Free Ah King by W. Somerset Maugham Page B

go. As they went they saw flames rising from the office buildings. There was no doubt that the coolies had burned down everything that would burn.
    Oakley gave a groan and opened his eyes. He was a little, dark-skinned man, with flattened features and thick coarse hair. His great native eyes were filled with terror.
    “You’re all right,” said Anne. “You’re quite safe.”
    He gave a sigh and smiled. Anne washed his face and swabbed it with antiseptics. The wound on his head was not serious.
    “Can you speak yet?” said Alban.
    “Wait a bit,” she said. “We must look at his leg.”
    Alban ordered the sergeant to get the crowd out of the veranda. 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 staunched 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 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 do’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. Oakley’s eyes were puzzled.
    “What are you going to do?”
    “Well, fortunately we’ve got the launch. I’ll send it to Port Wallace with a request for reinforcements.”
    “But they won’t be here for two days at least.”
    “Well, what of it? Prynne’s dead and the estate burned to the ground. We couldn’t do any good by going up now. I shall send a native to reconnoitre so that we can find out exactly what the rioters are doing.” He gave Anne his charming smile. “Believe me, my pet, the rascals won’t lose anything by waiting a day or two for what’s coming to them.”
    Oakley opened his mouth to speak, but perhaps he hadn’t the nerve. He was a half-caste assistant manager and Alban, the D.O., represented the power of the Government. But the man’s eyes sought Anne’s and she thought she read in them an earnest and personal appeal.
    “But in two days they’re capable of committing the most frightful atrocities,” she cried. “It’s quite unspeakable what they may do.”
    “Whatever damage they do they’ll pay for. I promise you that.”
    “Oh, Alban, you can’t sit still and do nothing. I beseech you to go yourself at once.”
    “Don’t be so silly. I can’t quell a riot with eight