Michael leaned back wearily against a tree. And shaking off the melancholy of both the place and the task at hand, he forced his mind to think. He must unravel the mystery of the man before him.
So speaking with the half-truths and feigned ignorance which had become habitual with him among strangers, he began.
“The first question is simply put, and simply answered. I expect nothing less than the truth.....” Nothing. “I have heard it said that Mary is your half-sister. Is that true?”
Bluntly. “Yes.”
“You have been less than kind to her.”
Stephen felt the color rising at the back of his neck. “I didn’t know, until a few days ago.”
“And how do you feel towards her now?”
“That’s none of your affair!” he cried, whirling angrily. He would have advanced, but Michael straightened and pointed the gun squarely at his chest.
“That’s enough. Save your anger for the digging.” The other relented, but did not turn away.
“Very well,” continued Michael. “I will assume from the heat of your answer that you care for her, and perhaps are not altogether happy that she has been locked away.”