'Well, not as jobs go, but it's a nice start. The best job of all is Reception‑cleaner. One doesn't get that for years, unless you've special recommendations. You see, you has all the people coming in fresh from outside, and you hears all the news and gets tobacco sometimes and racing tips. Did you see the cleaner when you came in? Know who he is?
'Yes, said Paul, 'as a matter of fact, I do. He's called Philbrick.
'No, no, old man, you've got the wrong chap. I mean a big stout man. Talks a lot about hotels and restaurants.
'Yes, that's the man I mean.
'Why, don't you know who that is? That's the Governor's brother: Sir Solomon Lucas‑Dockery. Told me so hisself. 'Ere for arson. Burnt a castle in Wales. You can see he's a toff.
CHAPTER III The Death of a Modern Churchman
Some days later Paul entered on another phase of his reclamation. When he came into the prison‑square for his afternoon exercise he found that his companion's place had been taken by a burly man of formidable aspect. He had red hair and beard, and red‑rimmed eyes, and vast red hands which twirled convulsively at his sides. He turned his ox‑like eyes on Paul and gave a slight snarl of welcome.
'Your new pal, said the warder. 'Get on with it.
'How do you do? said Paul politely. 'Are you here for long?
'Life, said the other. 'But it doesn't matter much. I look daily for the Second Coming.