Te Pokiha put out his thin dark hand as though to take up the tiki. Then he paused and drew back his hand.
“The demi-god Tiki was the father of mankind. These little symbols are named after him. They do not actually represent him but rather the human embryo and the fructifying force in mankind. The ornament and carving is purely phallic. I know something of the history of this tiki. It was tapu. Do you know what that means?”
“Sacred? Untouchable?”
“Yes. Long ago it was dropped from the breast of a woman in a very tapu place, a meeting-house, and remained there, unnoticed, for a long time. It therefore became tapu itself. The meeting-house was burned to the ground and a pakeha found and kept the tiki, afterwards telling where he had found it. My grandfather would have said that this in itself was a desecration, a pollution. The pakeha, not long afterwards, was drowned in attempting to ford a river. The tiki was found in his pocket and given, by his son, to the father of the man from whom you have bought it. Your man was once a very prosperous run-holder, but lost almost everything during the depression. Hence his desire to sell the tiki.”
“Miss Gaynes has repeatedly expressed her opinion that the tiki is unlucky,” said Alleyn dryly. “It seems that she is right. What would your grandfather have thought of the reception they gave it last night? Poor little Meyer was very facetious, wasn’t he, pretending to say his prayers to it?”
“Not only facetious but ill-bred,” said Te Pokiha quietly.
“I felt rather ashamed of my compatriots, Dr. Te Pokiha, and, as I told you at the time, I regretted my impulse.”
“You need not regret it. The tiki is revenged.”
“Very much so. I shall ask Miss Dacres to return it to me, I think.”
Te Pokiha looked at him, hesitated a moment and then said: “I do not think she need fear it.”
“Tell me,” said Alleyn, “if it’s not an impertinent question, do you yourself feel anything of — well, anything of what your ancestors would have felt in regard to this coincidence?”
There was a long pause.
“Naturally,” said Te Pokiha, at last, “I do not feel exactly as a European would feel about the tiki. What do your gipsies say? ‘You have to dig deep to bury your daddy’.”
“Yes,” murmured Alleyn, “I suppose you do.”
“I hear you are working personally on the case,” said Te Pokiha after another silence. “May one ask if you feel confident that the murderer will be found?”
“Yes, I am confident.”
“That is excellent,” said Te Pokiha, tranquilly.
“It is simply a question of eliminating the impossible. And, by the way, you can help us there.”
“Can I? In what way?”
“We are trying to establish alibis for all these people. Mr. Mason’s movements are a little more difficult to trace than those of the cast, because he was in his office before the supper-party. Wade says you saw him there.”
“Yes. I did. At the end of the play I made for the exit at the back of the stalls. I noticed that the office door into the box-office was open, and thought I would look in on Mr. Mason before going behind the scenes. He came in just as I did.”
“From the yard?”
“Yes. He had been out to speak to the stage-doorkeeper, he said.”
“That tallies with what we have. How long did you stay in the office? By the way I hope you don’t mind me hauling in shop like this?”
“Not in the least. I hoped that we might discuss the case. Let me see. We stayed there for about ten minutes, I think. Mr. Mason said that they would not be ready behind the scenes for some little time and suggested we should have a drink. We took off our overcoats and sat down by the fire. I refused the drink, but he had one, and we both smoked. The men from the box-office came in and Mason dealt with them. Someone came in from the bank to take the cash, and the stage-doorkeeper looked in too, I remember. Oh, yes, and Ackroyd, the little comic fellow, you know — he looked in.”
“Did he, now? What for?”
“As far as I remember it was to tell Mason the guests were beginning to arrive. It struck me he was looking for a free drink, but he didn’t get it. Mason packed him off in no time.”
“Did you see him go?”
“How do you mean? I saw him go out into the yard. Then someone else looked in, I think. People were going in and out all the time.”
“Yes, I see.”
“I suppose that was a crucial time,” said Te Pokiha. “I heard about the counterweight from Gascoigne and Mason, last night. They both insisted that there had been interference. Of course there must have been interference. That sort of thing couldn’t happen accidentally.”
“Hardly, one would think. Yes, it’s an important period that, when you were in the office. You left Mason there?”
“Yes. He was there when I returned, too; still in his chair by the fire.
“You returned to the office? Why did you return?”
“Didn’t I tell you? How stupid of me. When I got to the stage-door I found I had taken Mason’s overcoat instead of my own. We had taken them off at the same time and put them down together. I took my own coat, said a word or two more, and left him locking things up in the office. I remember that I had only just gone on to the stage when you and Mason arrived.”
“I met him at the door of the office as I went down the yard.”
“Well, I suppose I have established Mason’s alibi for him,” said Te Pokiha, with a smile, “and my own too I hope if I needed one.”
“It’s always a handy little thing to have beside you.”
“I suppose so — still there’s an absence of motive in my case.”
“Ah, yes,” murmured Alleyn, “we must have motive, of course.”
He picked up the tiki, returned it to his pocket, and looked at his watch.
“Good Lord, it’s eleven o’clock and I haven’t so much as rung up for a car.”
“There’s no need. I shall drive you back and spend the night at my rooms. I often do that — it’s all arranged. You must have a drink before you go.”
“No, really not, thanks. I promised Wade I’d ring him up before eleven-thirty, so if you don’t mind—”
“You can telephone from here.”
“It may be rather a lengthy conversation, so perhaps I’d better leave it until I get to Middleton.”
“Come along, then,” rejoined Te Pokiha courteously. “I mustn’t try to keep you, I suppose.”
“It’s been a delightful evening.”
“I hope it is not to be the last.”
They drove back in the starlight. To Alleyn it seemed strange that it was only that morning — a short eighteen hours ago — that he had stood in the deserted street to watch dawn break over the mountains. It seemed to be ages ago. So much had happened. Carolyn by the little stream, talking about her husband, the bush bird whistling “She was only a bird—” with a wrinkled human face, Gordon Palmer drinking whisky that poured itself out of the neck of a gargantuan champagne bottle. “Don’t do that, it shouldn’t be interfered with.” “But my old dad taught me. It used to go big in vordevil.” And there was Wade running up and down a ladder like a performing monkey and saying: “Eight minutes for refreshments at the central police station.” “Don’t do that, you’ll muddle the prints.” “It’s all right if you sound your horn at the top. This horn is called a beep-beep. Listen — beep-beep—”
“This horn is called a ‘beep-beep’,” said Te Pokiha. “It reminds me of the Paris streets.”
“Lord love us, I’ve been asleep,” said Alleyn.
“If you will allow me to say so, I think you’re overtaxing your strength a little. You look tired. Aren’t you supposed to be on a holiday?”