“Exactly. In order to convince himself that God is wholly his, he has to go and kill all the others. Just for that very reason, because it means so much to him to have the whole of God and the whole of the truth. That’s why he can’t bear anyone else to have any other God or any other truth. If he once allowed that, he would have to admit that he himself has only a few wretched metres or gallons or sack-loads of divine truth. You see, suppose Dash were convinced that it was tremendously important that only Dash’s underwear should be the best on earth, he would have to burn his rival, Blank, and all Blank’s underwear. But Dash isn’t so silly as that in the matter of underwear; he is only as silly as that in the matter of religion or English politics. If he believed that God was something as substantial and essential as underwear, he would allow other people to provide themselves with Him just as they pleased. But he hasn’t sufficient commercial confidence in Him; and so he forces Dash’s God or Dash’s Truth on everybody with curses, wars and other unreliable forms of advertisement. I am a business man and I understand competition, but this sort of . . .”

“Wait a minute,” interrupted Captain Trouble, and aimed a shot into the mangrove thicket. “There, I think that’s one less of them.”

“He died for his faith,” whispered Bondy dreamily. “You have forcibly restrained him from devouring me. He fell for the national ideal of cannibalism. In Europe people have been devouring each other from time immemorial out of idealism. You are a decent man, Captain, but it’s quite possible that you’d devour me on behalf of any fundamental principle of navigation. I’ve lost confidence even in you.”

“You’re quite right,” the Captain grumbled. “When I look at you, I feel that I’m . . .”

“. . . . a violent anti-Semite. I know. That doesn’t matter, I had myself baptized. But do you know, Captain, what’s got hold of those black idiots? The night before last they fished out of the sea a Japanese atomic torpedo. They’ve set it up over there under the coco-nut palms, and now they are bowing down before it. Now they have a God of their own. That’s why they must devour us.”

War-cries sounded from the mangrove thicket.

“Do you hear them?” muttered the Captain. “On my soul, I’d rather . . . go through the geometry examination all over again. . . .”

“Listen,” Bondy whispered. “Couldn’t we go over to their religion? As far as I am concerned . . .”

At that moment a gun boomed out from the Papeete.

The Captain uttered a low cry of joy.

XXVIII. At Seven Cottages

CHAPTER XXVIII

AT SEVEN COTTAGES