Dikon turned on his heel and walked toward his own room. It was in his mind to go straight to Gaunt. His idea of Gaunt, by no means an unrealistic one, had been defaced by the events of the day. He felt a strange necessity to see Gaunt for himself, alone, to try if it was possible to re-establish their old relationship. He had not gone more than six paces when he was arrested by a terrific rumpus which seemed to come from the Colonel’s study. It was old Rua. His voice was raised in a roar as formidable as any with which his ancestors had led their clans to battle. The words at first were indistinguishable. Dikon thought that he made out ejaculations in Maori and occasional words of English. A babble of consolatory phrases broke out. The Colonel, Sergeant Webley and Mr Falls seemed to be making an attempt to placate him. He roared them down. ‘It is the Toki-poutangata-o-Tane. It is the weapon of my grandfather, Rewi. It is a matter of offence against a most sacred and tapu possession. It must be returned immediately. Immediately!’

‘Wait on, wait on,’ Dikon heard Webley mumble. ‘You’ll get it back all right.’

‘I shall have it back immediately. I shall appeal to the native land courts. I shall go to the Minister for Native Affairs,’ Rua stormed and Dikon was reminded vividly of his employer. The rumpus broke out with renewed enthusiasm. Mrs Claire came out from the dining-room.

‘Oh, Mr Bell,’ she whispered, ‘what now?’ She laid a plump hand on his arm, a hand which he thought the more touching for its calluses and stains. ‘It’s Rua, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘Something about his grandfather’s axe,’ Dikon muttered. ‘He’s very cross with Webley for holding on to it.’

‘Oh dear! One of those silly superstitions. Sometimes one almost loses hope. And yet, you know, he’s a regular communicant.’

The regular communicant, at this moment, came charging out of the study roaring like a bull and flourishing the ancestral adze. Webley and the Colonel were hot on his heels. Mr Falls followed in a more leisurely manner.

‘He’s raining the prints,’ Webley shouted in great agitation. ‘It’s most irregular.’

Rua plunged blindly along the verandah. Mrs Claire moved forward to meet him. He fetched up short. He was breathless, and his eyes flashed. He stamped twice with his heavy boot and shook the adze. ‘It is an outrage!’ he panted.

‘Now, Rua,’ said Mrs Claire placidly. ‘It’s not at all good for you to work yourself up like this and it’s not a nice way to behave in somebody else’s house. I’m ashamed of you.’

Webley approached cautiously and Rua backed away from him.