Ngaio Marsh - Color Scheme

Dikon’s attention was momentarily diverted by Gaunt, who said in a fierce whisper: “If you forget a syllable of that speech I shall sack you.”

The Claires were all speaking together again but their expostulations died out when Dr. Ackrington cast himself back in his chair, turned up his eyes and began to whistle through his teeth. After an uncomfortable silence Mrs. Claire said timidly: “I’m sure there’s been some mistake.”

“Indeed?” said her brother. “Do you mean that Questing miscalculated and that Smith has no right to be alive?”

“No, dear.”

“What was Smith saying about lights?” asked Colonel Claire suddenly. “I didn’t catch all that about lights.”

“Will someone explain to Edward about railway signals?” Dr. Ackrington asked dangerously, but Colonel Claire went on in a high complaining voice. “I mean, suppose Questing didn’t happen to notice the signals.”

“You, Edward,” his brother-in-law interrupted, “are the only person of my acquaintance from whom I can conceive such a display of negligence, but even you could scarcely fail to glance at a signal some twenty-two yards in front of your nose before inviting a man to risk his life on a single-track railway bridge. I find it impossible to believe that Questing didn’t act deliberately and I have good reason to believe that he did.”

There was another silence broken unexpectedly by Geoffrey Gaunt. “In fact, Dr. Ackrington,” said Gaunt, “you think we have a potential murderer among us?”

“I do.”

“Strange. I’ve never thought of a murderer being an insufferable bore.”

Barbara gave a yelp of unhappy laughter.

“Wait on!” said Simon. “Listen!”

They all heard Questing’s car come down the drive. He drove past the windows and round the house to the garages.

“He’ll come in here!” Barbara whispered.

“I implore you to leave him to me, Edward.”

Colonel Claire threw up his hands. “Shall Barbie and I—?” Mrs. Claire began, but her brother silenced her with an angry flap of his hand. After that nobody spoke and Questing’s footfall sounded loud as he came round the house and along the verandah.

Perhaps Dikon had anticipated, subconsciously, a sinister change in Questing. Undoubtedly he experienced a shock of anticlimax when he heard the familiar and detestable inquiry.

“Well, well, well,” said Mr. Questing, beaming in the doorway, “how’s tricks? Any dinner left for a little feller? Am I hungry or am I hungry! Good evening, Mr. Gaunt. And how’s the young gentleman?”

He sat down at his own table, rubbed his hands together, and shouted: “Where’s the Glamour Girl? Come on, Beautiful. Let’s have a slant at the me-and-you.”

It was at this moment that Dikon, to his unspeakable horror, discovered in himself a liking for Mr. Questing.

To Dikon’s surprise, Dr. Ackrington did not go at once into the attack. Huia brought Mr. Questing’s first course and received an offensive leer with a toss of her head. Mrs. Claire murmured something to Barbara and they went out together. With an air of secret exultation, Gaunt began to make theatrical conversation with Dikon. The other three men did not utter a word. To Dikon, the tension in the room seemed almost ponderable, but Questing did not appear to notice it. He ate a colossal dinner, became increasingly playful with Huia, and, on her final withdrawal, leant back in his chair, sucked his teeth, produced a cigar case and was about to offer it to Gaunt when at last Dr. Ackrington spoke.

“You did not bring Smith back with you, Mr. Questing?”

Questing turned indolently and looked at him. “Smith?” he said. “By gum, I meant to ask you about Smith. Hasn’t he come in?”

“He’s in bed. He’s knocked about and is suffering from shock.”

“Is that so?” said Questing very earnestly. “By gum, now, I’m sorry to hear that. Suffering from shock, eh? So he would be. So he would be.”

Dr. Ackrington drew in his breath with a sharp whistle and by this manoeuvre seemed to gain control of himself.

“I bet that chap’s annoyed with me,” Questing added cheerfully, “and I don’t blame him. So would I be in his place. It’s the kind of thing that would annoy you, you know. Isn’t it?”

“Smith appears to find attempted murder distinctly irritating,” agreed Dr. Ackrington.

“Attempted murder?” said Questing, opening his eyes very wide. “That’s not a very nice way to put it, Doctor. We all of us make mistakes.”

Dr. Ackrington uttered a loud oath.

“Now, now, now,” Questing chided, “what’s biting you? You come out on the verandah, Doc, and we’ll have a little chat.”

Dr. Ackrington beat his fist on the table and began to stutter. Dikon thought they were in for a tirade, but with a really terrifying effort at self-control Dr. Ackrington pulled himself up, gripped the edge of the table and at last addressed Questing coherently and with a kind of calmness. He outlined the story of Smith’s escape, adding several details that he had evidently gleaned after leaving the dining-room. At first Questing listened with the air of a connoisseur, but as Dr. Ackrington went on he began to get restless. He attempted several interjections but was ruthlessly talked down. Finally, however, when his inquisitor enlarged upon his abominable behaviour in deserting a man who might have been fatally injured, Questing raised a cry of protest. “Fatally injured, my foot! He came charging up the bank like a horse, don’t you worry. It was me that looked like getting a fatal injury.”

“So you turned tail and bolted?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t want a lot of unpleasantness, that’s all. I wasn’t deserting the chap. There was another chap there to look after him. He came bowling down the hill after it had happened. A chap in a blue shirt. And the train stopped. I didn’t want a lot of humbug with the engine driver. Smith was all right. I could see he wasn’t hurt.”

“Mr. Questing, did you or did you not look at the signal before you beckoned Smith to cross the bridge?”

For the first time, Questing looked acutely uncomfortable. He turned very red in the face and said: “Look, Doctor, we’ve got a very, very distinguished guest. We don’t need to trouble Mr. Gaunt—”

“Not at all,” said Gaunt. “I’m enormously interested.”

“Will you answer me?” Dr. Ackrington shouted. “Knowing that the evening train was due, and seeing the fellow hesitated to cross the railway bridge, did you or did you not look at the signal before waving him on?”

“Of course I looked at it.” Questing examined the end of his cigar, glanced up from under his eyebrows and added in a curiously flat voice: “It wasn’t working.”

Dikon experienced that wave of personal shame with which an amateur reciter at close quarters can embarrass his audience. It was such a bad lie. It was so clearly false. Questing so obviously knew that he was not believed. Even Dr. Ackrington seemed deflated and found nothing to say. After a moment Questing mumbled: “Well, I didn’t see it, anyway. They ought to have a wig-wag there.”

“A red light some ten inches in diameter and you didn’t see it.”

“I said it wasn’t working.”

“We can check up on that,” said Simon.

Questing turned on him. “You mind your own business,” he said, but his voice missed the note of anger, and it seemed to Dikon that there was something he could not bring himself to say.

“Do you mind telling us where you had been?” Dr. Ackrington continued.

“Pohutukawa Bay.”

“But you were on the Peak road.”

“I know I was. I thought I’d just take a run along the Peak road before I came home.”