“What was your plan? What did you mean to happen in that timber yard?”
“Which timber yard would that be?”
“Your man Stevens is dead. Don’t play the fucking fool.”
Baxter’s mouth hangs open for a moment. He glances into the fire, coughs twice, then takes a sip of port. His lips are thin and damp, and his face is colorless aside from the faint blue bruise of his nose and the scribbles of broken vein across both cheeks.
“Let me explain something to you, Patrick,” he says, “before you jump to any quick conclusions. Stevens was a good man, willing, loyal, biddable, but there are some men who can’t be controlled. That’s the simple truth of it. They’re too vicious and too stupid. They won’t take orders and they won’t be led. A man like Henry Drax, for example, is a grave danger to everyone around him; he has no understanding of the greater good; he obeys no master but himself and his own vile urgings. When a man like myself, an honest man, a man of business and good sense, discovers that he has such a dangerous and unruly fucker in his employ, the only question is: how best may I rid myself of him before he destroys me and everything I’ve worked for?”
“So why pull me into it?”
“That was wrong of me, Patrick, I confess, but I was in a tight corner. When Drax came back here a month ago, I thought to make him part of my plans. I knew he was a dangerous bastard, but I believed I could use him anyway. That was my mistake, of course. I had some doubts from the start, but when I got your letter from Lerwick, I understood for sure that I had bound myself to a monster. I knew I had to part from him before he sank his teeth even deeper into my flesh. But how could I work it? He’s an ignorant fucker, but he’s no fool. He’s wary and he’s guileful, and he’ll kill a man just for the joy of it. A brute like that can’t be reasoned with or talked to. You know that as well as I do. Force must be employed, violence if necessary. I realized I needed to set a trap for him, to lure him away and catch him unawares, and I thought I might use you as the bait. That was my design. It was reckless and ill considered, I see that now. I should not have used you as I did, and if Stevens is dead now, as you say he is…”
He raises his eyebrows and waits.
“Stevens was shot in the back of the head.”
“By Drax?”
Sumner nods.
“And what’s become of the evil bastard now?”
“I killed him.”
Baxter nods slowly and purses his lips. He closes his eyes, then opens them again.
“Shows some boldness,” he says. “For a surgeon, I mean.”
“It was one of us or the other.”
“Will you have a glass of wine with me now?” Baxter asks. “Or sit yourself down at least?”
“I’ll stay as I am.”
“You did well to come here, Patrick. I can help you.”
“I didn’t come here for your fucking help.”
“Then what? Not to kill me too, I hope? What would be the good of that?”
“I don’t believe I was just there as a lure. You wanted me dead.”
Baxter shakes his head.
“Why would I want such a thing?”
“You had Cavendish sink the Volunteer, and Drax and I are the only ones who might have known or guessed it. Drax shoots me, and then Stevens shoots Drax, and everything is neat and tidy. Except it didn’t work like that. It misfired.”
Baxter tilts his head to one side and gives his nose a scratch.
“That’s sharp thinking on your part,” he says, “but it isn’t right, not right at all. Take heed now, Patrick, listen carefully to what I’m saying. The plain fact is there are two men lying dead in that timber yard, one of them murdered by your hand. I’d say that puts you in fair need of my assistance.”
“If I tell the truth, I have little enough to fear from the law.”
Baxter snorts at the idea.
“Come, Patrick,” he says. “You’re not so innocent and childlike as to believe such a far-fetched notion. I know you’re not. You’re a man of the world, just as I am. You can tell the magistrate your theories, of course you can, but I’ve known the magistrate for some years, and I wouldn’t be so sure he’ll believe them.”
“I’m the only one left alive from the crew, the only one who knows.”
“Aye, but who are you exactly? An Irishman of uncertain provenance. There would have to be investigations, Patrick, probings into your past, your time in India. Oh, you could make things uncomfortable for me, I’m sure, but I could do the same for you and much worse if I wished to. Do you want to waste your time and energies like that? And for what end? Drax is dead now and the ships are both sunk. No bugger’s coming back to life again, I promise you that.”
“I could shoot you dead right here and now.”
“You certainly could, but then you would have two murders on your hands and what good would that do you? You need to use your head now, Patrick. This is your chance to put everything behind you, to start afresh. How often in life does a man get such a rare opportunity? You’ve done me a great service by killing Henry Drax, however it came about, and I’ll happily pay you for the work. I’ll give you fifty guineas in your hand tonight, and you can put that gun down and walk out of this house and never look backwards.”
Sumner doesn’t move.
“There’s no train until morning,” he says.
“Then take a horse from my stable. I can saddle it for you myself.”
Baxter smiles, then stands up slowly and walks across to the large iron safe standing in one corner of the study. He unlocks it, takes out a brown canvas wallet, and passes the wallet to Sumner.
“There’s fifty guineas in gold for you,” he says. “Get yourself down to London. Forget the fucking Volunteer, forget Henry Drax. None of that is real anymore. It’s the future that matters now, not the past. And don’t worry about the timber yard either. I’ll make up some story about that to throw them off the trail.”
Sumner looks at the wallet, weighs it in his hand for a while, but doesn’t answer. He thought he knew his limits, but everything is changed now — the world is unhinged, free-floating. He knows he must act quickly, he must do something before it changes back again, before it hardens around and fixes him. But what?
“Are we agreed then?” Baxter says.
Sumner puts the wallet on the desk and looks towards the open safe.
“Give me the rest of it,” he says, “and I’ll leave you be.”
Baxter frowns.
“The rest of what?”
“All that’s in the safe there. Every fucking penny.”
Baxter smiles easily, as though taking it for a joke.
“Fifty guineas is a good amount, Patrick. But I’ll happily give you twenty more on top if you truly feel the need of it.”
“I want all of it. However much is in there. Everything.”
Baxter stops smiling and stares.
“So you came here to rob me? Is that it?”
“I’m using my head as you advised me to. You’re right, the truth won’t help me now, but that pile of money surely will.”
Baxter scowls. His nostrils flare, but he makes no move towards the safe.
“I don’t believe you’ll murder me in my own house,” he says. “I don’t believe you have the balls to do such a thing.”
Sumner points the gun at Baxter’s head and cocks the hammer. Some men weaken at the death, he tells himself. Some men start out strong, then soften. But that can’t be me. Not now.
“I just killed Henry Drax with a broken saw blade,” he says. “Do you really think putting a bullet in your skull is going to strain my nerves?”
Baxter’s jaw tightens, and his eager eyes jerk sideways.
“A saw blade, was it?” he says.