'Anything wrong? he asked.
'I should bleeding well say there was, said the warder, 'and the next man as asks me a question is going to cop it hot.
Paul began scrubbing out his cell. Dissatisfied curiosity contended in his thoughts with irritation at this interruption of routine. Two warders passed his door talking.
'I don't say I'm not sorry for the poor bird. All I says is, it was time the Governor had a lesson.
'It might have been one of us, said the other warder in a hushed voice.
Breakfast arrived. As the hand appeared at his door Paul whispered: 'What's happened?
'Why, ain't you 'eard? There's been a murder, shocking bloodthirsty.
'Get on there, roared the warder in charge of the landing.
So the Governor had been murdered, thought Paul; he had been a rnischievous old bore. Still, it was very disturbing, for the news of a murder which was barely noticed in the gay world of trams and tubes and boxing-matches caused an electric terror in this community of silent men. The interval between breakfast and chapel seemed interminable. At last the bell went. The doors were opened again. They marched in silence to the chapel. As it happened, Philbrick was in the next seat to Paul. The warders sat on raised seats, watchful for any attempt at conversation. The hymn was the recognized time for the exchange of gossip. Paul waited for it impatiently. Clearly it was not the Governor who had been murdered. He stood on the chancel steps, Prayerbook in hand. Mr Prendergast was nowhere to be seen. The Governor conducted the service. The Medical Officer read the lessons, stumbling heavily over the longer words. Where was Mr Prendergast?
At last the hymn was announced. The organ struck up, played with great feeling by a prisoner who until his conviction had been assistant organist at a Welsh cathedral. All over the chapel the men filled their chests for a burst of conversation.