He paused, trembling like a leaf. When the Major only frowned, he sank back exhausted.
“If you'd seen what I've seen—” His head sagged stupidly. “If you'd seen what I've seen—miles of men, all slaughtered; women dead of starvation, children hunting in packs like wolves. And all because there's no mercy. If you'd seen, you couldn't kill anything.”
The candles ceased to gutter. Shadows huddled motionless. The very silence seemed accused.
Hindwood rose. He could endure the tension no longer. “I know nothing about her soul and not much about her guilt. All I know is that she's a woman at the end of her tether who's been handed one of the rawest of raw deals. That the world's been hard on her won't excuse her. We can't alter the world over night. If she's caught, as she may be at any moment, it'll be all up with her. I don't care what she's done or how much I lose by it, I'm not going to stand by and see her taken.”
The Major swung round. “Nor am I. But how to avoid it?”
Hindwood showed his suspicion of this sudden conversion. “Tell me,” he answered cautiously, “have you handed in any reports, I mean officially—about my knowledge of Santa?”
“Beyond the fact that you crossed on the same boat with her, you've not been mentioned.”
“And there's no one in your service, besides yourself, who has the least idea of her whereabouts?”
“No one.”
“Then it can be managed.”