“Oh, yes. When I first came back I had some idea of specialising in gynaecology, but I think it is the one branch of my profession in which my race would tell against me. And then, as I settled down, I began to see the terrible inroads made by civilisation in the health of my own people. Tuberculosis, syphilis, typhoid—none of them known in our savage days when ritual and health-giving dances, as well as strict hygienic habits, were enforced. So I came down to earth—brown earth—and decided that I would become a doctor to my own people.”

“I’m sure you do not regret your choice.”

“No. Though it is depressing to see how quickly a healthy race can degenerate. I am very busy—consulting-room hours in town, and a wide country beat. I am re-learning some of my own race history.”

And he related several stories about his Maori patients, telling them well, without too much emphasis. The time passed pleasantly in this fashion.

At last Alleyn put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the tiki. He put it on the arm of Te Pokiha’s chair. “May we talk about the tiki?” he asked.

Te Pokiha looked at it with surprise.

“Does Miss Dacres not wish to accept it? Has she returned it to you?”

“No. I hope she will still accept it, though she may not wish to do so. At the moment it is by way of being used in evidence.”

“The tiki? What do you mean?”

“It was found in the gallery above the stage on the spot where the murderer must have stood.”

Te Pokiha gazed at him with something like horror in his eyes.

“That is—is most extraordinary. Do you know how it got there?”

“Yes. I believe I do.”

“I see.”

There was relief and something else—could it be disappointment?—in Te Pokiha’s voice. Then, suddenly, he leant forward:

“But it’s impossible—that lovely creature! No, there must be some mistake. I cannot believe it of her.”

“Of Miss Dacres? Why should you suspect Miss Dacres?”

“Why because I saw—but I do not suspect her.”

“Because you saw her slip it into her dress?”

“There is something very strange in this,” said Te Pokiha, staring at the tiki. “May I ask one question, Mr. Alleyn. Do you suspect Miss Dacres of murder?”

“No. I believe her to be innocent.”

“Then how did the tiki get there?”

“I’ll tell you presently,” said Alleyn. “It was strange, wasn’t it? Almost as though the tiki itself had taken a hand, don’t you think?”

“You ask a leading question,” said Te Pokiha, smiling. He had regained his poise completely, it seemed. “Remember I am a materialistic general practitioner.”

“You are also a pure-blooded Maori aristrocrat,” answered Alleyn. “What would your grandfather have thought?”