests. They would see blue sky and perhaps sunshine.