LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER FOUR

       Red for Danger

      Dikon, mindful of his only other encounter with him and influenced by an exceedingly significant smell, came to the conclusion that Mr Smith was mad drunk. Perhaps a minute went by before he realised that he was merely terrified. It was obvious that the entire Claire family made the same mistake for they all, together and severally and entirely without success, tried to shut Smith up and hustle him away into the background. Finally it was Dr Ackrington who, after a sharp look at Smith, said to his brother-in-law: ‘Wait a minute now, Edward, you’re making a mistake. Come along with me, Smith, and tell me what it’s all about.’

      ‘I won’t come along with anyone. I’ve just been along with someone and it’s practically killed me. You listen to what I’m telling you! He’s a bloody murderer.’

      ‘Who is?’ asked Simon from somewhere in the rear.

      ‘Questing.’

      ‘Smith, for God’s sake!’ said the Colonel, and tried to lead him away by the elbow.

      ‘Leave me alone. I know what I’m talking about. I’m telling you.’

      ‘Oh, Daddy, not here!’ Barbara cried out, and Mrs Claire said: ‘No, Edward, please. Your study, dear.’ And, as if Smith were some recalcitrant schoolboy, she repeated in a hushed voice: ‘Yes, yes, much better in your study.’

      ‘But you’re not listening to me,’ said Smith. And, to the acute embarrassment of everybody except Gaunt, he began to blubber. ‘Straight out of the jaws of death,’ he cried piteously, ‘and you ask a chap to go to the study.’

      Dikon heard Gaunt give a little cough of laughter before he turned to Mrs Claire and said: ‘We’ll remove ourselves.’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ said Dikon.

      The doorway, however, was blocked by Simon and Mrs Claire, and before they could get out of the way Smith roared out: ‘I don’t want anybody to go. I want witnesses. You stay where you are.’

      Gaunt looked good-humouredly from one horrified face to another, and said: ‘Suppose we all sit down.’

      Barbara took her uncle fiercely by the arm. ‘Uncle James,’ she whispered, ‘stop him. He mustn’t. Uncle James, please.’

      ‘By all means let us sit down,’ said Dr Ackrington.

      They filed solemnly and ridiculously into the dining-room and, as if they were about to witness a cabaret turn, sat themselves down at the small tables. This manoeuvre appeared to quieten Smith. He took up a strategic position between the tables. With the touch of complacency which must have appeared in the Ancient Mariner when he cornered the wedding guest, he embarked upon his story.

      ‘It was over at the level crossing,’ he began. ‘I’d been up the Peak with Eru Saul and I don’t mind telling you why. Questing’s been nosing around the Peak and the Maoris don’t like it. We’d seen him drive along the Peak road earlier in the evening. Eru and I reckoned we’d cut along by the bush track to a hideout in the scrub. We didn’t see anything. He must have gone up the other face of the hill if he was there at all. We waited for about an hour and then I got fed up and came down by myself. I hit the railroad about a couple of chains above the level crossing.’

      ‘By the railroad bridge?’ said Simon.

      ‘You’re telling me it was by the bridge,’ said Smith with extraordinary violence. ‘I’ll say it was by the bridge. And get this. The 5.15 from Harpoon was just about due. You know what it’s like. The railroad twists in and out of the scrub and round the shoulder of the hill and then comes through a wee tunnel. You can’t see or hear a thing. Before you know what’s happening, she’s on top of you.’

      ‘She is, too,’ agreed Simon, with an air of supporting Smith against unfair opposition.

      ‘The bridge is the worst bit. You can’t see the signals but you can see a bend in the Peak road above the level crossing. To get over the gully you can hop across the bridge on the sleepers, or you can wade the creek. I stood there wondering if I’d risk the bridge. I don’t like trains. There was a Maori boy killed on that bridge.’

      ‘There was, too.’

      ‘Yes; well, while I was kind of hesitating I saw Questing’s car come over the crest of the road and stop. He leant out of the driving window and saw me. Now listen. You’ve got to remember he could see the signal and I couldn’t. It’s the red and green light affair they put in after the accident. I saw him turn his head to look that way.’

      Smith wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He spoke quietly now, was no longer ridiculous, and held the attention of his audience. He sat down at an empty table and looked about him with an air of astonishment.

      ‘He waved me on,’ he said. ‘He could see the signal and he gave me the all-clear. Like this. I didn’t move at first and he did it again. See? A bit impatient, too, as much as to say: “What’s eating you? Hop to it.” Yes, well, I hopped. I’ve never liked the bridge. It’s a short stride between sleepers and you can see the creek through the gaps. Look. I’d got halfway when I heard her behind me, blowing her whistle in the tunnel. It’s funny how quick you can think. Whether to jump for it or swing from the end of a sleeper, or stand waving my arms and, if she didn’t pull up in time, dive for the engine. I thought about Questing, too, and how, if she got me, nobody’d know he gave me the office. And all the time I was hopping like a bloody ballet dancer, with the creek below clicking through the gaps. Like one of those dreams. Look,

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