At twenty minutes past twelve on that same night a ship was torpedoed in the Tasman Sea six miles northwest of Harpoon Inlet. She was the same ship that Simon, from his eyrie of Friday night, had watched loading in the harbour. Later, they were to learn that she was the Hokianaga, outward bound from New Zealand with a cargo of bullion for the United States of America. It was a very still night, warm, with a light breeze off the sea, and many Harpoon people said afterwards that they heard the explosion. The news was brought to Wai-ata-tapu the following morning by Huia, who rushed in with her eyes rolling and poured it out. Most of the crew were saved, she said, and had been landed at Harpoon. The Hokianaga had not yet gone to the bottom, and from the Peak it was possible, through field glasses, to see her bows pointed despairingly at the skies.

Simon plunged into Dikon’s room, full of angry triumph, and doubly convinced of Questing’s guilt. He was all for leaping on his bicycle and pedalling furiously into Harpoon. In his own words he proposed to stir up the dead-beats at the police station, and the local army headquarters. ‘If I’d gone yesterday like I wanted to, it wouldn’t have happened. By cripey, I’ve let him get away with it. That was your big idea, Belt, and I hope you’re tickled to death the way it’s worked out.’ Dikon tried to point out that even if the authorities at Harpoon were less somnolent than Simon represented them to be they would scarcely have been able in twelve hours to prevent the activities of an enemy submarine.

‘They might have stopped the ship,’ cried Simon.

‘On your story that you saw lights on the Peak? Yes, I know there was a definite sequence and that it was repeated. I myself believe you’re on to something, but you won’t move authority as easily as that.’

‘To hell with authority!’ poor Simon roared out. ‘I’ll go and knock Questing’s bloody block off for him.’

‘Not again,’ said Dikon sedately. ‘You really can’t continue in your battery of Questing. You know, I still think you should speak to Dr Ackrington, who, you say yourself, already suspects him.’

In the end Simon, who seemed, in spite of his aggressiveness, to place some kind of reliance on Dikon’s advice, agreed to keep away from Questing, and to tell his story to his uncle. When, however, he went to find Dr Ackrington, it was only to discover he had already driven away in his car saying that he would probably return before lunch.

‘Isn’t it a fair nark!’ Simon grumbled. ‘What’s he think he’s doing? Precious time being wasted. To hell with him anyway, I’ll think something up for myself. Don’t you go to talking, now. We don’t want everyone to know.’