‘Always category three. All the trouble in the place . . . About your money . . . ’

‘Yes?’ said Kufalt, as the other paused.

‘Welfare Office. You can draw five marks a week.’

‘Oh, please,’ implored Kufalt, ‘you won’t do that, sir, I’ve always kept my cell so tidy.’

‘What’s that? Oh, won’t I? Tidy, eh? What about those birds? Hahaha!’

‘Haha!’ laughed Kufalt obsequiously.

‘What’s up with the nets instructor and the new nets orderly?’ asked the chief, with a sudden change of tone.

‘New orderly?’ asked Kufalt. ‘Is there a new one? I’ve never seen him.’

‘Liar! You can’t fool me. You were with them in the cell for ten minutes.’

‘I was not, sir, I was only out of my cell for recreation today.’

The chief warder passed a finger meditatively over the top of the cupboard. He examined his finger with an air of satisfaction, and then sniffed it. No; not a speck of dust. He walked briskly to the door. ‘So you’ll draw your money through the Welfare Office.’

Kufalt reflected feverishly: ‘If I say nothing now, he’ll go, and I can hide the hundred, but I’ll be tied to the welfare people. If I squeal, I’ll lose the hundred, but I’ll get my pay in cash. Though not for certain.’

‘Sir . . . ’

‘Hey?’

‘I was in the cell with them . . . ’

The other waited. Then—‘Well?’

‘He gets letters for the fat Jew. You have him searched and see.’

‘Only letters?’

‘Well, he wouldn’t do it for love.’

‘Do you know anything?’

‘Have him searched, sir. This very day—you’ll find something.’

The door opened: ‘Kufalt for the doctor.’

Kufalt looked at the chief warder.

‘Get along,’ said the other indulgently. ‘All birds die in this place.’

‘Well, I’ve stitched up that bastard of an instructor,’ thought Kufalt as he shuffled downstairs. ‘He won’t have time to go through my cell now, though it wouldn’t matter, God knows! The note’s still on me, damn!’

VI

The warder stood by the balustrade and watched Kufalt depart. ‘Get a move on, Kufalt. Acts as if he doesn’t know all about it.