“How long shall I be there?” I asked.

“Nobody knows,” he answered.  “If they like you, they may keep you!  It’s an indeterminate sentence....  That’s a good cell you have.  I was in that cell the last time, and I fixed it up a little.”

“What did you do to it?” I asked.

“There’s a built-in cupboard over at the other side, where you can keep your things!”

“Things!” I said—­“what things?  I’ve nothing but a pencil and a string.”

“The boys will bring you stuff,” he said; and then he gave me instructions.

“Write a note,” he said.  “Here’s a piece of paper,” shoving a fragment of newspaper through the crack.  “Write a note addressed to one of your friends, tell him you are in cells, but get out every day to lavatory in Camp 8—­they’ll bring you food, and books.”

“Books!” I said.  “What good would books be to me in this black hole?”

“I am just coming to that,” he whispered back; “there’s a crack like this with a movable batten over on the other side.  You can stand on the platform, pull down the strip of wood, and get in quite a decent light from the other cell.  It is a light cell like mine; and right above it you’ll find the board that is loose in the ceiling; you can pull it down and slip your book into the space and then let it up again.”

I stepped over to the other side, and found everything just as he said.  Life grew brighter all at once, and the two weeks of “cells” were robbed of a great part of their terror.

I set to work to pull a nail with my cord, and was able to do it after considerable labor, but there was no hurry at all.  It all helped to put the long hours in!  With the nail I made the reading-crack larger, in anticipation of the books which were to come, but was careful not to have it too big for the strip of wood to cover when it was swung back into place.

When morning came I got my issue of bread, the fifth part of a small round loaf, which was my allowance for the day.  Then for ten minutes we all swept out our cells and were taken out to the lavatory.  I had my note ready, and when the guard was not looking, slipped it into the hand of a Frenchman who was standing near me.

The lavatory was in the same building as Camp 8 Lavatory, and was divided from theirs by a wall with an opening in it, through which parcels might be passed between the strands of barbed wire.

The Frenchman delivered my note quite safely, and the next morning I found several little packages on the floor of the lavatory.  Bromley and I managed to get out at the same time, and as the guard did not understand English, we were able to say a few words to each other.

The boys sent us things every day—­chocolate, biscuits, cheese, cigarettes, matches, and books.  We wore our overcoats to the lavatory each day, so we could use the pockets to carry back our parcels without detection.  We were also careful to leave nothing in the cell that would attract the attention of the guard, and Malvoisin and I conserved matches by lighting one cigarette with the other one, through the crack.