The radio was muttering and the sergeant turned up the volume.
"Are they there?" the police officer on the mainland was asking.
"Just listen, sir," the sergeant said, and held the microphone above his head as the first fighter came screaming down again.
"They aren't firing their guns, are they?" the voice asked.
"No, sir, just diving."
"It sounds like the end of the world."
"Here the other one comes again," the sergeant said.
"That's it," de Gier shouted.
They saw the green-clad figure of Rammy appearing on the balcony. He was waving his hands. He didn't have the shotgun. "Come down," de Gier shouted, forgetting that Rammy couldn't hear him.
Rammy was coming down, he was falling down the staircase in his hurry to reach the ground. They saw him running toward them. The jetfighters had seen him too and they stopped diving and began to circle.
De Gier grabbed the carbine and lowered himself into a dinghy.
"Wait," Grijpstra shouted, and put his leg over the side of the launch.
Grijpstra rowed while de Gier covered Rammy with his carbine. Rammy was waiting for them, quietly, his arms dangling down. When they came close they saw that his mouth was open and that spittle was trickling down its corners.
"Put your hands up," de Gier said in a loud voice, thinking of the long knife which would be somewhere under the green jacket, but Rammy didn't hear him.
Grijpstra walked around the prisoner and patted his jacket He found the knife and put it away. The handcuffs clicked. Rammy began to mutter.
"What's he saying?" de Gier asked Grijpstra.
Rammy's voice was very low and Grijpstra bent his head trying to catch the meaning of the words.
"I don't know," he said after a while, "something about Satan."
"Come with us, Rammy," de Gier said gently. "Nobody is going to harm you. Just get into the dinghy and we'll go to the launch. Soon you will have a nice sleep."
Rammy looked up.
"You'll be fine," Grijpstra said.
16
"You are not too badly hurt," the doctor said, "but you are hurt. How is die pain?"
"All right," Buisman said, and groaned.
"I'll have to get that shot out of your chest. Most of it sits in your clothes but there's some in your skin as well. We can take you to the mainland and keep you in hospital for a while."
"No."
"You prefer to go home?"
"Please," Buisman said. "The food is better."
The doctor nodded and turned toward the shape of Rammy, who was sitting on the floorboards of the launch. He was shaking and his teeth were chattering.
"How are you, Rammy?" the doctor asked.
The doctor touched his head, very lightly, but die small ranger didn't notice.
"Shock," the doctor said to de Gier. "Bad shock. He'll have to go to the mainland. You want to come with us?"
De Gier didn't answer but looked down at Rammy Scheffer.
"How bad is he, doctor?"
"Bad."
"Where will you take him?"
"To a mental home," the doctor said.
"Yes?" de Gier asked, surprised. "That bad?"
They had walked over to the other side of the launch and were leaning over the railing, watching the sea, as the launch returned to the island's harbor. The little private yacht which had brought the doctor was following them at a hundred yards' distance.
"Yes," the doctor said, "his mind is shaken all right. I have known Rammy ever since he came to the island. He lived under stress. He is a regular patient of mine."
"What was the matter with him?"
"Ulcers, and other nervous complaints. Breathing trouble, he often thought he would choke. Once he came in the middle of the night, holding his throat. Told me I had to operate straightaway."
"What was it?" de Gier asked. "Asthma?"
"Nothing I could diagnose," the doctor said.
"So?"
"I recommended a psychiatrist."
"Did he go to see one?"
"No."
"What do you think was the matter with him?"
"No," the doctor said, "that's all I will tell you. Perhaps the psychiatrist in the mental home I'll take him to will say more. But you can't arrest him, that's for sure. You'll have to take the handcuffs off. I'll give him something to keep him calm and the police launch can take us to the mainland. I'll go with him. You want to come?"
"Not unless you want me to," de Gier said.
They stood in silence for a while.
"Will you do me a favor?" de Gier suddenly asked.
"Certainly."
"Look at my mate," de Gier said. "I think he is ill."
They found Grijpstra in the bow of the launch.
"Nice day," the doctor said.
Grijpstra turned around, trying to smile. His face was covered with sweat.
"I am a bit seasick," he said. "It'll pass. I was sick on the ferry yesterday."
"Yes," the doctor said, "you have my sympathy. I get seasick myself, but not on small boats. I went on a cruise once, with my wife, two weeks on the Mediterranean. I was sick most of the time."
Grijpstra smiled. The doctor had a pleasant way of talking.
"Do you mind if I feel your pulse?"
Grijpstra offered his arm, and began to cough.
"He has influenza, doctor," de Gier said, "and he has the shits as well."
Grijpstra stopped coughing and glared at de Gier.
"He should be in bed," de Gier said. Grijpstra sneezed.
"Your friend is right," the doctor said. "You aren't just seasick. You'll have to go to bed right away."
"Bed?" Grijpstra asked. "Why?"
"Why?" de Gier said. "Look at him. You probably have pneumonia and dysentery."
"Why don't you take me to the cemetery?" Grijpstra asked. "And why don't you mind your own business?"
"No," the doctor said, "don't get upset. I am a doctor and I say you are ill. Not very ill, but ill. And you'll have to go to bed."
"I'll go back to Amsterdam," Grijpstra said. I'll be all right. It's all this nature."
"You can't go to Amsterdam," de Gier said, and turned. He found Buisman in the cabin, stretched out on a bench. The water-police sergeant had made him as comfortable as he could, putting him on a thin mattress and covering him up with a blanket.
"How do you feel?" de Gier asked.
"Terrible," Buisman said, "but I'll feel a lot better when I see my wife. She used to be a nurse and she cooks well. I could do with a few days in bed."
"Grijpstra is ill," de Gier said.
"Good."
"What do you mean?" de Gier asked, raising his voice.
"I'll have some company," Buisman said. "We can play cards and talk to each other."
"Your wife won't mind?"
"No," Buisman said. "She likes to be a nurse."
"I don't think he'll play cards with you," de Gier said. "He has influenza and dysentery."
"Is that what the doctor says?"
"The doctor says he is ill."
"He'll be all right," Buisman said. "You don't know my wife."
"It's all fixed," de Gier said. "You are going to stay in Buisman's house. His wife is a nurse and she cooks well."
"Right," the doctor said.
Grijpstra wanted to say something but sneezed instead.
A crowd was waiting for them in the island's harbor and de Gier studied it through his binoculars. He saw the commissaris and IJsbrand Drachtsma. He waved at the commissaris, who put up a hand. The commissaris was still wearing his shantung suit. He hadn't been home; a police car had taken him from Amsterdam airport to the Schieronnikoog ferry. He had only just arrived. He was talking to Mr. Drachtsma, and de Gier, although he realized it was rude to stare at the two men, kept his binoculars steady. Drachtsma was answering the commissaris now. He spoke at length.
The launch touched the quay, and moored. Another similar launch was moored close by. Policemen from the mainland helped de Gier carry Rammy Scheffer. The handcuffs were taken off and Rammy was made to swallow a pill. The chattering and shaking stopped but the small ranger's eyes were still without any expression.