Throughout lunch it was obvious to Dikon that Simon was big with some new theory. Indeed, so eloquent were his glances that neither Questing nor anybody else, Dikon thought, could possibly mistake their meaning. Dikon himself was in a state of mind so confused that he seemed to be living in the middle of a rather bad dream. Anxiety about Barbara, based on an emotion which he refused to define, a disturbing change in his own attitude towards his employer, and an ever-increasing weight of apprehension which the war bred in all New Zealanders at that time—all these elements mingled in a vague cloud of uneasiness and alarm. And then there was Questing. In spite of Simon’s discoveries, in spite, even, of the witness of the torpedoed ship, Dikon still found it difficult to cast Questing for the role of spy. Indeed, he was still enough of a New Zealander to doubt the existence of enemy agents in his country at all, still inclined to think that they existed only as bugaboos in the minds of tiresome old ladies and clubmen. And yet…mentally he ticked off the points against Questing. Had he tried to bring about Smith’s destruction, and if so, why? Why did he pretend that he had been to Pohutukawa Bay, when, as Dr Ackrington had proved by his pitfall, he hadn’t been near the place? If he visited the Peak only to hunt for curios, why should he have six times flashed his signal of three, five, and three, from a place where obviously no curios could be buried? He couldn’t help looking at Questing, at his smooth, rather naïve face, his business man’s clothes, his not altogether convincing air of commercial acumen. Were these the outward casings of a potential murderer, who was quietly betraying his country? Irrelevantly, Dikon thought: ‘This war is changing the values of my generation. There are all sorts of things that we have thought funny that we shall never think funny again.’ For perhaps the first time he contemplated coldly and deliberately a possible invasion of New Zealand. As he thought, the picture clarified. An emotion long dormant, rooted in the very soil of his native country, roused in him, and he recognized it as anger. He realized, finally, that he could no longer go on as he was. Somehow, no matter how uselessly, he, like Simon, must go forward to danger.

It was with this new determination in his mind that he visited Simon in his cabin after lunch. ‘Did you guess I wanted to see you?’ asked Simon. ‘I didn’t like to drop the hint over there. He might have spotted it.’

‘My dear old thing, the air was electric with your hints. What’s occurred?’

‘We’ve got him,’ said Simon. ‘Didn’t you pick it? Before lunch? Him and his pipe?’

Dikon gaped at him.