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  If he wished to cause a sensation, he met with unqualified success. They gaped at him. Barbara said in a small desperate voice: “But it wasn’t…? It couldn’t have been…?”

  “I’m not saying a thing,” cried Mr. Questing in high glee. “Not a thing.” He leered possessively upon Barbara, dug Dr. Ackrington in the waistcoat and clapped Gaunt on the back. “Great work, Mr. Gaunt,” he said. “Bit highbrow for me, y’know, but they seemed to take it. Mind, I was interested. I used to do a bit of reciting myself at one time. Humorous monologues. Hope you liked the little pat on the back I gave you. It all helps, doesn’t it? Even at a one-eyed little show like this,” he added in a spirituous whisper, and, laughing easily, turned to find Rua at his elbow. “Why, hullo, Rua,” Mr. Questing continued without batting an eyelid. “Great little show. See you some more.” And, humming the refrain of the song about death, he moved forward to shake hands heartily with the Mayor. He made a sort of royal progress to the door and finally strolled out.

  Later, when it was of enormous importance that he should remember every detail of the next few minutes, Dikon was to find that he retained only a few disconnected impressions. Barbara’s look of desolation; Mr. Septimus Falls in pedantic conversation with Mrs. Claire and the Colonel, both of whom seemed to be wildly inattentive; the startling blasphemies that Gaunt whispered as he looked after Questing — these details only was he able to focus in a field of hazy recollections.

  It was Rua, he decided afterwards, who saved the situation. With the adroitness of a diplomat at a difficult conference, he talked through Dr. Ackrington’s furious expostulations and, without appearing to hurry, somehow succeeded in presenting the Mayoral party to Gaunt. They got through the next few minutes without an actual flare-up.

  It must have been Rua, Dikon decided, who asked a member of the glee club to strike up the National Anthem on the meetinghouse piano.

  As they moved towards the entrance, Gaunt, speaking in a furious whisper, told Dikon to drive the Claires home without him.

  “But…” Dikon began.

  “Will you do as you’re told?” said Gaunt. “I’m walking.”

  He remembered to shake hands with Rua and then slipped up a side aisle and out by the front door. The rest of the party became involved in a series of introductions forced upon them by the Mayor and, escaping from these, fell into the clutches of a very young reporter from the Harpoon Courier who, having let Gaunt escape him, seized upon Dikon and Mrs. Claire.

  At last Dr. Ackrington said loudly: “I’m walking.”

  “But James, dear,” Mrs. Claire protested gently. “Your leg!”

  “I said I was walking, Agnes. You can take Edward. I’ll tell Gaunt.”

  Before Dikon, who was separated from him by one or two people, could do anything to stop him, he had edged between a row of chairs and gone out by the side aisle.

  “Then,” said Dikon to Mrs. Claire, “perhaps the Colonel would like to come with us?”

  “Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Claire uneasily. “I am sure… Edward! Where is he?”

  He was some way ahead. Dikon could see his white crest moving slowly towards the door.

  “We’ll catch him when we get outside,” he said.

  “Quite a crush, isn’t it?” said Mr. Falls at his elbow. “More like the West End every moment.”

  Dikon turned to look at him. The remark seemed to be not altogether in character. Mr. Falls raised an eyebrow. A theatrical phrase in common usage came into Dikon’s mind. “He’s got good appearance,” he thought.

  “I’m afraid the Colonel has escaped us,” said Mr. Falls.

  As they moved slowly down the aisle Dikon was conscious of a feeling of extreme urgency, a sense of being obstructed, such as one sometimes experiences in a nightmare. Barbara’s distress assumed a disproportionate significance. Dikon was determined that she should not be hoodwinked by Mr. Questing’s outrageous hint that he had sent the dress, yet he could not tell her that Gaunt had done so. And where was Gaunt? In his present state of mind he was capable of anything. It was highly probable that at this very moment he was hot on Questing’s track.

  At last they were out in the warm air. The night was clear and the stars shone brightly. The houses of Rua’s hapu were dimly visible against the blackness of the hills. A tall fence of manuka poles showed dramatically against the night sky, resembling in the half-light the palisade that had stood there in the days when the village was a fort. Most of the visitors had already gone. From out of the dark came the sound of many quiet voices and of one, a man’s, that seemed to be raised in anger. “But it is a Maori voice,” Dikon said. In a distant hut one or two women broke quietly into the refrain of the little song. So still was the air that in the intervals between these sounds Taupo-tapu and the lesser mud pots could be heard, placidly working in the dark, out on the native reserve: plop plop-plop, a monstrously domestic noise.

  Dikon was oppressed by the sensation of something primordial in which he himself had no part. Three small boys, their brown faces and limbs scarcely discernible in the shadow of the meetinghouse, suddenly darted out in front of Barbara and Dikon. Striking the ground with their bare feet and slapping their thighs they sketched the movements of the war-dance. They thrust out their tongues and rolled their eyes. “Ēee- ě! Ēee-ě,” they said, making their voices deep. A woman spoke out of the dark, scolding them for their boldness and calling them home. They giggled skittishly and ran away. “They are too cheeky,” the invisible woman’s voice said profoundly.

  The Colonel and Mr. Falls had disappeared. Mrs. Claire was still by the meeting-house, engaged in a long conversation with Mrs. Te Papa.

  “Let’s bring the car round, shall we?” said Dikon to Barbara. He was determined to get a word with her alone. She walked ahead of him quickly and he followed, stumbling in the dark.

  “Jump into the front seat,” he said. “I want to talk to you.” But when they were in the car he was silent for a time, wondering how to begin, and astonished to find himself so greatly disturbed by her nearness.

  “Now listen to me,” he said at last. “You’ve got hold of the idea that Questing sent you those damned clothes, haven’t you?”

  “But of course he did. You heard what he said. You saw how he looked.” And with an air of simplicity that he found very touching she added: “And I did look nice, didn’t I?”

  “You little ninny!” Dikon scolded. “You did and you do and you shall continue to look nice.”

  “You knew that wasn’t true before you said it. Shall I have to give it back myself, do you imagine? Or do you think my father might do it for me? I suppose I ought to hate my lovely dress but I can’t quite do that.”

  “Really,” Dikon cried, — “you’re the most irritating girl in a quiet way that I have ever encountered. Why should you jump to the conclusion he did it? The man’s slightly tight anyway. See here, if Questing sent you the things, I’ll buy Wai-ata-tapu myself and run it as a lunatic asylum.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “It’s a matter of psychology,” Dikon blustered.

  “If you mean he’s not the sort of person to do a thing like that,” said Barbara with some spirit, “I think you’re quite wrong. You’ve seen how frightful his behaviour can be. He just wouldn’t know it isn’t done.”

  Dikon could think of no answer. “I don’t know anything about that,” he said disagreeably. “I merely think it’s idiotic to say he had anything to do with it.”

  “If you think I’m idiotic,” said Barbara loudly, “I wonder you bother to mix yourself up in our affairs at all.” And she added childishly in a trembling voice: “Anyway it’s quite obvious that you think I’m hopeless.”

  “If you want to know what I think about you,” Dikon said furiously, “I think you deliberately make the worst of yourself. If you didn’t pull faces like a clown and do silly things with your voice you’d be remarkably attractive.”

  “Good Lord, that’s absolutely impertinent!” cr
ied Barbara, stung to anger. “How dare you,” she added, “how dare you speak about me like that!”

  “You asked for an honest opinion…”

  “I didn’t. So you’ve no business to give it.” As this statement was true Dikon made no attempt to counter it. “I’m uncouth and crude and I irritate you,” Barbara continued.

  “Then stop talking!” Dikon shouted. He did not mean to kiss her, he was telling himself. He had not even thought of doing so. It was by some compulsion that it happened, some chance touch upon an emotional reflex. Having begun, there seemed to be no reason why he should stop, though an onlooker in his brain was saying quite distinctly; “This is a pretty kettle of fish.”

  “You beast!” Barbara muttered. “Beast. Beast!”

  “Hold your tongue.”

  “Bar-bie!” called Mrs. Claire. “Where are you?”

  “Here!” shouted Barbara at the top of her voice.

  By the time Mrs. Claire came up to them Barbara was out of the car.

  “Thank you, dear,” said her mother. “You needn’t have moved. I’m so sorry I was such a long time. Mr. Falls has been looking for Edward but I’m afraid he’s gone.” She got in beside Dikon. “I don’t think we need wait. Jump in, dear, we mustn’t keep Mr. Bell any longer.”

  Barbara’s hand was on the door and Dikon had reached out towards the self-starter. They were arrested by a cry which, though it endured for no longer than two seconds, filled the night so shockingly that it hung on the air as a sensation after it had ceased to be a sound.

  An observer would have seen in the half-light that their faces were all turned in one direction as if their heads had been jerked by a wire. On the silence that followed upon the scream there came again the monstrously domestic noise of a boiling pot.

  Chapter IX

  Mr. Questing Goes down for the Third Time

  They were not alone for more than two minutes. A subdued hubbub had broken out in the village around them. Doors were opened and slammed. A woman’s voice. — was it Mrs. Te Papa’s? — was raised in a long wail.

  “What,” asked Mrs. Claire steadily, “was that dreadful noise?”

  They began to protect themselves with improbabilities. It was the small boys trying to frighten them. It was someone repeating the death cry of the girl in the song. The last suggestion came from Dikon, and as soon as he had made it he felt its reflection in his hearers.

  “Will you wait here by the car?” he said. “I’d better go and see if anyone’s in trouble out there.” He moved his hand towards the pools. The open space before the meeting-house was filled with shadowy forms. The woman broke out again into a wail. Other voices joined hers: “Aue! Aue! Taukiri e!” Rua spoke authoritatively out of the darkness and the wailing stopped.

  “Get into the car, Barbara, and wait,” said Dikon.

  “You mustn’t go out there by yourself.”

  “I’ve got a torch in the car. In the rack above your head, Mrs Claire. May I have it?” Mrs. Claire gave it to him.

  “Not by yourself,” said Barbara. “I’m coming too.”

  “Please stay here. It’s probably nothing at all, but I’d better look.”

  “Stay here, dear,” said Mrs. Claire. “Keep to the white flags, Mr. Bell, won’t you?”

  Dikon called into the darkness: “Mr. Te Kahu! What’s wrong?”

  “Who is that?” Rua’s voice held a note of surprise. “I know of nothing that is wrong. Someone has cried out. Where are you?”

  Mrs. Claire put her head out of the car window. “Here we are, Rua.”

  Dikon switched on his torch, shouted that he was going to the thermal reserve, and set out.

  The village was surrounded by a manuka fence. The only path across the thermal region started at a gap in this fence and Dikon found his way there easily enough. He could hear the pools working. The reek of sulphur grew stronger as he moved towards the gap. He felt and dimly saw wraiths of steam. When he put his hand to his face he found it was damp with condensed vapour. Now he was outside the hedge, his torch-light found the white flags. He followed them. The ground beneath his feet quivered. Alongside the path a mud pot no bigger than a saucepan worked industriously, forming ringed bosses that swelled and broke interminably. But to his left an unseen vent hissed. He caught sight of a steaming pool. The path mounted and then encompassed the mound of an old geyser. A mass of whitish-grey sinter rose up in front of Dikon and his path veered sharply to the right.

  He had felt himself to be very much alone and was startled to see the figure of a man, clearly silhouetted against a pale background of sinter. At first Dikon thought this man stood with his back towards him but as he moved forward he discovered that they were face to face. The man’s head was bent forward. Some trick of shadow, or perhaps of Dikon’s nerves, suggested that the stranger had turned sharply and now stood ready to defend himself. So vivid was this impression that Dikon halted.

  “Who’s that?” he said loudly.

  “I was about to ask you the same question,” said Mr. Septimus Falls. “I see now that it is Mr. Bell. I thought you were to drive back to the Springs.”

  “We heard someone scream.”

  “Yes?”

  “It seemed to be in this direction. Has anything happened?”

  “I have seen nothing.”

  “But you must have heard it.”

  “One could scarcely escape hearing it.”

  “What are you doing here?” Dikon asked.

  “I came to look for Colonel Claire.”

  “Where is he?”

  “As I have explained, I have seen nobody. I hope he has reached the hill and gone home.”

  Dikon looked across to where the hill that separated them from the Springs stood black against the stars.

  “You hope?” he said.

  “Have you a good nerve?” asked Mr. Falls. “I think you have.”

  “Why do you ask that, for God’s sake!”

  “Look here.”

  Dikon moved towards him and he at once turned about and led the way to the base of a hillock. The eruptive noises were now much louder. Falls waited for Dikon and took him by the elbow. His fingers were like steel. Dikon saw that they stood at a junction of red-and-white-flagged tracks on the native side of the mound above Taupo-tapu. It was on the summit of this mound that Dikon and Gaunt had stood on the evening that they first saw Taupo-tapu.

  “When I came to look for Colonel Claire,” said Falls, “I stood for a moment in the gap in the fence. As I looked, a man’s figure appeared against the sky-line. He carried a torch and I saw him in silhouette. He must have been somewhere near the extinct geyser you passed a moment ago. I was about to hail him when I noticed that he wore an overcoat, and then I knew that it couldn’t be the Colonel so I let him go. I’d looked for Colonel Claire all over the village and I now decided that he must have gone home by way of the reserve and by this time would have got too far for it to be worth while calling him back. I stood there idly waiting for the figure of the man in the overcoat to appear again on the sky-line, as it was bound to do when I climbed this hillock. I knew that it would be a little time before you left so I paused long enough to take out my pipe and fill it. I remember thinking how ancient the half-seen landscape felt, and how alien. I don’t know if it was long, perhaps it was half a minute, before I realized that the man in the overcoat was taking a long time to reach the hillock. I wondered if he, like myself, stood listening to the working of this hell-brew. Then I heard the scream.”

  He paused. Dikon thought: “There’s no need for him to continue. I know what he’s going to say.”

  “I ran along this track,” said Mr. Falls, “until I reached the top of the hillock. There was nobody there. I ran down the far side and called. There was no answer.”

  He paused again, and Dikon said: “I didn’t hear you.”

  “The hillock was between us… I turned and looked back and it was then I remembered that the path on the crest of the hillock was broken. I w
as aware of it all the time, but I had attached no significance to it and had taken the small gap in my stride. I was flashing my torch here and there, you see, and at this moment it happened to catch the raw edge. I returned. As you see, the hillock falls away in a steep bank immediately above the big mud pot. Taupo-tapu, they call it, don’t they? The path runs along the edge of this bank. Look.”

  He flashed his torch-light, a very powerful beam, on the crest of the hillock. Dikon could see clearly where the gap had eaten into the path. The inside of his mouth was dry. “Then… it had happened?” he said.

  “Of course I looked down. I suppose I expected to see something unspeakable. There was nothing, you understand. Nothing at all.”‘

  “Yes — but...”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. The rings and blisters formed and broke. The mud has a kind of lustre at night. I then followed the path right over to the big hill above the Springs. I went almost to the house but there was nobody. I came back here and saw you walking towards me.”

  Whether by accident or design, Mr. Falls switched on his torch and its strong beam shone full in Dikon’s eyes. He moved his head but the light followed him. He said thickly: “I’m going up there. To look.”

  “I think you had better not do that,” said Mr. Falls.

  “Why?”

  “It should be left undisturbed. We can do nothing.”

  “But you’ve already disturbed it.”

  “Not more than I could help. Very little. Believe me, we can do nothing here.”

  “It’s all a mistake,” said Dikon violently. “It means nothing. The path may have fallen in a week ago.”

  “You forget that we came that way to the concert. It has fallen in since then.”

  “Since you know all the answers,” said Dikon unevenly, “perhaps you’ll tell me what we do next. No, I’m sorry. I expect you’re right. Actually, what do we do next?”