The uneasy Irishman shifted his quid, apparently considering whether to speak the truth or take the chances of a lie. Something within Winston's face must have decided him against the suggested falsehood.
"Well, sorr, Oi 've only been boss over this gang for a matter o' three months," he said slowly, "an' they was well into this vein be then."
"How deep are we down?"
"Between sixty an' siventy fate, countin' it at the shaft."
"And this tunnel—how long do you make it?"
"Wan hundred an' forty-six fate, from the rock yonder."
Winston's gray eyes, grave with thought, were upon the man's face, but the other kept his own concealed, lowered to the rock floor.
"Who laid out this work, do you know? Who did the engineering?"
"Oi think ut was the ould man hisself. Annyhow, that 's how thim Swades tell ut."
Winston drew a deep breath.