His heart and his nerves were jolted before his eyes had time to tell him that it was only Mr. Septimus Falls, moving quietly along the white-flagged path across the reserve. As far as he could make out, Mr. Falls was bent forward. Dikon remembered Simon’s theory and wondered if, after all, it was so preposterous. But Mr. Falls was still well within the bounds that he himself had set though he walked fairly rapidly towards the forbidden territory. Dikon realized with a sudden pang of interest that he was moving in a very singular manner, running when he was in the moonlight and dawdling in the shadows. The mound above Taupo-tapu was easily distinguishable; Mr. Falls had almost reached the limit of his allotted patrol. “Now,” Dikon said, “he must turn.”
At that moment a cloud passed before the face of the moon and Dikon was alone in the dark. The reserve, the path, and Mr. Falls had all been blotted out.
Clouds must have come up from the south while Dikon climbed the hill, for the sky was now filled with them, sweeping majestically to the north-east. A vague sighing told him that a night wind had arisen and presently his hair lifted from his forehead. He had brought his torch but he was unwilling to disclose himself. He had told nobody of his intention to climb high up the hill. He saw that in a minute or two the moon would reappear and he waited, peering into darkness, for the moment when Mr. Falls would be revealed.
It was not long, perhaps no more than a minute, before the return of the moonlight. After its brief eclipse the strange landscape seemed to be more sharply defined; mounds, craters, pools and mud pots, all showed clearly. He could even see the white flags along the path. But Mr. Falls had completely disappeared. iv
“Really,” Dikon thought, “if I go all jitter-bug after the problematical death of a man who was almost certainly an enemy agent, I’m not likely to be a howling success in the blitz. No doubt Mr. Falls is pottering about in the shadows. In a moment he will reappear.”
He waited and watched. He could hear his watch tick. Away to the east a night bird cried out twice. He saw a light moving about in the native village and wondered if it was Colonel Claire’s. Two or three more sprang up. They were searching about the village. Once, far below on the other side of the hill, he heard Simon and Smith call to each other. An interval in the vast procession of clouds left the face of the moon quite clear. But still Mr. Falls remained invisible.
“I can’t stand this any longer,” Dikon thought. He had taken three strides downhill when a brilliant point of light flashed on the mound above Taupo-tapu and was gone, but not before the image of a stooping man had darted up in Dikon’s brain. The flash was not repeated but in a little while the faintest possible glow of reflected light appeared behind the mound. “Why, damn and blast the fellow,” thought Dikon, “he’s messing about on forbidden territory!”
His only emotion was that of fury; his impulse, to plunge downhill, cross the path and catch Falls red-handed. He had actually set out to do this when a shattering fall taught him that he could not run downhill and at the same time keep his eye on a distant spot on the landscape. When he had picked himself up and recovered his torch, which had rolled downhill, he heard a thin sweet whistle threading its way through an air that transported Dikon with astounding vividness into the wings of a London theatre.
Come away, come away, Death,
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
Mr. Septimus Falls was walking briskly back along the path, whistling his way home.
He had reached the foot of the hill and turned its flank before Dikon, cursing freely, was half-way down. The thin whistle changed into a throaty baritone and the last Dikon heard of the singer was a doleful rendering of the song which begins: “Fear no more the heat of the sun.”
The jolts and stumbles of his journey downhill took the fine edge off his temper and by the time he had reached the bottom he was telling himself that he must go warily with Falls. He paused, lit a cigarette and made some attempt to sort our the jumble of events, suspicions and conjectures that had collected about the person and activities of Maurice Questing.
Questing had visited Rangi’s Peak and the Maori people believed he had gone there to collect forbidden curios. When Smith attempted to spy on Questing he had narrowly escaped death under a train and at the time had believed Questing had done his best to bring about the accident. Had Smith, then, been on the verge of stumbling across evidence which would incriminate Questing? Subsequently Questing had offered to keep Smith on at the Springs and pay him a generous wage. This sounded like bribery on Questing’s part. Simon and Dr. Ackrington were convinced that Questing’s main object in visiting the Peak was to flash signals out to sea. This theory was strongly borne out by Simon’s investigations on the night before the ship went down. Questing had manoeuvred to get possession of Wai-ata-tapu, and, when he was about to take over, Septimus Falls had arrived, making certain that he would not be refused a room. Mr. Falls had made himself pleasant. He had talked comparative anatomy with Dr. Ackrington, and Shakespeare with Gaunt.
He had also tapped out something that Simon declared was a repetition of the signal flashed from the Peak. Had this been an intimation to Questing that Falls himself was another agent? Why had Falls been at such pains to ensure that nobody inspected the path above Taupo-tapu? Was it because he was afraid that Questing might have left some incriminating piece of evidence behind him? If so, what? Papers? Some object that might be recovered from the cauldron? For the first time Dikon forced himself to consider the possibility of anything being recovered from the cauldron, and was sickened by a procession of unspeakable conjectures.
He decided that as soon as he returned he would tell Dr. Ackrington what he had seen. “I shan’t tell Simon,” he decided. “His present theory will lead him to behave like the recording angel’s off-sider whenever he sets eyes on Falls.”
And Gaunt? His first impulse was not to tell Gaunt. It was an impulse based on some instinctive warning which he did not care to recognize. He told himself that knowledge of this new development would only add to Gaunt’s nervous distress and that no good purpose would be served by speaking to him.
As he walked briskly along the path towards the Springs, he was conscious of a feeling of extreme dissatisfaction and uneasiness. There was at the back of his mind some apprehension which he had not yet acknowledged. He felt that a further revelation was to come and that within himself, unadmitted to his thoughts, was the knowledge of what it would be. The air of the little Maori song came back to him and with it, like a chain jerked out of dark waters, sprang the sequence of ideas he was so loath to examine.