It seemed to me that I was in a sweet jam, all of a sudden.
Before I could begin to think about it, Ansell came down.
“How is she?” I asked, hurriedly getting to my feet.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Ansell said, sitting down. He snapped his fingers at the little Mexican girl who acted as waiter and pointed to my half-finished beer. “She’ll be okay in a couple of hours. She’s beginning to recover now.” He shook his head, “I can’t make this out. How did Quintl die? Was he wounded or anything?”
I grimaced. “I don’t even want to think about him,” I said. “How long do you think he’s been dead?”
“I don’t know. In that heat, without ventilation, he need not have been dead very long.”
“Do you realize that this might affect her mind?” I said suddenly. “We’ve done a hell of a thing to that girl. There was something filthy in that hut. I swear there was someone in there when I looked into the room where she was lying.”
“It’s easy to imagine a thing like that in the light of a match,” Ansell said, quietly. “There was no one there except Myra. I looked. There was no place for anyone to hide.”
“I’m not explaining it, I’m telling you,” I said angrily. “I don’t like any of it. Do you know what? I feel we’re butting into something we don’t understand.”
The Mexican girl brought Ansell his beer and he took a long pull at it. “You’re on edge,” he said. “We’re not butting into anything. That’s no way to talk.”