It wasn’t good. Most disturbing of all, they still lacked any alternative to the suitcase. MacConnachie was clearly concerned about this. He repacked their belongings, snuffed the candle and put it into his jacket pocket. Then he came to Ansell and said very quietly,

‘We’ll have to try another hut.’

This, Ansell knew, went against all MacConnachie’s instincts, for, to do so, they would have to steal time from the other end of the night, when they would most need it. He waited quietly for MacConnachie to lead the way.

MacConnachie went to the door and opened it. As if on cue, there came a piercing shout from the direction of the square. After a moment of silence it came again, startlingly clamorous, and then once more. Ansell closed up to look over MacConnachie’s shoulder. He saw the door of the café open, and then the proprietor come running out, pressure lamp held high. At the edge of the square he encountered the shouting man, who proved to be the second drunk, the one MacConnachie had rescued from the well. Despite MacConnachie’s assurance, the man was clearly conscious and vocal.

‘Oh Christ, I should have let the little bastard drown.’

‘Do we go and sort them out?’

‘No, you never know who’ll turn out to be a hero.’

By this time the drunk and the proprietor were berating one another at the tops of their voices, and lights had appeared at two other windows. Now the woman in bed behind MacConnachie and Ansell started to moan at the first return of awareness, and MacConnachie said,

‘We’ll have to bug out.’

‘I’ll cover you.’

‘No, together. They’re not interested in us.’

It was true; for, as MacConnachie and Ansell fled lightly down the street, the quarrelling men did not look once in their direction; and they were already beyond the scrub and on to the track before they heard the woman scream.

It had not been a successful raid. They had saved one life, bent two heads, and stolen sufficient water. But they lacked everything else that they needed to survive. No drugs, no soap, no medicines; too little food and money; no waterproofs, no tools and no haversack. And they had, if MacConnachie’s guess was correct, four hundred miles to go.

It took an hour to reach the gully again, and here they rested for five minutes. MacConnachie stripped down the gun and oiled it properly, while Ansell sat recovering his breath. At length, Ansell said,

‘We didn’t do very well.’

‘It’s a start.’

Ansell kicked the suitcase.

‘The trouble is, we’ll have to carry this damned thing. We can’t sling it.’

‘I know.’

Then Ansell chuckled.

‘You realize we haven’t got a tin opener.’

‘We’ve got a couple of knives.’

‘Not to mention a cut-throat razor.’

‘We’ll use that tomorrow.’

‘We’re going to shave?’

‘Not our faces. Armpits and crutches.’

‘You’re joking!’

‘You won’t laugh if you get the rot.’

‘I shan’t laugh if the razor slips, either.’

‘I’ll do it for you, if you like.’