striped convict had been able to get a file and manufacture this thing, and hide it till ready. A man could do many things under the noses of the guards. If he didn’t have his copper to look out for.
9009 drew his eyes away from the knife. In a corner of the room, tilted back in his chair, sat the trusty who, six months before, had taken his picture, with that of the garotter, now dead, and that of the murderer, whom he never saw. The man had not changed. His striped garments, tailored almost to dandiness, were carefully pressed; his patent-leather shoes shone; his linen collar was spotless; in his tie was a pearl scarf-pin. And his shiny black hair was parted foppishly in two bangs that descended upon the low and livid forehead.
A door swung open, and the captain entered. The trusty met him at the desk and began speaking.
He spoke in an undertone, deferentially but persuasively. As he bent his head, passing his tongue between his thin lips, his hazel eyes
