WHEN IT was not quite daylight Maitland telephoned. It was Jean who rushed to answer. She was wearing a dressing-gown. She had been out of bed for over an hour. ‘Yes?’ She was panting, on the verge of hysteria and tears. The hours of waiting, all through the night, had been almost too much for her.
Sandilands was asleep. She had given him sleeping pills.
‘It’s you, Jean?’
‘Yes. Any news?’
‘It’s all over. I’ll leave it to you to tell Andrew. Where is he?’
‘He’s asleep. What have I to tell him?’
‘They came rushing out but not to give themselves up. Damned fools. Suicidal. Firing guns. They must have been firing them into the air or their aim was rotten, for none of the soldiers was hit. The soldiers didn’t know that at the time. They didn’t fire into the air. That’s not their way.’
‘Was anybody hurt?’
‘Three were killed, eight wounded, how badly I don’t know yet. Abad himself wasn’t hurt.’
‘So he’ll be hanged?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Jean found it hard to ask what had to be asked. ‘And Leila?’
Maitland found it just as hard to answer. ‘She was one of those shot.’
‘Shot?’
‘She’s dead, Jean. She was at the front. She didn’t have a gun. She was holding that damned silly petition. If Andrew wants to see her for God’s sake tell him he can’t, it won’t be allowed. Anyway, he wouldn’t want to. I saw her. A bloody mess. I don’t envy you having to tell him.’
She was sobbing. ‘I can tell him because I love him.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ But the Deputy Commissioner was frowning, as he put the telephone down. He did not quite understand.