Rua had made some ejaculation in his native tongue.
“Nothing,” he said. “Drive carefully, Eru. You are too impetuous.”
“But it seems to me that across this band some other hand has graved three vertical furrows. The design is repeated all over the weapon, but in no other place do these three lines occur. Now how do you explain that?”
Rua did not answer at once. Eru trod violently on the accelerator, and Dikon repressed a cry of dismay as Mrs. Te Papa’s car responded with a shattering leap. Rua’s words were lost in the din of progress. “Wait… impossible… until I see…”
He roared at Eru and at the same time Dikon turned to protest against this new turn of speed. He saw, with astonishment, that the half-caste’s lips were trembling, that his face was livid. “He must be feeling like I feel,” thought Dikon. “He must have seen everything through the hole in the manuka hedge.”
Mr. Falls leant forward and tapped Eru on the shoulder. He started violently.
“I hear you missed the star turn at the concert last night,” said Mr. Falls.
“We heard some of it,” said Eru. “It was all right, too!”
“Mr. Smith tells me you missed the earlier speeches. I do hope you returned in time for the magnificent Saint Crispin’s Eve.”
“Was that when he said something about the old dugouts being asleep while him and the boys was waiting for the balloon to go up?”
“ ‘And gentlemen in England now a-bed’?”
“Yeh, that’s right. We heard that one. It was good, too.”
“Marvellous,” said Mr. Falls, and sat back in his seat. “Marvellous, wasn’t it?”
They arrived intact at Wai-ata-tapu. The adze had been removed, evidently to the Colonel’s study, as Rua was at once taken there, Falls, rather unnecessarily, ushering him in. Dikon was left alone with Eru Saul in Mrs. Te Papa’s palpitating car. “Hadn’t you better turn off your engine?” he suggested. Eru jumped and switched back the key. “Have a cigarette?” said Dikon.
“Ta.” He helped himself with trembling fingers.
“This is a bad business, isn’t it?”
“It’s terrible all right,” said Eru, staring at the study window.
Dikon got out and lit his own cigarette. He was feeling better.
“Where did they find it?” Eru demanded.
“What? Oh, the axe. I don’t know.”
“Did they find it in his stuff?”
“Whose?” said Dikon woodenly. He was determined to know nothing. Eru electrified him by jerking his head, not at Questing’s room but at Gaunt’s.
“That’s where he hangs out, isn’t it?” said Eru. “Your boss?”
“What the hell do you think you’re talking about?” said Dikon violently.
“Nothing, nothing!” said Eru, showing the whites of his eyes. “I was only kidding. You don’t want to go crook over a joke.”
“I can’t see anything amusing in your extraordinary suggestion that a Maori axe should be discovered in Mr. Gaunt’s room.”
“O.K., O.K. I only wondered if he was one of these collectors. They’ll come at anything, if they’re mad on it. You know. Lose their respect for other people’s property.”
“Let me assure you that Mr. Gaunt is not a collector.”
“Good oh. He’s not. Let it go.”
Dikon turned on his heel and walked toward his own room. It was in his mind to go straight to Gaunt. His idea of Gaunt, by no means an unrealistic one, had been defaced by the events of the day. He felt a strange necessity to see Gaunt for himself, alone, to try if it was possible to re-establish their old relationship. He had not gone more than six paces when he was arrested by a terrific rumpus which seemed to come from the Colonel’s study. It was old Rua. His voice was raised in a roar as formidable as any with which his ancestors had led their clans to battle. The words at first were indistinguishable. Dikon thought that he made out ejaculations in Maori and occasional words of English. A babble of consolatory phrases broke out. The Colonel, Sergeant Webley and Mr. Falls seemed to be making an attempt to placate him. He roared them down. “It is the Toki-poutan-gata-o-Tane. It is the weapon of my grandfather, Rewi. It is a matter of offence against a most sacred and tapu possession. It must be returned immediately. Immediately!”
“Wait on, wait on,” Dikon heard Webley mumble. “You’ll get it back all right.”
“I shall have it back immediately. I shall appeal to the native land courts. I shall go to the Minister for Native Affairs,” Rua stormed and Dikon was reminded vividly of his employer. The rumpus broke out with renewed enthusiasm. Mrs. Claire came out from the dining-room.
“Oh, Mr. Bell,” she whispered, “what now?” She laid a plump hand on his arm, a hand which he thought the more touching for its calluses and stains. “It’s Rua, isn’t it?” she said.
“Something about his grandfather’s axe,” Dikon muttered. “He’s very cross with Webley for holding onto it.”
“Oh dear! One of those silly superstitions. Sometimes one almost loses hope. And yet, you know, he’s a regular communicant.”
The regular communicant, at this moment, came charging out of the study roaring like a bull and flourishing the ancestral adze. Webley and the Colonel were hot on his heels. Mr. Fall followed in a more leisurely manner.
“He’s ruining the prints,” Webley shouted in great agitation. “It’s most irregular.”
Rua plunged blindly along the verandah. Mrs. Claire moved forward to meet him. He fetched up short. He was breathless, and his eyes flashed. He stamped twice with his heavy boot and shook the adze. “It is an outrage!” he panted.
“Now, Rua,” said Mrs. Claire placidly. “It’s not at all good for you to work yourself up like this and it’s not a nice way to behave in somebody else’s house. I’m ashamed of you.”
Webley approached cautiously and Rua backed away from him.
“I obey the gods,” said Rua. “He robbed the grave of my ancestor. The fury of Tane has fallen upon him. My grandfather Rewi is avenged.” It occurred to Dikon that all this grandiloquence would have sounded more impressive in the native tongue. Mrs. Claire seemed to be of this opinion. She administered a crisp scolding, her hands folded at her waist, while Rua, still clutching his preposterous trophy, rolled his eyes and seemed to be in two minds whether to go for Webley or beat a retreat.
Upon this scene, half-comic, half-ominous as all scenes at Wai-ata-tapu seemed fated to appear, came Huia, nervously twisting her hands. She edged her way round the dining-room door and along the back of the verandah. Her gaze was fixed upon her great-grandfather. At the same time Simon appeared round the corner of the house and Barbara, carrying a tray, drifted through the dining-room and paused at the windows. Dr. Ackrington loomed up behind her, peered through the window and, seeing what was afoot, limped out to the verandah. A moment later Dikon heard a movement in Gaunt’s rooms. It was as though the characters in a loosely constructed drama had begun to converge upon a focal point.
Huia’s face had lost its warmth of colour. She and the old man stared at each other, seeming to communicate. He raised the adze slowly. The crest of hair quivered. “Haere mai,” said Rua. “Come here to me.”
She crept a little nearer. He began to speak to her in their own tongue but soon checked himself. “You do not understand me. You know little of the speech of the children of Tane. Very well. Let your shame be made known in the tongue of the pakeha.” He looked about him, commanding the attention of his hearers. “Many months ago, feeling myself draw near to the path that goes down to the final abode, I spoke with my eldest grandson who now fights with our battalions in a strange country. To him I confided the secret of the hiding place of this weapon, a secret which has been known only to the ariki, the first-born, of each generation of my family. Beyond the manuka bushes where we spoke, unknown to me, this girl lay dreaming. I discovered her when my grandson had left me. I questioned her and she told me that since I had spoken in our own tongue she had not understood me. Look at her now and judge if she deceived me.” He moved towards her. She pressed herself against the wall and watched him. “To whom did you betray the resting place of Rew’s toki? Answer me. To whom?”