Ngaio Marsh - Color Scheme

“Let me assure you that Mr. Gaunt is not a collector.”

“Good oh. He’s not. Let it go.”

Dikon turned on his heel and walked toward his own room. It was in his mind to go straight to Gaunt. His idea of Gaunt, by no means an unrealistic one, had been defaced by the events of the day. He felt a strange necessity to see Gaunt for himself, alone, to try if it was possible to re-establish their old relationship. He had not gone more than six paces when he was arrested by a terrific rumpus which seemed to come from the Colonel’s study. It was old Rua. His voice was raised in a roar as formidable as any with which his ancestors had led their clans to battle. The words at first were indistinguishable. Dikon thought that he made out ejaculations in Maori and occasional words of English. A babble of consolatory phrases broke out. The Colonel, Sergeant Webley and Mr. Falls seemed to be making an attempt to placate him. He roared them down. “It is the Toki-poutan-gata-o-Tane. It is the weapon of my grandfather, Rewi. It is a matter of offence against a most sacred and tapu possession. It must be returned immediately. Immediately !”

“Wait on, wait on,” Dikon heard Webley mumble. “You’ll get it back all right.”

“I shall have it back immediately. I shall appeal to the native land courts. I shall go to the Minister for Native Affairs,” Rua stormed and Dikon was reminded vividly of his employer. The rumpus broke out with renewed enthusiasm. Mrs. Claire came out from the dining-room.

“Oh, Mr. Bell,” she whispered, “ what now?” She laid a plump hand on his arm, a hand which he thought the more touching for its calluses and stains. “It’s Rua, isn’t it?” she said.

“Something about his grandfather’s axe,” Dikon muttered. “He’s very cross with Webley for holding onto it.”

“Oh dear! One of those silly superstitions. Sometimes one almost loses hope. And yet, you know, he’s a regular communicant.”

The regular communicant, at this moment, came charging out of the study roaring like a bull and flourishing the ancestral adze. Webley and the Colonel were hot on his heels. Mr. Fall followed in a more leisurely manner.

“He’s ruining the prints,” Webley shouted in great agitation. “It’s most irregular.”

Rua plunged blindly along the verandah. Mrs. Claire moved forward to meet him. He fetched up short. He was breathless, and his eyes flashed. He stamped twice with his heavy boot and shook the adze. “It is an outrage!” he panted.

“Now, Rua,” said Mrs. Claire placidly. “It’s not at all good for you to work yourself up like this and it’s not a nice way to behave in somebody else’s house. I’m ashamed of you.”

Webley approached cautiously and Rua backed away from him.

“I obey the gods,” said Rua. “He robbed the grave of my ancestor. The fury of Tane has fallen upon him. My grandfather Rewi is avenged.” It occurred to Dikon that all this grandiloquence would have sounded more impressive in the native tongue. Mrs. Claire seemed to be of this opinion. She administered a crisp scolding, her hands folded at her waist, while Rua, still clutching his preposterous trophy, rolled his eyes and seemed to be in two minds whether to go for Webley or beat a retreat.

Upon this scene, half-comic, half-ominous as all scenes at Wai-ata-tapu seemed fated to appear, came Huia, nervously twisting her hands. She edged her way round the dining-room door and along the back of the verandah. Her gaze was fixed upon her great-grandfather. At the same time Simon appeared round the corner of the house and Barbara, carrying a tray, drifted through the dining-room and paused at the windows. Dr. Ackrington loomed up behind her, peered through the window and, seeing what was afoot, limped out to the verandah. A moment later Dikon heard a movement in Gaunt’s rooms. It was as though the characters in a loosely constructed drama had begun to converge upon a focal point.

Huia’s face had lost its warmth of colour. She and the old man stared at each other, seeming to communicate. He raised the adze slowly. The crest of hair quivered. “ Haere mai ,” said Rua. “Come here to me.”

She crept a little nearer. He began to speak to her in their own tongue but soon checked himself. “You do not understand me. You know little of the speech of the children of Tane. Very well. Let your shame be made known in the tongue of the pakeha .” He looked about him, commanding the attention of his hearers. “Many months ago, feeling myself draw near to the path that goes down to the final abode, I spoke with my eldest grandson who now fights with our battalions in a strange country. To him I confided the secret of the hiding place of this weapon, a secret which has been known only to the ariki , the first-born, of each generation of my family. Beyond the manuka bushes where we spoke, unknown to me, this girl lay dreaming. I discovered her when my grandson had left me. I questioned her and she told me that since I had spoken in our own tongue she had not understood me. Look at her now and judge if she deceived me.” He moved towards her. She pressed herself against the wall and watched him. “To whom did you betray the resting place of Rew’s toki ? Answer me. To whom?”

She made a timid abortive gesture, half-raising her hand. Then, as if Rua had menaced her, she shot out her arm and pointed at Eru Saul.

Throughout the scenes that followed Dikon had the feeling that he was peering into some room which at first seemed to be quite dark. But, he thought, out of the shadow nearer objects presently appeared so that first the figure of Huia and then that of Eru were distinguishable, while behind these, in deeper shadow, more significant forms awaited the slow adjustment of his vision.

Eru faced old Rua with an air strangely compounded of terror and effrontery. Dikon fancied that a struggle was at work in the half-caste, between his European and his native impulses. If this was so the Maori, under Rua’s dominance, was the more potent agent. A shabby attempt at defiance soon broke down. Eru began with protestations and ended with a confession.

“I never touched it. I never took it. I never seen it before.”

“You knew where it rested. Huia, answer me. You told him where it was hidden?”

Huia nodded and burst into tears. Eru threw a venomous glance at her.

“So you, Eru, stole it and took money for it from this man Questing?”

“I never! I never knew he’d got it. I hadn’t got any time for him.”

“Huia, did you tell Questing?”

“No! No ! Never. I never tell anyone but Eru. It was long time ago. I told Eru for fun when we go together. Nobody else. Eru told him.”

“If I’d thought it was for that bastard,” said Eru, “I’d never of told nobody.” And with extraordinary venom he added: “You and your fancy pakeha . I might’ve picked Questing was at the back of it. Why the hell didn’t he say it was for Questing?”

“To whom did you speak of this matter? Answer me.”

“Come on, Eru,” said Webley. “You won’t do yourself any good by holding out on it. There’s a serious charge mixed up in this business, don’t forget. You want to put yourself right, don’t you?”

“I told Bert Smith,” Eru muttered and Dikon thought he saw a little farther into the darkness of that shrouded room: not to the end, he thought, but a little farther. Webley moved forward and said to Simon, “Find Bert, will you?”

“O.K.,” said Simon.

When he appeared Smith was querulous and uneasy. “Can’t a bloke have any time to himself?” he demanded and then saw the adze in Rua’s hand. “By cripey!” he said. “By cripey, it’s Rewi’s axe.” He looked at Rua and drew a deep breath. “So he stuck to it, after all,” he said.