Color Scheme ra-12

by Ngaio Marsh

  “Eru can make him go,” Mrs. Te Papa remarked and she hurled an order across the marae. Eru detached himself from the group of young men and slouched off behind the houses.

  “Thank you so much, Mrs. Te Papa,” said Falls, taking off his hat.

  “You are very welcome,” she replied, and composed herself for a further lamentation.

  Mrs. Te Papa’s car was not so much a car as a mass of wreckage. It stood in a back yard in a little pool of oil, sketchily protected by the remains of its own fabric hood. One of its peeling doors hung disconsolately from a single hinge. It was markedly bandy and had that look of battered gentility that belongs to very old-fashioned vehicles.

  Rua opened the only door that was shut and said: “Do you prefer front or back?”

  “I shall sit in the back with you, if I may,” said Falls.

  Dikon climbed into the front. Eru wrenched at the starting handle and, as though he had dug a thumb in her ribs, the old car gave a galvanic start and set up a terrific commotion. “Ah!” Rua shouted cheerfully. “She goes, you see.” Having been left in gear, she almost ran over her driver. However, Eru flung him self in as she passed, and in a moment they were jolting up the hill. The noise was appalling.

  “I see no reason,” Mr. Falls began in a stentorian voice, “why you should not be told the object of Sergeant Webley’s message.”

  Dikon slewed round in his seat to gaze in consternation at Mr. Falls. He met the unwinking stare of old Rua, huddled comfortably in his blanket.

  “Webley wants your opinion on a native weapon,” Falls continued. “A beautiful piece, it seems to me, a collector’s piece.” Rua said nothing. “I should call it an adze but perhaps that is incorrect. Let me describe it.”

  He described it with extraordinary accuracy and in such detail that Dikon was first amazed at his faculty of observation and then extremely suspicious of it. Could Mr. Falls possibly have seen all these things through his window during the brief time that the adze was on the verandah table?

  “One thing struck me very forcibly,” Mr. Falls was saying. “The figure at the head of the haft has got, not one protruding tongue, but two. Two long protruding tongues, side by side. The little god, if indeed he is a god, holds one in each of his three-fingered hands. Between the fingers there are small pieces of shell and beneath them the tongues are encircled by a narrow band.”

  “You are driving too fast, Eru,” said old Rua, to Dikon’s profound relief. Mrs. Te Papa’s car, bucketing down a steep incline, had developed a curious flaunting movement which, he felt certain, its back axle could sustain no longer. Eru checked her with a jerk.

  “The band itself,” Mr. Falls continued mellifluously in the comparative silence, “is most delicately carved. One marvels at the skill of your ancient craftsmen, Mr. Te Kapu. When one considers that their tools were those of a stone age — What did you say?”

  Rua had made some ejaculation in his native tongue.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Drive carefully, Eru. You are too impetuous.”

  “But it seems to me that across this band some other hand has graved three vertical furrows. The design is repeated all over the weapon, but in no other place do these three lines occur. Now how do you explain that?”

  Rua did not answer at once. Eru trod violently on the accelerator, and Dikon repressed a cry of dismay as Mrs. Te Papa’s car responded with a shattering leap. Rua’s words were lost in the din of progress. “Wait… impossible… until I see…”

  He roared at Eru and at the same time Dikon turned to protest against this new turn of speed. He saw, with astonishment, that the half-caste’s lips were trembling, that his face was livid. “He must be feeling like I feel,” thought Dikon. “He must have seen everything through the hole in the manuka hedge.”

  Mr. Falls leant forward and tapped Eru on the shoulder. He started violently.

  “I hear you missed the star turn at the concert last night,” said Mr. Falls.

  “We heard some of it,” said Eru. “It was all right, too!”

  “Mr. Smith tells me you missed the earlier speeches. I do hope you returned in time for the magnificent Saint Crispin’s Eve.”

  “Was that when he said something about the old dugouts being asleep while him and the boys was waiting for the balloon to go up?”

  “ ‘And gentlemen in England now a-bed’?”

  “Yeh, that’s right. We heard that one. It was good, too.”

  “Marvellous,” said Mr. Falls, and sat back in his seat. “Marvellous, wasn’t it?”

  They arrived intact at Wai-ata-tapu. The adze had been removed, evidently to the Colonel’s study, as Rua was at once taken there, Falls, rather unnecessarily, ushering him in. Dikon was left alone with Eru Saul in Mrs. Te Papa’s palpitating car. “Hadn’t you better turn off your engine?” he suggested. Eru jumped and switched back the key. “Have a cigarette?” said Dikon.

  “Ta.” He helped himself with trembling fingers.

  “This is a bad business, isn’t it?”

  “It’s terrible all right,” said Eru, staring at the study window.

  Dikon got out and lit his own cigarette. He was feeling better.

  “Where did they find it?” Eru demanded.

  “What? Oh, the axe. I don’t know.”

  “Did they find it in his stuff?”

  “Whose?” said Dikon woodenly. He was determined to know nothing. Eru electrified him by jerking his head, not at Questing’s room but at Gaunt’s.

  “That’s where he hangs out, isn’t it?” said Eru. “Your boss?”

  “What the hell do you think you’re talking about?” said Dikon violently.

  “Nothing, nothing!” said Eru, showing the whites of his eyes. “I was only kidding. You don’t want to go crook over a joke.”

  “I can’t see anything amusing in your extraordinary suggestion that a Maori axe should be discovered in Mr. Gaunt’s room.”

  “O.K., O.K. I only wondered if he was one of these collectors. They’ll come at anything, if they’re mad on it. You know. Lose their respect for other people’s property.”

  “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.

  “Who stuck to what?” asked Webley. “Take a look at that axe, Bert. Have you ever seen it before? Come on.”

  Smith cautiously approached Rua, who drew back. “You’ll have to let him see it, Rua,” said Webley. “Come on, now.”

  “It’s all right,” said Smith. “I’ve never seen it but I know what it is all right. I’d heard all about it.”

  “You stole it — ” Rua began and Smith, in a great hurry, interrupted him. “Not on your life, I didn’t! You haven’t got anything on me. I might of known where it was and I might of told him but I never went curio hunting on the Peak. No bloody fear, I didn’t.”

  “You told Questing where it was?” Dr. Ackrington demanded. “Why?”

  “Just a minute, Doctor, if you please,” Webley intercepted. “Now then, Bert. What was the idea, telling Questing?”

  “He asked me.” And now it was Questing’s large face that showed in the dark.

  “Asked you to find out? And paid you for your trouble, eh?” said Webley.

  “All right. Put it that way. Nothing criminal in passing on a bit of information, is there? He asked me to find out and I found out. Eru told me. Come on, Eru. You told me, you know you did.”

  “You said it was for the other bloke,” Eru said breathlessly.

  “What other bloke?” Webley demanded. Eru once again jerked his head at Gaunt’s rooms. “Him,” he said. And Dikon now saw into the farthest corner of his imaginary room.

  In the silence that followed, Mr. Falls said: “There seems to be a multiplicity of blokes all passing on information like a hot potato. Are we to understand, Sergeant Webley, that the deceased, on behalf of Mr. Gaunt, bribed Mr. Smith to bribe Mr. — Saul, is it? Thank you — Mr. Saul, to obtain information as to the locale of this exquisite weapon?”

  “It looks as if that’s about the strength of it, sir.”

  “You damn’ well choose your words!” said Smith indignantly. “Who’s talking about bribes? It was between friends. Him and me were cobbers, weren’t we, Sim?”

  “I thought he tried to put you under the train, Bert,” said Webley.

  “Oh, my Gawd, do I have to go into that again!” apostrophized Mr. Smith with evident fatigue. “We got it all ironed out. Here. Take a look.” He lugged out his written agreement with Questing and thrust it at Webley.

  “Let it go,” said Webley. “You’ve showed me that before.
We won’t trouble you any more just now, Bert.”

  “So you say,” Smith grumbled and, carefully folding his precious document, wandered morosely into the dining-room.

  Webley turned to Rua. “Look, Rua. You can see by what’s been said that we’ve got to keep hold of your grand-dad’s axe. We’ll give you a receipt for it. You’ll get it back all right.”

  “It should not be touched. You do not understand. I myself, holding it, am now tapu.”

  “Rua, Rua!” chided Mrs. Claire softly.

  “Sergeant Webley,” said Falls, “please correct me if I am wrong, but suppose Mr. Te Kahu gave you his undertaking that when the adze is needed by the police he will allow them to have it? Could it not in the meantime be entrusted to the Colonel? The Colonel is your friend, Mr. Te Kahu, isn’t he? Suppose you went with him to his bank and left it there for safe-keeping? How would that be? Colonel, what do you say?”

  “Eh?” said the Colonel. “Oh, certainly, if Webley agrees.”

  “Sergeant?”

  “I’ll be satisfied, sir.”

  “Well, then?” Falls turned to Rua.

  The old man looked at the weapon in his hands. “You will think it strange,” he said, “that I, who have in my time led my people towards the culture of the pakeha, should now grow quarrelsome over a silly savage notion. Perhaps in our old age we return to the paths of our forbears. The reason may put on new garments but the heart and the blood are constant. From the haft of the weapon there flows into my blood an influence darker and more potent than all the pakeha wisdom I have stored in my foolish old head. But, as you say, Colonel Claire is the friend of my people. To him I submit.”

  Falls went into his room and came out with that heavily be-labelled case which Mrs. Claire had noticed on his arrival. He placed it open, upon the table, and Rua laid the adze in it.

  “If it remains in Colonel Claire’s hands,” he said, “I am satisfied.” He turned to Eru. “You are not of the Maori people. In the days when this toki was fashioned your breed was unknown. Yet the punishment of Tane shall reach you. It were better that you had died in Taupo-tapu. I forbid you to return to our people.” After this final burst of magnificence Rua added placidly, “I myself can drive Mrs. Te Papa’s car.”