‘Sergeant Webley,’ said Falls, ‘please correct me if I am wrong, but suppose Mr Te Kahu gave you his undertaking that when the adze is needed by the police he will allow them to have it? Could it not in the meantime be entrusted to the Colonel? The Colonel is your friend, Mr Te Kahu, isn’t he? Suppose you went with him to his bank and left it there for safe-keeping? How would that be? Colonel, what do you say?’

‘Eh?’ said the Colonel. ‘Oh, certainly, if Webley agrees.’

‘Sergeant?’

‘I’ll be satisfied, sir.’

‘Well, then?’ Falls turned to Rua.

The old man looked at the weapon in his hands. ‘You will think it strange,’ he said, ‘that I, who have in my time led my people towards the culture of the pakeha, should now grow quarrelsome over a silly savage notion. Perhaps in our old age we return to the paths of our forebears. The reason may put on new garments but the heart and the blood are constant. From the haft of the weapon there flows into my blood an influence darker and more potent than all the pakeha wisdom I have stored in my foolish old head. But, as you say, Colonel Claire is the friend of my people. To him I submit.’

Falls went into his room and came out with that heavily belabelled case which Mrs Claire had noticed on his arrival. He placed it, open, upon the table, and Rua laid the adze in it.

‘If it remains in Colonel Claire’s hands,’ he said, ‘I am satisfied.’ He turned to Eru. ‘You are not of the Maori people. In the days when this toki was fashioned your breed was unknown. Yet the punishment of Tane shall reach you. It were better that you had died in Taupo-tapu. I forbid you to return to our people.’ After this final burst of magnificence Rua added placidly, ‘I myself can drive Mrs Te Papa’s car.’

And drive it he did, sitting upright at the wheel, his blanket about his shoulders, bouncing slightly as he negotiated the inequalities of the pumice track.

Huia, sobbing noisily, ran into the house followed by the gently clucking Mrs Claire. Eru moistened his lips and, without another word, set off up the track.

‘That’s a very embarrassing old gentleman.’

Gaunt had strolled along the verandah, smoking a cigarette. He had dressed that morning in a travelling suit and looked an extraordinarily incongruous figure. His clothes, his hands and his hair were as little in harmony with Wai-ata-tapu as would have been those of Sergeant Webley at the Ritz. Webley at once fastened on him.

‘Now, Mr Gaunt.’

‘Well, Sergeant?’

‘You must have heard what’s been said. Is it correct that you wanted to get hold of this weapon?’

‘I should have liked to buy it, certainly. I have a taste for barbaric ornament.’

‘Did you offer to buy it?’