Colour Scheme

by Ngaio Marsh

  ‘That’s a very embarrassing old gentleman.’

  Gaunt had strolled along the verandah, smoking a cigarette. He had dressed that morning in a travelling suit and looked an extraordinarily incongruous figure. His clothes, his hands and his hair were as little in harmony with Wai-ata-tapu as would have been those of Sergeant Webley at the Ritz. Webley at once fastened on him.

  ‘Now, Mr Gaunt.’

  ‘Well, Sergeant?’

  ‘You must have heard what’s been said. Is it correct that you wanted to get hold of this weapon?’

  ‘I should have liked to buy it, certainly. I have a taste for barbaric ornament.’

  ‘Did you offer to buy it?’

  ‘I told Questing I should like to see it first. Not unnaturally. My secretary had related the story of Rewi’s axe. When Questing came to me a few nights ago and littered the place up with obscure hints that he could if he would and so on, I confess my curiosity was stimulated. But I assure you that I did not commit myself in any way.’

  ‘Do you realize that the removal of property from a native reserve is a criminal offence?’ Dr Ackrington demanded.

  ‘No. Is it really? Questing told me the old gentleman was prepared to sell but that he didn’t want the rest of his tribe to know. He said we should have to be very hush-hush.’

  ‘Did you know anything about this, Mr Bell?’ asked Webley, turning his dark face towards Dikon.

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Gaunt easily. ‘I didn’t mention it to anybody. Questing was rather particular about that.’

  ‘I’ll be bound he was,’ said Webley with a nearer approach to bitterness than Dikon had thought him capable of expressing.

  ‘It was really too bad of him to involve me in a dubious transaction, you know. I resent it,’ said Gaunt. ‘And I must say, Sergeant, you seem to me to be working yourself into a tig over an abortive attempt at theft while an enemy agent bustles into obscurity. Why not deny yourself your passion for curios and catch Mr Questing?’

  Dikon opened his mouth and shut it again. He was looking at Mr Falls, upon whose lips were painted the faintest trace of a smile.

  ‘But we have found Mr Questing,’ said Webley dully. Gaunt’s hands contracted and he gave a sharp exclamation. Dikon saw again the hard curve of an orb under wet sacking.

  ‘Found him?’ said Gaunt softly. ‘Where?’

  ‘Where he was lost, Mr Gaunt. In Taupo-tapu.’

  ‘My God!’

  Gaunt looked at his fingers, seemed to hesitate, and then turned on his heel and walked back along the verandah. As he reached his own rooms he said loudly with a sort of sneer: ‘That takes the icing off old Ackrington’s gingerbread, doesn’t it! I beg your pardon, Doctor. Do forgive me. I’d forgotten you were here.’

  He went into his room and they heard him shout for Colly.

  Mr Falls broke an awkward silence by saying: ‘What a very gay taste in shirts Mr Eru Saul displays, doesn’t he?’

  Eru, a desolate figure, had plodded up the drive as far as the last turn that was visible from the house. His puce-coloured sleeves were vivid in the sunlight.

  Barbara leant out of the window and said nervously: ‘He always wears that shirt. One wonders if it’s ever washed.’

  Dikon, expecting Dr Ackrington’s outburst to come at any moment, said hurriedly: ‘I know. He wore it on the day of Smith’s accident.’

  ‘So he did.’

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ said the Colonel unexpectedly.

  They stared at him. ‘But, Daddy, he did,’ said Barbara. ‘Don’t you remember he came into the dining-room to sort of confirm Mr Smith’s account and he was wearing the pink shirt? Wasn’t he, Sim?’

  ‘What the heck’s it matter?’ Simon asked. ‘He was, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘He couldn’t have been,’ said the Colonel.

  Dr Ackrington began in a high voice, ‘In the name of all that’s futile, Edward, will you—’ and stopped short. ‘The shirt was pink,’ he said loudly.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It was pink, Edward.’

  ‘It couldn’t have been, James.’

  Webley said heavily: ‘If you’ll excuse me I’ll get on with it,’ and casting a disgusted look at the Colonel he returned to Questing’s room.

  ‘I know it wasn’t pink,’ the Colonel went on.

  ‘Did you see the fellow’s shirt?’

  ‘I suppose I must have, James. I don’t remember that, but I have it in my head it was blue. People talked about the feller’s blue shirt.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t blue, Dad,’ said Simon. ‘It was the same godalmighty affair he’s got on now.’

  ‘I don’t catch what people say, but I did catch that. Blue.’

  ‘This is extremely interesting,’ said Mr Falls. ‘Here are three people swearing pink and one blue. What about you, Bell?’

  ‘I’m on both sides,’ said Dikon. ‘It was puce but I agree with the Colonel that Questing said it was blue.’

  ‘It is extraordinary to me,’ said Dr Ackrington, ‘that you can all moon about, arguing like magpies over a perfectly footling affair, when the discovery of Questing’s body puts us all in a damned equivocal position.’

  ‘I am interested in the man in the ambiguous shirt. Could we not have Mr Smith’s opinion?’ suggested Mr Falls. ‘Where is he?’

  Without moving, Simon yelled: ‘Hey, Bert!’ and in due course Smith reappeared.

  Mr Falls said: ‘I wonder if you can settle an argument. Do you remember that on the evening of your escape from the train, Mr Questing said that he left you to the attentions of a man in a blue shirt?’

  ‘Uh?’

  Mr Falls repeated his question.

  ‘That’d be Eru Saul. He brought me home. What of it?’

  ‘Wearing a blue shirt?’

  ‘Yeh, that’s right.’

  ‘It was pink,’ said Dr Ackrington and Simon together.

  ‘If Questing said it was blue it must’ve been blue,’ said Smith crossly. ‘I was that knocked about I wouldn’t notice whether the man was wearing a pansy shirt or a pair of rompers. Yeh, I remember. It was blue.’

  ‘You’re colour blind,’ said Simon. ‘It was pink.’

  He and Smith argued hotly. Smith walked away muttering and Simon shouted after him. ‘You’re making out it was blue because he said it was blue. You’ll be telling us next he went to Pohutukawa Bay that afternoon, like he said he did.’

  Smith stopped short. ‘So he did go to the Bay,’ he yelled.

  ‘Yeh? And when Uncle James said wasn’t it a pity the pootacows weren’t in bloom he said yes, too bad. And they were blazing there all the time.’

  ‘He did go to the Bay. He took Huia. You ask Huia. Eru told me. So get to hell,’ added Smith and disappeared.

  ‘What do you know about that!’ Simon demanded. ‘Here, do you reckon Eru changed his shirt in our kitchen? Or was it another man on the hill that Questing saw?’

  ‘He did not go to Pohutukawa Bay,’ said his uncle. ‘I bowled him over. I completely bowled him over. Huia!’

  After a short delay Huia, still weeping, appeared in the doorway.

  ‘What you want?’ she sobbed.

  ‘Did you go in Mr Questing’s car to Pohutukawa Bay on the day when Smith was nearly run over?’

  ‘I never do anything bad with him,’ roared poor Huia, relapsing into pidgin English. ‘Only go for drive to te Bay and come back. Never stop te engine, all time.’

  ‘Did you see the pootacows?’ said Simon.

  ‘How can we go to Pohutukawa Bay and not see pohutukawas? Of course we see pohutukawas like blazes all over te shop.’

  ‘Did Eru Saul change his shirt in the kitchen that night?’

  ‘What te devil you ask me nex’! Let me catch him change his shirt in my kitchen.’

  ‘Oh, gee!’ said Simon disgustedly and Huia plunged back into the house.

  ‘It must be nearly lunch time,’ the Colonel remarked vaguely. He followed Huia indoors and shouted for his wife.
r />   ‘This is a madhouse,’ said Dr Ackrington.

  Webley came out of Questing’s room. ‘Mr Bell,’ he said, ‘may I trouble you, please?’

  IV

  ‘I couldn’t feel more uncomfortable,’ Dikon thought as he walked along the verandah, ‘if I’d killed poor old Questing myself. It’s extraordinary.’

  Webley stood on one side at the door, followed Dikon inside and shut it. The blind was pulled down and the light was on so that Dikon was vividly reminded of his visit of the previous night. The pearl-grey worsted suit was still neatly disposed upon a chair. The ties and the puce-coloured pyjamas were in their former positions. Webley went to the dressing-table and took up an envelope. Dikon saw with astonishment that it was addressed to himself in the neat commercial script of Smith’s talisman.

  ‘Before you open this, Mr Bell, I’d like to have a witness.’ He put his head round the door and mumbled audibly. Mr Falls was cautiously admitted.

  ‘A witness before or after the fact, Sergeant?’ he asked archly.

  ‘A witness to the fact, shall we say, sir?’

  ‘But why in heaven’s name did he write to me?’ Dikon murmured.

  ‘That’s what we’ll find out, Mr Bell. Will you open it?’

  It was written in green ink on a sheet of business paper on which printed titles were set out, representing Mr Questing as an indent agent and representative of several firms. It bore the date of the previous day and was headed: ‘Private and Confidential’.

  Dear Mr Bell [Dikon read],

  You will be somewhat surprised to receive this communication. An unexpected cable necessitates my visiting Australia and I am leaving for Auckland first thing tomorrow morning to see about a passage by air. I shall not be returning for some little while.

  Now, Mr Bell, I should commence by telling you that I appreciate the very very happy little relationship that has obtained since I first had the pleasure of contacting you. The personal antagonism that I have encountered in other quarters has never entered into our acquaintance and I take this opportunity of thanking you for your courtesy. You will note that I have endorsed this letter p and c. It is rather particularly so and I am sure I can rely upon you to keep the spirit of the endorsement. If you are not prepared to do so I will ask you to destroy this letter unread.

  ‘I can’t go on with this,’ said Dikon.

  ‘If you don’t, sir, we will. He’s dead, remember.’

  ‘Oh, hell!’

  ‘You can read it to yourself if you like, Mr Bell,’ said Webley, keeping his eyes on Mr Falls, ‘and then hand it over.’

  Dikon read on a little way, made an ejaculation and finally said: ‘No, by George, you shall hear it.’ And he read the letter aloud.

  Now, Mr Bell, I am going to be very frank with you. You may have understood from remarks that have been passed that I have become interested in certain possibilities regarding a particular district not ten miles distant from where you are located.

  Mr Falls murmured: ‘Enchanting circumlocution.’

  ‘That’ll be the Peak,’ said Webley, still watching him. ‘Quite.’

  I have in the course of my visits made certain discoveries. To put it bluntly, on Friday last, the evening before the SS Hokianga was torpedoed off this certain place, I was on the latter and I observed certain suspicious occurrences. They were as follows. Being on the face overlooking the sea, my attention was arrested by a light which flashed several times from a spot some way farther up the slope. For personal reasons I was undesirous of contacting other persons: I therefore remained where I was, some nine feet off the track, lying behind some scrub. From here I observed a certain person, who passed by and was recognized by myself but who did not notice me. This morning, Saturday, I learnt of the sinking of the Hokianga and at once connected it with the above incident. I sought out the person in question and accused him straight out of being an enemy agent. He denied it and added that if I went any further in the matter he would turn the tables on myself. Now, Mr Bell, this put me in a very awkward spot. My activities in this particular place have leaked out and there are some who have not hesitated, as I am well aware, to put a very very nasty interpretation on them. I am not in a position to right myself against any accusations this person might bring and in his position he is more likely to be believed than I am. I was forced to give an undertaking that I would not say that I had seen him. He adopted a very threatening attitude. I do not think he trusts me. I don’t mind admitting I’m uneasy. He seemed to think I had inside information about his code of signals, which is not the case.

  Now, Mr Bell, I am a man of my word but I am also a patriot. I venerate the British Commonwealth of Nations and the idea of a spy in God’s Own Little Country gets my goat good and proper. Hence this letter.

  So it seems to me, Mr Bell, that the best thing I can do is to fix up this little matter of business across the Tasman right away. I shall tell Mrs C I am going in the morning.

  So I drop you this line which I shall post before taking the air for Aussie. You will note that I have kept my undertaking to this person and have not mentioned his name. I trust you, Mr Bell, not to communicate the matter of this letter to anyone else, but to take what action you think best in all other respects.

  Again expressing my appreciation for our very pleasant association.

  With kind regards,

  Yours faithfully

  MAURICE QUESTING

  Dikon folded the letter and gave it to Webley.

  ‘ “I do not think he trusts me” ’ quoted Mr Falls. ‘How right he was!’

  ‘Yes,’ Dikon agreed and added, ‘He was right about another thing too. He was an appalling scamp, but I always rather liked him.’

  Huia rang the luncheon bell.

  Chapter 14

  Solo by Septimus Falls

  Before they left the room Webley showed Dikon how Questing had already packed most of his clothes. Webley had forced open a heavy leather suitcase and found it full of pieces of greenstone, implements, and weapons; the fruits, he supposed, of many nights’ digging on the Peak. Rewi’s adze, Webley said, had been locked apart in another case. Dikon guessed that Questing had planned to show it to Gaunt when they returned from the concert and had kept it apart for that purpose.

  ‘Do you suppose he meant to try and sell the other stuff in Australia?’ he asked.

  ‘That might be the case, Mr Bell, but he would never have got it past the Customs examination. The export of such things is strictly prohibited.’

  ‘Or perhaps,’ Mr Falls suggested, ‘he was merely a passionate collector. There are men, you know, who, without any real appreciation for such things, become obsessed with a most imperative desire to acquire them. Scrupulous in other things they are entirely unscrupulous in that.’

  ‘He was a pretty keen man of business,’ Dikon said.

  ‘I’ll say he was,’ said Webley. ‘We’ve found blueprints for a new Wai-ata-tapu hotel and grounds that’d make Rotorua look like Shanty-town. Wonderful place he’d planned to make of it.’

  He put Questing’s letter in a large envelope, made a note of its contents across the back, and asked Dikon and Falls to sign it. They went out and he locked the door after them.

  ‘Well,’ said Dikon as they walked along the verandah, ‘I never quite believed he was a spy.’

  ‘It seems to leave the field wide open again, doesn’t it?’ Mr Falls murmured.

  ‘For an enemy agent who is also a murderer?’

  ‘It is a strong presumption. Have you any objection, Webley, to our making this new development known to the rest of our party?’

  Webley was close behind them. Mr Falls stopped and turned to await his answer. It was a long time coming.

  ‘Well, no,’ said Webley at last. ‘There’s no objection to that. I can’t exactly stop you, can I, Mr Falls?’

  ‘I mean, with an enemy in our midst, isn’t it a wise policy to put everyone on the alert as it were? Will you go in, Bell?’

  ‘A
fter you,’ said Dikon.

  ‘Mr Falls and I,’ said Webley, ‘are going to wash our hands. Don’t wait for us, Mr Bell.’

  Upon this sufficiently broad hint, Dikon went in to lunch.

  The rest of the party was already seated. Dikon joined his employer. Dr Ackrington and the Claires, with the exception of Simon, were at the large family table. Simon sat apart with his friend Mr Smith. Mr Falls, when at last he and Webley came in, went to his own table close by.

  ‘Do you mind if I join you, sir?’ said Webley and did so.

  ‘But I am honoured, Sergeant. As my guest, I hope?’

  ‘No, no, sir, thanking you, all the same,’ said Webley. I see there’s a place laid, that’s all.’

  He had made a mistake, it seemed. There was no second place laid at Mr Falls’s table but Huia, still very woebegone, rectified this, and he sat down.

  ‘Nice of you to join me, Dikon,’ said Gaunt loudly. ‘I appear to be in disgrace.’

  Barbara turned her head swiftly and as swiftly looked away again.

  ‘I forgot to say,’ Gaunt added, ‘that Questing asked fifty guineas for the adze. I shall wonder if the price was excessive. I must ask the embarrassing old gentleman.’

  Nobody answered this sally. Gaunt thrust out his chin and gave Dikon one of his hard bright glances.

  Luncheon went forward in a silence that was only broken by Sergeant Webley’s conscientious attention to his food. At an early stage of this uncomfortable meal Dikon, who faced the windows, saw two of Webley’s men come round the shoulder of the hill carrying a covered stretcher between them. They disappeared behind the manuka hedge, taking a roundabout path to the cabins. This unmistakable incident killed what little appetite he had. In a minute or two the men, without their burden, appeared on the verandah. Here they were joined by a young man in grey flannel trousers and a sports coat whom Dikon had no difficulty in recognizing as a representative of the press. This new arrival, with an air of innocent detachment, stared in at the windows. Webley looked at him with lack-lustre eyes and shook his head. The two plain-clothes men hung about near the door. The pressman sat on the verandah step and lit his pipe. The party in the dining-room, though aware of these proceedings, paid no attention to them. ‘The resemblance to the monkey house at feeding time grows more pronounced every second,’ thought Dikon. Huia collected the plates and, when Mrs Claire was not watching her, tipped uneaten pieces of cold meat on to one dish. As if by agreement, Mrs Claire and Barbara went out together. Smith sucked his teeth savagely, muttered ‘Excuse me’, and slouched out to the verandah. The pressman looked up hopefully and spoke to him but evidently got an uncompromising answer. He let Smith move off, looking wistfully after him.