Anne ripped up one leg of the shorts.
The material was clinging to the coagulated wound.
'I've been bleeding like a pig,' said Oakley.
It was only a flesh wound.
Alban was clever with his fingers, and though the blood began to flow again they stanched it.
Alban put on a dressing and a bandage.
The sergeant and a policeman lifted Oakley on to a long chair.
Alban gave him a brandy and soda, and soon he felt strong enough to speak.
He knew no more than the boatmen had already told.
Prynne was dead and the estate was in flames.
'And the girl and the children?' asked Anne.
'I don't know.'
'Oh, Alban.'
'I must turn out the police.
Are you sure Prynne is dead?'
'Yes, sir.
I saw him.'
'Have the rioters got fire-arms?'
'I don't know, sir.'
'How d'you mean, you don't know?' Alban cried irritably.
'Prynne had a gun, hadn't he?'
'Yes, sir.'
'There must have been more on the estate.
You had one, didn't you?
The head overseer had one.'
The half-caste was silent.
Alban looked at him sternly.
'How many of those damned Chinese are there?'
'A hundred and fifty.'
Anne wondered that he asked so many questions.
It seemed a waste of time.
The important thing was to collect coolies for the transport up-river, prepare the boats and issue ammunition to the police.
'How many policemen have you got, sir?' asked Oakley.
'Eight and the sergeant.'
'Could I come too?
That would make ten of us.
I'm sure I shall be all right now I'm bandaged.'
'I'm not going,' said Alban.
'Alban, you must,' cried Anne.
She could not believe her ears.
'Nonsense.
It would be madness.
Oakley's obviously useless. He's sure to have a temperature in a few hours.
He'd only be in the way.
That leaves nine guns.
There are a hundred and fifty Chinese and they've got fire-arms and all the ammunition in the world.'
'How d'you know?'
'It stands to reason they wouldn't have started a show like this unless they had.
It would be idiotic to go.'
Anne stared at him with open mouth.