Presently the staircase-door closed behind Martin and Ricky. It was very quiet on the roof, though a very faint murmur of voices floated from the Dragon's Rest All about them the countryside, dark-green and somnolent called a visitor to lounge and drowse from worry. All that is, except Pentecost Prison.
"Masters," said H.M., "we've got to stop this 'expedition.'"
The Chief Inspector, though uneasy and no longer satirical, remained practical
"We can't stop it," he pointed out "If they've got permission from the Ministry, there's nothing anybody can do."
H.M. lifted both fists. "Then we got to… stop a bit! What do you know about the inside of this jail?"
"Not much. We got the wire, a year or two ago it was, that Shag Fairlie was hiding out there. Remember when Shag broke Dartmoor? But it wasn't true."
"'Storage purposes.' What have they got stored in the place?"
"Paper," grunted Masters. "Bales and boxes and tied-up bundles! Stacked as high as your head and higher, through practically every corridor and cell and room! Only a little space so you can move between them and the wall. Oh, ah. I expect" his eye wandered round, "I expect anybody (hurrum!) anybody who was on the stout side wouldn't be able to get in at all."
Then every superior air dropped away from him.
"Fair's fair," snapped Masters, "and messing about is messing about I ask you — straight, now— is there anything in all this 'pink flash' business?"