‘I may be wrong, of course, but there is no doubt that he has his eye on her. Didn’t you notice that? All that frightful line of stuff with the Maori waitress was undoubtedly directed at Barbara Claire. A display of really most unpalatable oomph. I must say she didn’t seem to care for it. Always the young gentlewoman, of course.’ They walked on in silence for a minute, and then Gaunt said lightly: ‘Surely you can’t have fallen for her?’

Without turning his head Dikon said crossly: ‘What in the name of high fantasy could have put that antic notion into your head?’

‘The back of your neck has bristled like a hedgehog ever since I mentioned her. And it’s not such an antic notion. There are possibilities. She’s got eyes and a profile and a figure. Submerged it is true in dressy floral ninon, but there nevertheless.’ And, with a touch of the malice with which Dikon was only too familiar, Gaunt added: ‘Barbara Claire. It’s a charming name, isn’t it? You must teach her not to hoot.’

Dikon never liked his employer less than he did at that moment. When Gaunt prodded him in the back with his stick, Dikon pretended not to notice, but cursed softly to himself.

‘I apologize,’ said Gaunt, ‘in fourteen different positions.’

‘Not at all, sir.’

‘Then don’t prance along at such a rate. Stop a moment. I’m exhausted. What’s that noise?’

They had rounded the flank of the hill and now came in sight of the native settlement. The swift northern dusk had fallen upon the countryside with no suggestion of density. The darkening of the air seemed merely to be a change in translucence. It was very still, and as they stood listening Dikon became aware of a curious sound. It was as if a giant somewhere close at hand were blowing thick bubbles very slowly and complacently; or as if, over the brink of the hill, a vast porridge pot had just come to boiling point. The sounds were irregular, each one mounting to its point of explosion. Plop. Plopplop…Plop.

They moved forward and reached a point where the scrub and grass came to an end and the path descended a steep bank to traverse a region of solidified blue mud, sinister mounds, hot pools and geysers. The sulphurous smell was very strong. The track, defined at intervals by stakes to which pieces of white rag had been tied, went forward over naked hillocks towards the hip-roofs of the native settlement.

‘Shall we go farther?’ asked Dikon.

‘It’s a detestable place, but I think we must see this infernal brew.’

‘We must keep to the track, then. Shall I go first?’