Colour Scheme by Ngaio Marsh Page A

country received a good deal of entirely misguided sympathy from native-born fools. That suit you?”
    “Thank you, sir,” said Dikon, taking his drink.
    “My sister chooses to regard him as a sort of invalid. Some instinct must have led him ten years ago to the Springs. It has proved to be an ideal battening ground. They give him his keep and a wage, in exchange for idling about the place with an axe in his hand and a bottle in his pocket. When his cheque comes from Home he drinks himself silly, and my sister Agnes gives him beef-tea and prays for him. He’s a complete waster but he won’t trouble you, I fancy. I confess that this evening I was almost in sympathy with him. He did what I have longed to do for the past three months.” Dikon glanced up quickly. “He drove his fist into Questing’s face,” Dr. Ackrington explained. “Here’s luck to you,” he added. They drank to each other.
    “Well,” said Dr. Ackrington after a pause, “you will doubtless lose no time in returning to Auckland and telling your principal to avoid this place like the devil.”
    As this pretty well described Dikon’s intention he could think of nothing to say, and made a polite murmuring.
    “If it is of any interest, you may as well know you have seen it at its worst. Smith is not always drunk and Questing is not always with us.”
    “Not? But I thought…”
    “He absents himself. I rejoice in the event and deplore the motive. However.”
    Dr. Ackrington glared portentously into his glass and cleared his throat. Dikon waited for a moment, but his companion showed no sign of developing his theme. Dikon was to learn that Dr. Ackrington could exploit with equal mastery the embarrassing phrase and the disconcerting silence.
    “Since we have mentioned him,” Dikon began nervously, “I confess I’m in a state of some confusion about Mr. Questing. May I ask if he is actually the — if Wai-ata-tapu Springs is his property?”
    “No,” said Dr. Ackrington.
    “I only ask,” Dikon continued in a hurry, “because you see I was approached in the first instance by Mr. Questing. Although I’ve warned him that Gaunt may decide against the Springs, he has been at extraordinary pains and really very considerable expense to — to alter existing arrangements and so on. And I mean — well, Dr. Forster’s note suggested that it was to Colonel and Mrs. Claire that we should apply.”
    “So it is.”
    “I see. But — Questing?”
    “If you decide against the Springs,” said Dr. Ackrington, “you should convey your decision to my sister.”
    “But,” Dikon repeated obstinately, “Questing?”
    “Ignore him.”
    “Oh.”
    Steps sounded outside the window, and voices: Smith’s voice slurred but vicious; Colonel Claire’s high-pitched, perhaps a little hysterical; and Questing’s the voice of a bully. As they came nearer, odd sentences separated out from the general rumpus.
    “… if the Colonel’s satisfied — It’s not a fair pop.”
    “… never mind that. You’ve been asking for it and you’ll get it.”
    “… sack me and see what you get, you — ”
    “… most disgraceful scene — force my hand…”
    “… kick you out to-morrow.”
    “This is too much,” Colonel Claire cried out. “I’ve stood a great deal, Questing, but I must remind you that I still have some authority here.”
    “Is that so? Where do you get it from? You’d better watch your step, Claire.”
    “By God,” Smith roared out suddenly, “you’d better watch yours.”
    Dr. Ackrington opened the door and stood on the threshold. Complete silence followed this move. Through the open door came a particularly strong wave of sulphurous air.
    “I suggest, Edward,” Dr. Ackrington said, “that you continue your conversation in the laundry. Mr. Bell has no doubt formed the opinion that we do not possess one.”
    He shut the door. “Let me give you another drink,” he said courteously.

Chapter III
Gaunt at the Springs
    “Five days