‘I don’t know,’ said Dikon. ‘If you like I’ll go and ask him.’

‘I won’t trouble you to do that, Mr Bell. I’ll ask Mr Gaunt myself.’

III

We are slow to recognize disaster, quick to erect screens between ourselves and a full realization of jeopardy. Perhaps the idea of something more ominous than accident had lain dormant at the back of Dikon’s thoughts. As there are some diseases that we are loath to name, so there are crimes with which we refuse consciously to associate ourselves. Though Dikon was oppressed by the sense of an approaching threat, his conscious reaction was to wonder how in the world under these new restrictions he was to cope with Gaunt. Thus, by a process of mental juggling, the minor was substituted for the major horror.

He said: ‘If you’re going to see Mr Gaunt perhaps I may come with you. I don’t know if he’s up yet.’

Webley looked thoughtfully at him and then with an air of heartiness which Dikon found most disconcerting he said: ‘That’ll do very very nicely, Mr Bell. We like to do things in a friendly way. If you don’t mind introducing me to Mr Gaunt, I’ll just explain the position to him. I’m quite sure he’ll understand.’

‘Are you, by God!’ thought Dikon, and led the way along the verandah.

As they approached Gaunt’s rooms, Colly came out staggering under the weight of a wardrobe trunk. Webley gave him that hard stare with which Dikon was to become so familiar. ‘You’d better take that thing away, Colly,’ said Dikon.

‘Take it away?’ asked Colly indignantly. ‘I’ve only just brought it out. What am I supposed to be, sir? Atmosphere in the big railwaystation scene or what?’ He glanced shrewdly at Webley. ‘Pardon me, Chief Inspector,’ he said. ‘There’s no corpse in this trunk. Take a look if you don’t believe me, and don’t muck up our underwear, We’re fussy about details.’

‘That’ll be quite all right, Colly,’ said Webley. ‘Stay handy, will you? I’d like to have a yarn with you.’

‘Rapture as expressed in six easy poses,’ said Colly. ‘Yours to command.’ He winked at Dikon. ‘If you’re looking for His Royal Serenity, sir,’ he said, ‘he’s in his barf.’

‘We’ll wait,’ said Dikon. ‘In here, will you, Mr Webley?’ They waited in Gaunt’s sitting-room. Colly, whistling limpidly, staggered away under the trunk.

‘That kind of joker’s out of our line in New Zealand,’ said Webley. ‘He’s different from what you’d have thought. A bit too fresh, isn’t he? Not my idea of a vally.’