The first bundle of clothes which he examined consisted of an old-fashioned suit of large checks, evidently intended for a comic gentleman of mature years. Placing them on one side, he next pulled out a blue and buff livery, gaily ornamented with brass buttons. It was a handsome costume, but with the sensibility of a true artist Mr. Bascombe realized at once that it was unsuited to the remainder of his appearance. Laying it carefully on top of the other, he again rummaged in the basket, his efforts on this occasion being rewarded by a roll of sombre garments tied round with a piece of red tape. He slipped off the latter, and, depositing a pair of trousers and waistcoat on the ground, held up a long black coat of clerical cut. Now, Mr. Bascombe was the possessor of a richly-developed sense of humour, which for five years had been suffering from a deplorable lack of exercise. Even with the certainty of punishment ahead, he was quite unable to resist the temptation offered by this outfit. The sight of the warder's face when that gentleman returned would, he felt, be more than sufficient compensation for the reduced diet and loss of marks that would inevitably follow. Five minutes' swift and silent work, and the metamorphosis was complete. He stood before the glass smiling hugely at his reflection--a perfect specimen of a weather-beaten parson of the Jack Russell school. Up till then no idea but that of startling the warder had entered his head. He had drifted into the jest quite undeliberately, dressing himself up solely out of a sense of mischievous amusement. It was the unexpected perfection of his disguise that suddenly suggested to him the possibilities of the situation. He turned a rapid glance on the locked door, and another on the pile of convict clothes that lay huddled together beside the basket. For an instant he stood undecided, then stealthily as a cat he again stepped across the room and picked up his discarded garments. Tying them round with the piece of red tape, he thrust them down into the bottom of the basket, covering them over with the two suits and the box that he had previously taken out. This done, he shut the lid, and once more stood motionless, listening intently to the sounds that reached him from the hall. He could hear nothing but the dull tramp of his fellow-convicts' feet passing up and down, and the clatter of the chairs as they were set in their places. With the grin still embedded on his countenance he slipped noiselessly across to the outer door. Bending down, he examined the lock. It was a simple affair--almost insultingly simple for a gentleman of Mr. Bascombe's capabilities.