But Kufalt was in luck; Rusch was not there. In his place sat a senior warder who was reading a newspaper, bored by the whole business.

Kufalt tiptoed along the passage to the toilets. On his way he passed the nets orderly’s cell and paused for a moment; there was a quarrel going on inside. One, an oily voice, he knew; it was the nets instructor. But the other . . .

He stood and listened. Then he went on.

The toilets were a hive of activity. The orderlies of C2 and C4 had slipped in to have a smoke.

And somebody else was there.

‘That you, Emil Bruhn? You must be finishing your stretch too, pretty soon?’

Kufalt tipped his bucket into the sink as he spoke.

‘You filthy scumbag! Can’t you see we’re smoking?’ said an orderly angrily.

‘Shut up, you scab,’ retorted Kufalt. ‘How long have you been in, eh? Six months? And talking about filthy scumbags! You ought to have stayed outside if you couldn’t do without a flush and plug. Shut your face! I’m category three, I am—any of you got a smoke?’

‘Here, Willi,’ said little Emil Bruhn, giving him a whole packet and some cigarette papers. ‘You can keep it all. I’ve got plenty till Wednesday.’

‘Wednesday? Are you getting out on Wednesday? Me too.’

‘Are you sticking around this town?’

‘No way. With all the prison officers about! I’m going to Hamburg.’

‘Got a job there?’

‘No, not yet. But I’ll sort something out, through my relations . . . or maybe the chaplain . . . I’ll manage.’ And Kufalt smiled a rather thin smile.

‘I’ve got a job already. I’m starting here in the timber works. Nest boxes for hens—piecework. I’ll earn at least fifty marks a week, the manager says.’

‘Too right,’ assented Kufalt. ‘You’ve been at it for nine years.’

‘Ten and a half,’ said little fair-haired Bruhn, and blinked his watery blue eyes. He had a round, good-humoured head, rather like a seal. ‘It was eleven years really; only they gave me an extra six months’ probation.’

‘Jesus, Emil, I would not have taken it! Six months as a gift—and how long will you be out on probation?’

‘Three years.’

‘You’re a bloody fool. If you so much as smash a window when you’re pissed, or get rowdy on the street, you’ll have to serve your six months. I’d have served the whole time out.’

‘Yes, but, Willi, when you’ve done a ten-and-a-half-year stretch . .