“If it remains in Colonel Claire’s hands,” he said, “I am satisfied.” He turned to Eru. “You are not of the Maori people. In the days when this toki was fashioned your breed was unknown. Yet the punishment of Tane shall reach you. It were better that you had died in Taupo-tapu. I forbid you to return to our people.” After this final burst of magnificence Rua added placidly, “I myself can drive Mrs. Te Papa’s car.”
And drive it he did, sitting upright at the wheel, his blanket about his shoulders, bouncing slightly as he negotiated the inequalities of the pumice track.
Huia, sobbing noisily, ran into the house followed by the gently clucking Mrs. Claire. Eru moistened his lips and, without another word, set off up the track.
“That’s a very embarrassing old gentleman.”
Gaunt had strolled along the verandah, smoking a cigarette. He had dressed that morning in a travelling suit and looked an extraordinarily incongruous figure. His clothes, his hands, and his hair were as little in harmony with Wai-ata-tapu as would have been those of Sergeant Webley in the Ritz. Webley at once fastened on him.
“Now, Mr. Gaunt.”
“Well, Sergeant?”
“You must have heard what’s been said. Is it correct that you wanted to get hold of this weapon?”
“I should have liked to buy it, certainly. I have a taste for barbaric ornament.”
“Did you offer to buy it?”
“I told Questing I should like to see it first. Not unnaturally. My secretary had related the story of Rewi’s axe. When Questing came to me a few nights ago and littered the place up with obscure hints that he could if he would and so on, I confess my curiosity was stimulated. But I assure you that I did not commit myself in any way.”
“Do you realize that the removal of property from a native reserve is a criminal offence?” Dr. Ackrington demanded.
“No. Is it really? Questing told me the old gentleman was prepared to sell but that he didn’t want the rest of his tribe to know. He said we should have to be very hush-hush.”
“Did you know anything about this, Mr. Bell?” asked Webley, turning his dark face towards Dikon.
“Oh, no,” said Gaunt easily. “I didn’t mention it to anybody. Questing was rather particular about that.”
“I’ll be bound he was,” said Webley with a nearer approach to bitterness than Dikon had thought him capable of expressing.
“It was really too bad of him to involve me in a dubious transaction, you know. I resent it,” said Gaunt. “And I must say, Sergeant, you seem to me to be working yourself into a tig over an abortive attempt at theft while an enemy agent bustles into obscurity. Why not deny yourself your passion for curios and catch Mr. Questing?”
Dikon opened his mouth and shut it again. He was looking at Mr. Falls, upon whose lips were painted the faintest trace of a smile.
“But we have found Mr. Questing,” said Webley dully. Gaunt’s hands contracted and he gave a sharp exclamation. Dikon saw again the hard curve of an orb under wet sacking.
“Found him?” said Gaunt softly. “Where?”
“Where he was lost, Mr. Gaunt. In Taupo-tapu.”
“My God!”
Gaunt looked at his fingers, seemed to hesitate, and then turned on his heel and walked back along the verandah. As he reached his own rooms he said loudly with a sort of sneer: “That takes the icing off old Ackrington’s gingerbread, doesn’t it! I beg your pardon, Doctor. Do forgive me. I’d forgotten you were here.”
He went into his room and they heard him shout for Colly.
Mr. Falls broke an awkward silence by saying: “What a very gay taste in shirts Mr. Eru Saul displays, doesn’t he?”
Eru, a desolate figure, had plodded up the drive as far as the last turn that was visible from the house. His puce-coloured sleeves were vivid in the sunlight.
Barbara leant out of the open window and said nervously: “He always wears that shirt. One wonders if it’s ever washed.”
Dikon, expecting Dr. Ackrington’s outburst to come at any moment, said hurriedly: “I know. He wore it on the day of Smith’s accident.”
“So he did.”
“No, he didn’t,” said the Colonel unexpectedly.
They stared at him. “But, Daddy, he did,” said Barbara. “Don’t you remember he came into the dining-room to sort of confirm Mr. Smith’s account and he was wearing the pink shirt? Wasn’t he, Sim?”
“What the heck’s it matter?” Simon asked. “He was, as a matter of fact.”
“He couldn’t have been,” said the Colonel.
Dr. Ackrington began in a high voice, “In the name of all that’s futile, Edward, will you — ” and stopped short. “The shirt was pink,” he said loudly.
“No.”
“It was pink, Edward.”
“It couldn’t have been, James.”
Webley said heavily: “If you’ll excuse me I’ll get on with it,” and casting a disgusted look at the Colonel he returned to Questing’s room.
“I know it wasn’t pink,” the Colonel went on.
“Did you see the fellow’s shirt?”
“I suppose I must have, James. I don’t remember that, but I have it in my head that it was blue. People talked about the feller’s blue shirt.”
“Well, it wasn’t blue, Dad,‘* said Simon. ”It was that same godalmighty affair he’s got on now.”
“I don’t catch what people say, but I did catch that. Blue.”
“This is extremely interesting,” said Mr. Falls. “Here are three people swearing pink and one blue. What about you, Bell?”
“I’m on both sides,” said Dikon. “It was puce but I agree with the Colonel that Questing said it was blue.”
“It is extraordinary to me,” said Dr. Ackrington, “that you can all moon about, arguing like magpies over a perfectly footling affair, when the discovery of Questing’s body puts us all in a damned equivocal position.”
“I am interested in the man in the ambiguous shirt. Could we not have Mr. Smith’s opinion?” suggested Mr. Falls. “Where is he?”
Without moving, Simon yelled: “Hey, Bert!” and in due course Smith reappeared.
Mr. Falls said: “I wonder if you can settle an argument. Do you remember that on the evening of your escape from the train, Mr. Questing said that he left you to the attentions of a man in a blue shirt?”
“Uh?”
Mr. Falls repeated his question.
“That’d be Eru Saul. He brought me home. What of it?”
“Wearing a blue shirt?”
“Yeh, that’s right.”
“It was pink,” said Dr. Ackrington and Simon together.
“If Questing said it was blue it must’ve been blue,” said Smith crossly. “I was that knocked about I wouldn’t notice whether the man was wearing a pansy shirt or a pair of rompers. Yeh, I remember. It was blue.”
“You’re colour-blind,” said Simon. “It was pink.”
He and Smith argued hotly. Smith walked away muttering and Simon shouted after him. “You’re making out it was blue because he said it was blue. You’ll be telling us next he went to Pohutukawa Bay that afternoon, like he said he did.”
Smith stopped short. “So he did go to the Bay,” he yelled.
“Yeh? And when Uncle James said wasn’t it a pity the pootacows weren’t in bloom he said yes, too bad. And they were blazing there all the time.”
“He did go to the Bay. He took Huia. You ask Huia. Eru told me. So get to hell,” added Smith and disappeared.
“What do you know about that!” Simon demanded. “Here, do you reckon Eru changed his shirt in our kitchen? Or was it another man on the hill that Questing saw?”
“He did not go to Pohutukawa Bay,” said his uncle. “I bowled him over. I completely bowled him over. Huia!”
After a short delay Huia, still weeping, appeared in the doorway.