“Lord, what a time I’ve been dreaming there!” he muttered. “It’s too late for grub at the hotel. I guess I’ll have to go on down to the Chink’s an’ get something there.”
He lit the lamp and, after hunting around for some cleaning kit, began mechanically to clean his dusty riding boots, preparatory to going out. Whilst thus engaged, the door opened, admitting Sergeant Churchill.
“Hello, Ben,” greeted that individual, with an assumption of geniality. “You still here?”
Ellis turned and, straightening himself up, regarded the other with languid interest.
“Hello,” he returned. “Train in? Was beginning to think you’d deserted.”
Churchill did not answer immediately but, divesting himself of his side-arms and serge, sat down and proceeded to smoke.
“Had a trip up to the ‘Pen’ with a bunch o’ prisoners,” he volunteered presently. “Yours amongst ’em. That Fisk started in to give us a lot o’ trouble on th’ way, but we put th’ kibosh on him properly, before we got there.”
“M’m, m’m,” said Benton absently. “He’s a bad actor, ‘Big George.’ How d’you make out with that perjury case of yours?”
“Nine months,” answered Churchill laconically.
A long silence ensued, during which Ellis continued his polishing, Churchill eyeing him furtively meanwhile.