But there was little reason for caution. The guards were too busy collecting their fees, the juvenile delinquents were too busy acting as ushers, with even the sex deviates from Number Three busy.
The customers, of course, were far too interested in what they were buying.
And there was nothing to be done tonight. Bennington snarled to himself, as he carefully made his way back to the house.
But tomorrow morning....
A good breakfast inside of him, the early morning sun brightening the scene before him, not even combined could they dispel any of Bennington's bitter anger at the memory of last night's saturnalia.
He marched across the twenty-five feet separating his house from the Administration Building, a long, two-story structure on the western end of the compound.
The entire end nearest his house was taken up by Message Center, the one room which had had Bennington's full approval on his tour of inspection both times he had seen the prison. Internally, the separate parts of the prison were linked together by telephone, a P.A. system, and intercom. The outside world could be reached or could come to them by 'phone, radio, teletype, and facsimile reproduction.
Bennington opened the door, glanced up to check his wristwatch with the big clock on the wall.
0800.