As soon as he had passed out of earshot, Colonel Claire raised a piteous cry of protest. He hadn’t understood. He would never understand. What was all that about Pohutukawa Bay? Nobody had told him anything about it. On the contrary—

With extraordinary complacency, Dr Ackrington cut in: ‘Nobody told you it was a bad year for pohutukawas, my good Edward, for the conclusive reason that it is a phenomenally good year. The Bay is ablaze with blossom. I laid for your friend Questing, Edward, and, as Simon’s intolerable jargon would have it—did he fall!’

IV

After the party in the dining-room had broken up, Gaunt suggested that he and Dikon should go for a stroll before night set in. Dikon proposed the path leading past the Springs and round the shoulder of the hill that separated them from the native settlement. Their departure was hindered by Mrs Claire, who hurried from the house, full of warnings about boiling mud. ‘But you can’t miss your way, really,’ she added. ‘There are little flags, white for safe and red for boiling mud. But you will take care of him, Mr Bell, won’t you? Come back before dark. One would never forgive oneself if after all this…’ The sentence died away as a doubt arose in Mrs Claire’s mind about the propriety of saying that death by boiling mud would be a poor sequel to an evening of social solecisms. She looked very earnestly at Gaunt and repeated: ‘So you will take care, won’t you? Such a horrid place, really. When one thinks of our dear old English lanes…’

They assured her and set off. Soon after their arrival Gaunt had taken his first steep in the Elfin Pool. Whether through the agency of free sulphuric acid, or through the stimulus provided by the scene they had just witnessed, his leg was less painful than it had been for some time, and he was in good spirits. ‘I’ve always adored scenes,’ he said, ‘and this was a princely one. They can’t keep it up, of course, but really, Dikon, if this is anything like a fair sample, I shall do very nicely at Wai-ata-tapu. How right you were to urge me to come.’

‘I’m glad you’ve been entertained,’ Dikon rejoined, ‘but honestly, sir, I regard the whole affair as an exceedingly sinister set-up. I mean, why did Questing lie like a flat-fish?’

‘Several most satisfactory theories present themselves. I am inclined to think that Miss Claire is the key figure.’

Dikon, who was leading the way, stopped so suddenly that Gaunt walked into him. ‘What can you mean, sir!’ Dikon cried. ‘How can Questing’s relations with Smith have any possible connection with Barbara Claire?’