“But she doesn’t know,” she said. “It’s nothing to do with her. I thought you knew,” and she went away rather like a tired ghost after a long and exhausting spell of haunting.
IV
Hopper was better tempered after his bath, and while we were having breakfast I asked him if he had ever tried to escape.
“I haven’t anywhere to go,” he said, shrugging. “Besides, I have a handcuff on my ankle and it’s locked to the bed. If the bed wasn’t fastened to the floor I might have tried it.”
“What’s the bed got to do with it?” I asked, spreading marmalade on thin toast. It wasn’t easy with one hand.
“The spare key of the handcuff is kept in that top drawer,” he explained, pointing to a chest of drawers against the opposite wall. “They keep it there in case of fire. If I could move the bed I could get to it.”
I nearly hit the ceiling.
“What! In that drawer there?”
“That’s right. No one’s supposed to know, but I saw Bland take if out once when he lost his key.”
I judged the distance between the foot of my bed and the chest of drawers. It was closer to me than to Hopper. If I was held by the ankle I imagined I could reach it. It would be a stretch, but I reckoned I could just do it. But handcuffed as I was by the wrist made it impossible.