Simon caught up with Dikon by the brushwood fence. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘I want you.’

Dikon felt unequal to Simon but he waited. ‘Don’t you reckon we’re dopey if we let that bloke go off on his pat?’ Simon demanded.

‘Who are you talking about?’ asked Dikon wearily.

‘Falls. He seems to think he amounts to something, shooting out orders. Who is he anyway? If I got him right this morning when he did his stuff with the pipe he’s the bird that knows the signals. And if he knows the signals he was in with Questing, wasn’t he? He’s just a bit too anxious about his cobber, in my opinion. We ought to watch him.’

‘But if Questing’s dead what can Falls, if he is an agent, do about it?’

‘I’m not a mathematician,’ said Simon obscurely, ‘but I reckon I can add up the fifth column when the answer’s two plus two.’

‘But he telephoned the police.’

‘Did he? He says he did. The telephone’s in Dad’s office. You can’t hear it from the dining-room. How do we know he used it?’

‘Well, stop him if you like.’

‘He’s lit off. Streaked away before we got started. Where’s his lumbago?’

‘How the hell do I know! He’s shed it in your marvellous free sulphuric-acid baths,’ said Dikon, but he began to feel uneasy.

‘OK, call me a fool. But you’re doing the hill. If I were you I’d keep a lookout across the reserve while you’re at it. See what Mr Falls’s big idea is when he goes along the path. Why does he want to keep everyone off it except himself? How do we know he won’t go over the ground above the mud pot? Know what I reckon? I reckon he’s dead scared Questing dropped something when he took the toss. He’s going to look for it.’

‘Pure conjecture,’ Dikon muttered. ‘However, I’ll watch.’

Smith, like some unattractive genie, materialized out of a drift of steam. ‘Know what I reckon?’ he began and Dikon sighed at the repetition of this persistent phrase. ‘I reckon it’s blind justice. After what he tried on me. I’d rather a train killed me than Taupo-tapu, by God. Give you the willies, wouldn’t it? What’s the good of looking for the poor bastard when he’s been an hour in the stock pot?’

Dikon swore at Smith with a violence that surprised himself. ‘It’s no good howling at me,’ said Smith, ‘you can’t get away from the facts. C’mon, Sim.’

He moved on towards the lake.

‘He reeks of alcohol,’ said Dikon. ‘Is it wise to let him loose?’

‘He’ll be OK,’ said Simon, ‘I’ll keep the tags on him. You look after Falls.’