Read Online Colour Scheme by Ngaio Marsh - Free Book Online

of learning for generations before that. Rewi’s
toki-poutangata
. It has a secret mark on it, and was said to be invested with supernatural power by the god Tane. There it is, they say, a collector’s plum if ever there was one, somewhere on the Peak. The whole place belongs to the Maori people. It’s forbidden territory to the white hunter.”
    “How far away is it?”
    “About eight miles.”
    “It looks less than three in this uncanny atmosphere.”
    “Kind of black, sir, isn’t it?” said Colly.
    “Black and clear,” said Gaunt. “A marvellous back drop.”
    They drove on in silence for some time. The flowing hills moved slowly about as if in a contrapuntal measure determined, by the progress of the car. Dikon began to recognize landmarks, He felt extremely apprehensive.
    “Hullo,” said Gaunt. “What’s that affair down on the right? A sort of doss-house, one would think.”
    Dikon said nothing, but turned in at a ramshackle gate.
    “You don’t dare to tell me that we have arrived,” Gaunt demanded in a loud voice.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “My God, Dikon, you’ll writhe for this. Look at it. Smell it. Colly, we are betrayed.”
    “Mr. Bell warned you, sir,” Colly said. “I daresay it’s very comfortable.”
    “If anything,” said, Dikon, “it’s less comfortable than it looks. Those are the Springs.”
    “Those reeking puddles?”
    “Yes. And there, on the verandah, I see the Claires assembled. You are expected, sir,” said Dikon. Out of the tail of his eyes he saw Gaunt’s gloved fingers go first to his tie and then to his hat. He thought suddenly: “He looks terribly like a famous actor.”
    The car rocked down the last stretch of the drive and shot across the pumice sweep. Dikon pulled up at the verandah steps. He got out, and taking off his hat approached the expectant Claires. He felt nervous and absurd. The Claires were grouped after the manner of an Edwardian family portrait that had taken an eccentric turn. Mrs. Claire and the Colonel were in deck-chairs, Barbara sat on the steps grasping a reluctant dog. Dikon guessed that they wore their best clothes. Simon, obviously under duress, stood behind his mother’s chair looking murderous. All that was lacking, one felt, was the native equivalent of a gillie holding a couple of staghounds in leash. As Dikon approached, Dr. Ackrington came out of his room.
    “Here we are, you see,” Dikon called out with an effort at gaiety. The Claires had risen. Impelled by confusion, doubt, and apology, Dikon shook hands blindly all round. Barbara looked nervously over his shoulder and he saw with a dismay which he afterwards recognized as prophetic that she had gone white to her unpainted lips.
    He felt Gaunt’s hand on his arm and hurriedly introduced him.
    Mrs. Claire brought poise to the situation, Dikon realized, but it was the kind of poise with which Gaunt was quite unfamiliar. She might have been welcoming a bishop-suffragan to a slum parish, a bishop-suffragan in poor health.
    “Such a long journey,” she said anxiously. “You must be so tired.”
    “Not a bit of it,” said Gaunt, who had arrived at an age when actors affect a certain air of youthful hardihood.
    “But it’s such a dreadful road. And you
look very
tired,” she persisted gently. Dikon saw Gaunt’s smile grow formal. He turned to Barbara. For some reason which he had not attempted to analyze, Dikon wanted Gaunt to like Barbara. It was with apprehension that he watched her give a galvanic jerk, open her eyes very wide, and put her head on one side like a chidden puppy. “Oh hell,” he thought, “she’s going to be funny.”
    “Welcome,” Barbara said in her sepulchral voice, “to the
humble abode
.” Gaunt dropped her hand rather quickly.
    “Find us very quiet, I’m afraid,” Colonel Claire said, looking quickly at Gaunt and away again. “Not much in your line, this country, what?”
    “But we’ve just been remarking,” Gaunt said lightly, “that your