MICHAEL was roused by the reappearance of Benjamin, who came in and gave Rachel a quick check. He announced that she was in good shape and would probably be responsive in a couple of hours.
“But I’m afraid I’ve got very bad news for you. Your friend Bill Morgan—the old man—he didn’t make it. We did all we could, but he died about an hour ago. I am so sorry…”
Michael was shattered at this news. He had almost put Bill out of his mind, while he was concentrating all his thoughts on Rachel. But now the tears streamed down his face, with remorse and bitterness.
“He was so kind to us!” he cried out, through his sobs. “He was even going to come with us to Newf. And it was because he pushed me over, that he took the bullet meant for me. I should have been the one killed, not him!”
“He’s gone. Sorry. All you can do is remember him, then, for his kindness—that’s the best way to honour his memory,” replied Benjamin. “I never met him, before he was brought here unconscious, but the way you describe him, he must have been one of the best of men.”
There was a long pause whilst Michael tried to collect himself, wondering all the time how he would break the news to Rachel. Eventually his sobs subsided and he composed himself.
“We only knew Bill for a few days; but he did more for us in those few days than many friends would have done in a lifetime. And he had a good friend, also a retired seaman, a mutual friend as it happens: Alex by name, though my friend David always called him ‘Axel’. And Axel also died recently, he’d been thrown from a horse.” Michael decided not to mention the exact circumstances of Uncle Axel’s death as related by Luke. “To lose those two wonderful people within a matter of days—I can hardly bear it…” Michael muttered on, partly to himself, until at length Benjamin interrupted him:
“If you can bear it, I’ve another thing to say to you—but don’t worry! Just that there’s a police officer waiting outside. He’s asking to have a quick word with you, if you feel up to it. Don’t worry: I’ll get the nurse to keep an eye on Rachel in the meantime.”
Michael wiped his eyes and slowly and stiffly rose to his feet. He recognised at once the importance of co-operating with the police, especially now that this was a murder case. But he was fearful of what he might be questioned about. He and Rachel still had a lot to hide!
Slowly he stepped out of the ward and came face-to-face with the Mountie in the corridor, who led him into an empty room where they sat down round a small table. The Mountie took down the details of Michael’s and Rachel’s full names and ages, places of birth, and the address where they’d been living at Mrs Norman’s. All innocent stuff, and Michael had no thought of deceiving him. Except that he did not mention the fact that they’d lain up in Bill’s lodgings for the past two days. That might complicate matters! Then the Mountie continued:
“You’ve been told that this is now a murder case, Michael. I understand that the victim was a good friend of yours—I’m sorry about that. But I need you to tell me, briefly in your own words, exactly what happened as you were trying to board the Pinta.”
Michael told the story of the calamity as best he could: the Mountie took down his words verbatim and then asked him to read back and check over his statement before signing it. Then he folded up the paper and stood up.
“All right, thank you, that’s all I need from you at present.” Michael felt relieved. “But I must ask you to stay in Rigo for the present, until we get in touch with you again.”
“We haven’t got anywhere to stay, at present—except here at the hospital. We relinquished our tenancy at Mrs Norman’s place just before we were set to sail.”
“Go back to Rachel’s side for now: I’m sure she needs you more than I do. The hospital will probably let you stay here for a few days. But if you find accommodation elsewhere please let the hospital know, so we can keep in touch with you.”
Michael, reflecting on the statement he’d just given, and encouraged by the policeman’s friendly approach, suddenly thought of something else. “How was Skinner—if it was Skinner—able to get in two shots so quickly?” he asked. “I’ve used a gun myself often enough for hunting, back in my time out west—though I prefer bow and arrow—and it takes me a good minute to re-load.”
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“Never seen one of these?” replied the Mountie, pulling out his revolver and emptying the bullets onto the table. “You’re probably used to guns where you have to load the powder and shot from the muzzle. We have better ones than that in Rigo! These are rounds—see?—where the powder and bullet are all packed together one little metal case. In a rifle, you just put one of these in from the breech end, cock, and fire. Can all be done very quickly. Which, I’m afraid, turned out worse for your friend—and for Skinner.”
As the Mountie was picking up the bullets and re-loading his revolver, another question occurred to Michael. “What’s happening to the Skinner boy?”
“He’s in custody at present. It’s not my call, but I expect he’ll be sent before a magistrate and indicted for murder.”
“And what happens then?”
“He’ll have to wait for trial at the Assizes. You and Rachel will probably be called as witnesses, I should warn you. And if he’s found guilty of murder, he’ll probably be hanged.”
“Hanged?” repeated Michael, stunned. All at once the words sent by thought-shape, so long ago it seemed now, came back to him: ‘It is war. Some day I’ll kill them for what they’ve done to Katherine.’
But that had been a cry, not for justice, but for revenge. Much had passed since those days of the pursuit; Michael had been immersed in the more liberal, enlightened atmosphere of the metropolis for some weeks now; and he had long since dismissed the thoughts of revenge from his mind. All he wanted now was for justice to be delivered to those who had tortured and killed the two girls.
So he was shocked to learn that, even in Rigo, people could be executed for crimes. Biblical justice indeed, and also much discussed in Repentances. But was this the justice of Rigo too?
Another memory came back to him. Poor Anne, Rachel’s elder recently-widowed sister, found hanging from a beam. But that had been her own choice, by her own hand…
While he was turning over these thoughts in his mind, the Mountie had collected up his papers and taken his leave. Michael walked back to Rachel’s bedside. Her eyelids were now flickering and it seemed to him that she may be able to hear him—or receive his thoughts.
“Rachel, my dear,” he began, in thought-shapes.
But there was no thought-shape response from Rachel. Instead, her eyes opened, her lips stirred and she weakly mumbled the word “Michael?”
“Yes, it’s me, Michael,” he said, resorting to words.
“Are you all right, Michael? What’s happened to me? Are we on board ship?” The words now came tumbling out from Rachel as she gradually rallied her strength.
“No, we’re not on the ship; we’re back in the hospital in Rigo. And I’m quite all right. You were shot, Rachel, shot!—but you’ll get over it. The doctor—Benjamin, you remember?—he says you’re doing well, you should recover fully. And I’m unhurt. It was that beast Simon who shot you, and he’s under arrest now. So we’re safe from him, at least.”
“And Bill? Where’s Bill?”
Michael decided that now was not the time to break the news to Rachel—she was still very weak. “I don’t know. He was hurt too. I’ll see what I can find out. But what matters now is you.”
At the moment the nurse came in, and Michael told her that they had been talking. Having quickly examined Rachel, she pronounced that Rachel was still very tired and Michael must not excite her so much. She ought to be allowed to rest now. So Michael sat down by the bed again, clasped Rachel’s hand, and waited…
Hours passed. It was now late in the evening. More sandwiches and tea were brought to Michael, who discovered that he was now hungry, so he ate the lot. Eventually the nurse re-appeared.
“That same policeman who spoke to you earlier: he’s outside again and would like another word with you. If you don’t mind.”
“It’s nothing to worry about,” said the Mountie, when they had once again seated themselves around the table. “I’ve been stationed outside the hospital entrance to keep curious people away—since this is a murder case. But I’ve had a message from my boss—from the Police Chief of Rigo. He’d like to speak to you, as soon as convenient. Can you come over to the Sheriff’s?”
“When? I’ve got to stay with Rachel for now.”
“I know. The Chief said, no hurry, come when Rachel’s improved enough. I’ll be on hand, should you wish to contact us.”
Michael returned to Rachel’s bedside, wondering what the Chief wanted with him, and his sense of alarm heightened. He wondered if it was something Simon had come out with, while he was being interrogated. What could he have blurted out, other than the obvious? But there was no sense in panicking: the police here seemed decent and friendly enough—compared with the law-doers in Waknuk, at any rate! He could at least hope for justice.
As he was pondering these thoughts, he fell asleep in the chair.