At this moment the door of the prison was thrown open, and some blankets were given to the new prisoners.
“Prepare for a visit from the inspector,” said the jailer curtly, “and see that everything is clean and straight, so that you do not disgrace me. It will mean evil for you if his excellency is not pleased.”
A yell of derision met this speech, for the English prisoners had already met with such poor entertainment that they could scarcely receive worse, and, moreover, finding that a noisy, mutinous line of conduct overawed their guards, they had long ago got quite out of hand.
“Don’t you go for to worry yerself, Whiskers,” cried one sturdy linesman. “This place ain’t no palace, so the cove who expects to find it such will be a fool. But it’s clean, and always will be, ’cos us chaps ain’t the sort to live in a pig-sty. Now hop away, Whiskers, and don’t fret. We’ll put it right with the inspector.”
The Russian looked round at the grinning faces, while Phil, who had translated his message, put the last speaker’s into Russian, taking the liberty, however, of making it more polite.
“Very well, do not fail me,” growled the jailer, showing his teeth. “It will be the worse for you if you do.”
“He will discover us as sure as we are alive!” remarked Phil as soon as the man had gone. “I mean Stackanoff, of course, for I suppose he is inspector. We must try to disguise ourselves.”
Accordingly he and Tony ruffled their hair and disarranged their clothing. Then they took a place amongst the prisoners, taking care to keep well in the background.
Suddenly the door was thrown open with a crash, and Stackanoff stalked in majestically, his little pig-like eyes glaring at the prisoners.
“Line them up,” he said, with an angry snap. “I wish to see if all are here.”