“Is that so?” said Questing very earnestly. “By gum, now, I’m sorry to hear that. Suffering from shock, eh? So he would be. So he would be.”

Dr. Ackrington drew in his breath with a sharp whistle and by this manoeuvre seemed to gain control of himself.

“I bet that chap’s annoyed with me,” Questing added cheerfully, “and I don’t blame him. So would I be in his place. It’s the kind of thing that would annoy you, you know. Isn’t it?”

“Smith appears to find attempted murder distinctly irritating,” agreed Dr. Ackrington.

“Attempted murder?” said Questing, opening his eyes very wide. “That’s not a very nice way to put it, Doctor. We all of us make mistakes.”

Dr. Ackrington uttered a loud oath.

“Now, now, now,” Questing chided, “what’s biting you? You come out on the verandah, Doc, and we’ll have a little chat.”

Dr. Ackrington beat his fist on the table and began to stutter. Dikon thought they were in for a tirade, but with a really terrifying effort at self-control Dr. Ackrington pulled himself up, gripped the edge of the table and at last addressed Questing coherently and with a kind of calmness. He outlined the story of Smith’s escape, adding several details that he had evidently gleaned after leaving the dining-room. At first Questing listened with the air of a connoisseur, but as Dr. Ackrington went on he began to get restless. He attempted several interjections but was ruthlessly talked down. Finally, however, when his inquisitor enlarged upon his abominable behaviour in deserting a man who might have been fatally injured, Questing raised a cry of protest. “Fatally injured, my foot! He came charging up the bank like a horse, don’t you worry. It was me that looked like getting a fatal injury.”

“So you turned tail and bolted?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t want a lot of unpleasantness, that’s all. I wasn’t deserting the chap. There was another chap there to look after him. He came bowling down the hill after it had happened. A chap in a blue shirt. And the train stopped. I didn’t want a lot of humbug with the engine driver. Smith was all right. I could see he wasn’t hurt.”

“Mr. Questing, did you or did you not look at the signal before you beckoned Smith to cross the bridge?”

For the first time, Questing looked acutely uncomfortable. He turned very red in the face and said: “Look, Doctor, we’ve got a very, very distinguished guest. We don’t need to trouble Mr. Gaunt—”

“Not at all,” said Gaunt. “I’m enormously interested.”

“Will you answer me?” Dr. Ackrington shouted. “Knowing that the evening train was due, and seeing the fellow hesitated to cross the railway bridge, did you or did you not look at the signal before waving him on?”

“Of course I looked at it.” Questing examined the end of his cigar, glanced up from under his eyebrows and added in a curiously flat voice: “It wasn’t working.”

Dikon experienced that wave of personal shame with which an amateur reciter at close quarters can embarrass his audience. It was such a bad lie. It was so clearly false. Questing so obviously knew that he was not believed. Even Dr. Ackrington seemed deflated and found nothing to say. After a moment Questing mumbled: “Well, I didn’t see it, anyway. They ought to have a wig-wag there.”

“A red light some ten inches in diameter and you didn’t see it.”

“I said it wasn’t working.”

“We can check up on that,” said Simon.

Questing turned on him. “You mind your own business,” he said, but his voice missed the note of anger, and it seemed to Dikon that there was something he could not bring himself to say.

“Do you mind telling us where you had been?” Dr. Ackrington continued.

“Pohutukawa Bay.”

“But you were on the Peak road.”

“I know I was. I thought I’d just take a run along the Peak road before I came home.”

“You’d been to Pohutukawa Bay?”

“I’m telling you I went there.”

“To see the trees in flower?”

“My God, why shouldn’t I go to see the pootacows! It’s a great sight isn’t it? Hundreds of people go don’t they? If you must know I thought it would be a nice little run for Mr. Gaunt. I thought I’d take a look-see if they were in full bloom before suggesting he went over there.”

“But you must have heard that there is no bloom this year on the pohutukawas. Everybody’s talking about it.”

For some inexplicable reason Questing looked pleased. “I hadn’t heard,” he said quickly. “I was astonished when I got there. It’s very, very disappointing. Just too bad.”

Dr. Ackrington, also, looked pleased. He got up and stood with his back to Questing, his eyes fixed triumphantly on his brother-in-law.

“Yes, but I don’t know what the devil you’re getting at both of you,” Colonel Claire complained. “I’ve been — ”

“Do me the extraordinary kindness to hold your tongue, Edward.”

“Look here, James!”

“Cut it out, Dad,” said Simon. He looked at his uncle. “I reckon I’m satisfied,” he said roughly.

“I am obliged to you. Thank you, Mr. Questing. I fancy we need detain, you no longer.”

Questing drew at his cigar, exhaled a long dribble of smoke and remained where he was. “Wait a bit, wait a bit,” he said, speaking in the best tradition of the cinema boss. “You’re satisfied, huh? O.K. That’s fine. That’s swell. What about me? Just because I’ve got an instinct about the right way to behave when we’ve distinguished guests among us, you think you can get away with dynamite. I’ve tried to save Mr. Gaunt the embarrassment of this scene. I apologize to Mr. Gaunt. I’d like him to know that when I’ve taken over this joint the resemblance to a giggle-house will fade out automatically.” He walked to the door. “But we must have an exit line,” Gaunt muttered. Questing turned. “And just in case you didn’t hear me, Claire,” he said magnificently, “I said when and not if. Good evening.”

He did his best to slam the door but true to the tradition of the house it jammed half-way and he wisely made no second attempt. He walked slowly past the windows with his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, making much of his hour.

As soon as he had passed out of earshot, Colonel Claire raised a piteous cry of protest. He hadn’t understood. He would never understand. What was all this about Pohutukawa Bay? Nobody had told him anything about it. On the contrary —

With extraordinary complacency, Dr. Ackrington cut in: “Nobody told you it was a bad year for pohutukawas, my good Edward, for the conclusive reason that it is a phenomenonally good year. The Bay is ablaze with blossom. I laid for your friend Questing, Edward, and, as Simon’s intolerable jargon would have it — did he fall!” iv

After the party in the dining-room had broken up, Gaunt suggested that he and Dikon should go for a stroll before night set in. Dikon proposed the path leading past the Springs and round the shoulder of the hill that separated them from the native settlement. Their departure was hindered by Mrs. Claire, who hurried from the house, full of warnings about boiling mud. “But you can’t miss your way, really,” she added. “There are little flags, white for safe and red for boiling mud. But you will take care of him, Mr. Bell, won’t you? Come back before dark. One would never forgive oneself if after all this…” The sentence died away as a doubt arose in Mrs. Claire’s mind about the propriety of saying that death by boiling mud would be a poor sequel to an evening of social solecisms. She looked very earnestly at Gaunt and repeated: “So you will take care, won’t you? Such a horrid place, really. When one thinks of our dear old English lanes…”

They reassured her and set off. Soon after their arrival Gaunt had taken his first step in the Elfin Pool. Whether through the agency of free sulphuric acid, or through the stimulus provided by the scene they had just witnessed, his leg was less painful than it had been for some time, and he was in good spirits. “I’ve always adored scenes,” he said, “and this was a princely one. They can’t keep it up, of course, but really, Dikon, if this is anything like a fair sample, I shall do very nicely at Wai-ata-tapu. How right you were to urge me to come.”