Page 339 - tender-is-the-night

yet dead, and over his mouth was fastened what appeared to
be a gag. When he saw Baby he moved his head back into a
shadow.
‘What is it?’ he repeated.
Baby told him, in her agitation edging forward to the
stairs. In the course of her story she realized that the gag
was in reality a mustache bandage and that the man’s face
was covered with pink cold cream, but the fact fitted quietly
into the nightmare. The thing to do, she cried passionately,
was for him to come to the jail with her at once and get Dick
out.
‘It’s a bad business,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she agreed conciliatingly. ‘Yes?’
‘This trying to fight the police.’ A note of personal affront
crept into his voice, ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done
until nine o’clock.’
‘Till nine o’clock,’ she repeated aghast. ‘But you can do
something, certainly! You can come to the jail with me and
see that they don’t hurt him any more.’
‘We aren’t permitted to do anything like that. The Con-
sulate handles these things. The Consulate will be open at
nine.’
His face, constrained to impassivity by the binding strap,
infuriated Baby.
‘I can’t wait until nine. My brother-in-law says they’ve
put his eye out—he’s seriously hurt! I have to get to him. I
have to find a doctor.’ She let herself go and began to cry an-
grily as she talked, for she knew that he would respond to
her agitation rather than her words. ‘You’ve got to do some-

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