Free Colour Scheme by Ngaio Marsh

it’s for us, sir,” Dikon said. “It’s a Maori.”
    It was Rua. He wore the suit he bought in 1936 to welcome the Duke of Gloucester. He walked slowly across the pumice to the house, tapped twice with his stick on the central verandah post and waited tranquilly for someone to take notice of him. Presently Huia came out and gave a suppressed giggle on seeing her great-grandfather. He addressed her in Maori with an air of austerity and she went back into the house. Rua sat on the edge of the verandah and rested his chin on his stick.
    “Do you know, sir,” said Dikon, “I believe it might be for us, after all. I’ve recognized the old gentleman.”
    “I won’t see anybody,” said Gaunt. “Who is he?”
    “He’s a Maori version of the Last of the Barons. Rua Te Kahu, sometime journalist and M.P. for the district. I’ll swear he’s called to pay his respects.”
    “You must see him for me. We did bring some pictures, I suppose?”
    “I don’t think,” Dikon said, “that the Last of the Barons will be waiting for signed photographs.”
    “You’re determined to snub me,” said Gaunt amiably. “If it’s an interview, you’ll talk to him, won’t you?”
    Colonel Claire came out of the house, shook hands with Rua and led him off in the direction of their own quarters.
    “It’s not for us, after all, sir.”
    “Thank heaven for that,” Gaunt said but he looked a little huffy nevertheless.
    In Colonel Claire’s study, a room about the size of a small pantry and rather less comfortable, Rua unfolded the purpose of his call. Dim photographs of polo teams glared down menacingly from the walls. Rua’s dark eyes rested for a moment on a group of turbaned Sikhs before he turned to address himself gravely to the Colonel.
    “I have brought,” he said, “a greeting from my
hapu
to your distinguished guest, Mr. Geoffrey Gaunt. The Maori people of Wai-ata-tapu are glad that he has come here and would like me to greet him with a cordial
Haere mai
.”
    “Oh, thanks very much, Rua,” said the Colonel. “I’ll tell him.”
    “We have heard that he wishes to be quiet. If however he would care to hear a little singing, we hope that he will do us the honour to come to a concert on Saturday week in the evening. I bring this invitation from my
hapu
to your guests and your family, Colonel.”
    Colonel Claire raised his eyebrows, opened his eyes and mouth, and glared at his visitor. He was not particularly surprised, but merely wore his habitual expression for absorbing new ideas.
    “Eh?” he said at last. “Did you say a concert? Extraordinarily nice of you, Rua, I must say. A concert.”
    “If Mr. Gaunt would care to come.”
    Colonel Claire gave a galvanic start. “Care to?” he repeated. “I don’t know, I’m sure. We should have to ask him, what? Sound the secretary.”
    Rua gave a little bow. “Certainly,” he said.
    Colonel Claire rose abruptly and thrust his head out of the window. “
James
!” he yelled. “Here!”
    “What for?” said Dr. Ackrington’s voice at some distance.
    “I want you. It’s my brother-in-law,” he explained more quietly to Rua. “We’ll see what he thinks, um?” He went out to the verandah and shouted, “
Agnes
!”
    “Hoo-oo?” replied Mrs. Claire from inside the house.
    “Here.”
    “In a minute, dear.”
    “Barbara.
”
    “Wait a bit, Daddy. I can’t.”
    “Here.”
    Having summoned his family, Colonel Claire sank into an armchair, and glancing at Rua gave a rather aimless laugh. His eye happened to fall upon a Wild West novel that he had been reading. He was a greedy consumer of thrillers, and the sight of this one lying open and close at hand affected him as an open box of chocolate affects a child. He smiled at Rua and offered him a cigarette. Rua thanked him and took one, holding it cautiously between the tips of his fingers and thumb. Colonel Claire looked out of the corners of his eyes at his thriller. He was longsighted.
    “There was another