BABBINGTON LOOKED EVEN worse than the last time they’d seen him. His skin was sallow, he had portmanteaux, rather than bags, under his eyes, and he had developed an oddly furtive way of looking at them, as if fearing a blow. Of course, Elmhurst Prison, like most jails, had some unpleasant inmates, who wouldn’t hesitate to attack a man without needing a reason. And Babbington, with his arrogance and patronising way of speaking to people, would be sure to get on everybody’s bad side.
‘The Governor said you wanted to see me,’ said Rafferty.
‘Yes.’ Babbington’s voice was as dull as the rest of him. He looked quickly at them, and then away again.
‘We’ve got some good news for you.’ Llewellyn beamed at him. Admittedly, a beam from the Welshman wasn’t in the same class as Endecott’s. It didn’t
