Ngaio Marsh - Color Scheme

“I have been indiscreet,” he said. “Keep this under your hat, Rua. A word too soon and we shan’t get him. I may tell you I have taken steps. But, see here. There’s a certain amount of cover on the Peak. If your young people haven’t altogether lost the art of their forbears — ”

“We must arrange something,” said Rua composedly. “Yes. No doubt something can be arranged.”

“What is it, dear?” said Mrs. Claire, appearing abruptly in the doorway. “Oh! Oh, I thought Edward called me, James. Good evening, Rua.”

“I did call you about half an hour ago,” said her husband crossly from behind her back, “but it’s all over, now. Old Rua was here with some — oh, you’re still there, Rua. Mr. Gaunt’s secretary says they’ll be delighted.”

Barbara came running distractedly from the kitchen. She and her parents formed up in a sort of queue outside the door.

“What is it, Daddy?” she asked. “What do you want?”

“Nobody wants anything,” shouted her father angrily. “Everybody’s delighted. Why do you all come running at me?”

“My people will be very pleased,” said Rua. “I shall go now and tell them. I wish you all good evening.”

As he walked along the verandah his great-granddaughter, Huia, flew out and excitedly rang the dinner-bell in his face. He gave her a good-natured buffet and struck out for home. Dikon, looking startled, came out on the verandah followed by Gaunt. Huia, over-stimulated by her first view of the celebrity, flashed her eyes, laughed excitedly and continued to peal her bell until Barbara took it away from her.

“I think that must be dinner,” said Mrs. Claire with a, bright assumption of surprise, while their ears still rang with the din. She turned with poise towards Gaunt. “Shall we go in?” she asked gently, and they formed up into a kind of procession, trailing after each other towards the dining-room door. At the last moment Simon appeared, as usual from the direction of the cabins, where he had a sort of workshop.

But the first night’s dinner was not to go forward without the intrusion of that particular form of grotesque irrelevance which Dikon was learning to associate with the Claires, for as Gaunt and Mrs. Claire approached the front door, a terrific rumpus broke out in the kitchen.

“Where’s the Colonel?” an agitated voice demanded. “I’ve got to see the Colonel.”

Smith, dishevelled and with threads of blood crossing his face, blundered through the dining-room from the kitchen, thrust

Gaunt and Mrs. Claire aside, and seized the Colonel by his coat lapels. “Here,” he said, “you’ve got to do something. You’ve got to look after me. He tried to kill me.”

Dikon, mindful of his only other encounter with him and influenced by an exceedingly significant smell, came to the conclusion that Mr. Smith was mad drunk. Perhaps a minute went by before he realized that he was merely terrified. It was obvious that the entire Claire family made the same mistake for they all, together and severally and entirely without success, tried to shut Smith up and hustle him away into the background. Finally it was Dr. Ackrington who, after a sharp look at Smith, said to his brother-in-law: “Wait a minute now, Edward, you’re making a mistake. Come along with me, Smith, and tell me what it’s all about.”

“I won’t come along with anyone. I’ve just been along with someone and it’s practically killed me. You listen to what I’m telling you! He’s a bloody murderer.”

“Who is?” asked Simon from somewhere in the rear.

“Questing.”

“Smith, for God’s sake!” said the Colonel, and tried to lead him away by the elbow.

“Leave me alone. I know what I’m talking about. I’m telling you.”

“Oh, Daddy, not here!” Barbara cried out, and Mrs. Claire said: “No, Edward, please . Your study, dear.” And as if Smith were some recalcitrant schoolboy, she repeated in a hushed voice: “Yes, yes, much better in your study.”

“But you’re not listening to me,” said Smith. And to the acute embarrassment of everybody except Gaunt, he began to blubber. “Straight out of the jaws of death,” he cried piteously, “and you ask a chap to go to the study.”

Dikon heard Gaunt give a little cough of laughter before he turned to Mrs. Claire and said: “We’ll remove ourselves.”

“Yes, of course,” said Dikon.

The doorway, however, was blocked by Simon and Mrs. Claire, and before they could get out of the way Smith roared out: “I don’t want anybody to go. I want witnesses. You stay where you are.”

Gaunt looked good-humouredly from one horrified face to another, and said: “Suppose we all sit down.”

Barbara took her uncle fiercely by the arm. “Uncle James,” she whispered, “stop him. He mustn’t. Uncle James, please .”

“By all means let us sit down,” said Dr. Ackrington.

They filed solemnly and ridiculously into the dining-room and, as if they were about to witness a cabaret turn, sat themselves down at the small tables. This manoeuvre appeared to quieten Smith. He took up a strategic position between the tables. With the touch of complacency which must have appeared in the Ancient Mariner when he cornered the wedding guest, he embarked upon his story.

“It was over at the level crossing,” he began. “I’d been up the Peak with Eru Saul and I don’t mind telling you why. Questing’s been nosing around the Peak and the Maoris don’t like it. We’d seen him drive along the Peak road earlier in the evening, Eru and I reckoned we’d cut along by the bush track to a hideout in the scrub. We didn’t see anything. He must have gone up the other face of the hill if he was there at all. We waited for about an hour and then I got fed up and came down by myself. I hit the railroad about a couple of chains above the level crossing.”

“By the railroad bridge?” said Simon.

“You’re telling me it was by the bridge,” said Smith with extraordinary violence. “I’ll say it was by the bridge. And get this. The 5:15 from Harpoon was just about due. You know what it’s like. The railroad twists in and out of the scrub and round the shoulder of the hill and then comes through a wee tunnel. You can’t see or hear a thing. Before you know what’s happening, she’s on top of you.”

“She is, too,” agreed Simon, with an air of supporting Smith against unfair opposition.

“The bridge is the worst bit. You can’t see the signals but you can see a bend in the Peak road above the level crossing. To get over the gully you can hop across the bridge on the sleepers, or you can wade the creek. I stood there wondering if I’d risk the bridge. I don’t like trains. There was a Maori boy killed on that bridge.”

“There was, too.”

“Yes; well while I was kind of hesitating I saw Questing’s car come over the crest of the road and stop. He leant out of the driving window and saw me. Now listen. You’ve got to remember he could see the signal and I couldn’t. It’s the red and green light affair they put in after the accident. I saw him turn his head to look that way.”

Smith wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He spoke quietly now, was no longer ridiculous, and held the attention if his audience. He sat down at an empty table and looked about him with an air of astonishment.

“He waved me on,” he said. “He could see the signal and he gave me the all-clear. Like this. I didn’t move at first and he did it again. See? A bit impatient, too, as much as to say: ‘What’s eating you? Hop to it.’ Yes, well I hopped. I’ve never liked the bridge. It’s a short stride between sleepers and you can see the creek through the gaps. Look. I’d got half-way when I heard her behind me, blowing her whistle in the tunnel. It’s funny how quick you can think. Whether to jump for it or swing from the end of a sleeper, or stand waving my arms and, if she didn’t pull up in time, dive for the engine. I thought about Questing, too, and how, if she got me, nobody’d know he gave me the office. And all the time I was hopping the sleepers like a bloody ballet dancer, with the creek below clicking through the gaps. Like one of those dreams. Look, she was on the bridge when I jumped. I was above the bank by then. I suppose it wasn’t more than ten feet. I landed in a matagouri bush. Scratched all over, and look at my pants. I didn’t even try to get out of it. She rumbled over my head, and muck off the sleepers fell in my eyes. I felt funny. I mean my body felt funny, as if it didn’t belong to me. I was kind of surprised to find myself climbing the bank and it seemed to be someone else that was winded when I got to the top. And yet all the time I was hell-set on getting at Questing. And had he waited for me? He had not. ’Struth, I stood there shaking like a bloody jelly and I heard him tooting his horn away along the Peak road. I don’t know how I’d have got home if it hadn’t been for Eru Saul. Eru’d come down the hill and he saw what Questing swung across me. He’s a witness to it. He gave me a hand to come home. Look, Eru’s out there in the kitchen. You ask him. He knows.” He turned to Mrs. Claire. “Can I get Eru to come in, Mrs. Claire?”