“Did you take your medical degree at home?”

“Yes, at Thomas’s. I was a thorough pakeha by that time — almost. Here we are.”

They pulled up in a wide open space before the dark shape of a long one-storied house. From the centre of the front wall projected a porch with a gable roof, and Alleyn saw that this porch was decorated with Maori carvings.

“An affectation on my part,” said Te Pokiha. “You may question the taste of joining an old-time porch on to a modern bungalow. At least the carving is genuine.”

“I like it.”

“You must see it by daylight. Come in.”

They dined in a pleasant room, waited on by an enormous and elderly Maori woman, who showed a tendency to join in the laughter when Alleyn cracked a modest joke. After dinner they moved into a comfortable living-room with an open fireplace where an aromatic log fire reminded Alleyn of Te Pokiha’s story. The furniture was of the solid smoking-room type — very English and non-committal. A mezzotint of Christ Church, Oxford, an undergraduate group or two, and a magnificent feather cloak decorated the walls.

When, after some excellent brandy, they had lit their pipes, Alleyn asked Te Pokiha if his practice was a general one.

“Oh, yes. When I first came back I had some idea of specialising in gynaecology, but I think it is the one branch of my profession in which my race would tell against me. And then, as I settled down, I began to see the terrible inroads made by civilisation in the health of my own people. Tuberculosis, syphilis, typhoid — none of them known in our savage days when ritual and health-giving dances, as well as strict hygienic habits, were enforced. So I came down to earth — brown earth — and decided that I would become a doctor to my own people.”

“I’m sure you do not regret your choice.”

“No. Though it is depressing to see how quickly a healthy race can degenerate. I am very busy — consulting-room hours in town, and a wide country beat. I am re-learning some of my own race history.”

And he related several stories about his Maori patients, telling them well, without too much emphasis. The time passed pleasantly in this fashion.

At last Alleyn put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the tiki. He put it on the arm of Te Pokiha’s chair.

“May we talk about the tiki?” he asked.

Te Pokiha looked at it with surprise.

“Does Miss Dacres not wish to accept it? Has she returned it to you?”

“No. I hope she will still accept it, though she may not wish to do so. At the moment it is by way of being used in evidence.”

“The tiki? What do you mean?”

“It was found in the gallery above the stage on the spot where the murderer must have stood.”

Te Pokiha gazed at him with something like horror in his eyes.

“That is — is most extraordinary. Do you know how it got there?”

“Yes. I believe I do.”

“I see.”

There was relief and something else — could it be disappointment? — in Te Pokiha’s voice. Then, suddenly, he leant forward:

“But it’s impossible — that lovely creature! No, there must be some mistake. I cannot believe it of her.”

“Of Miss Dacres? Why should you suspect Miss Dacres?”

“Why because I saw — but I do not suspect her.”

“Because you saw her slip it into her dress?”

“There is something very strange in this,” said Te Pokiha, staring at the tiki. “May I ask one question, Mr. Alleyn. Do you suspect Miss Dacres of murder?”

“No. I believe her to be innocent.”

“Then how did the tiki get there?”

“I’ll tell you presently,” said Alleyn. “It was strange, wasn’t it? Almost as though the tiki itself had taken a hand, don’t you think?”

“You ask a leading question,” said Te Pokiha, smiling. He had regained his poise completely, it seemed. “Remember I am a materialistic general practitioner.”

“You are also a rangitira,” answered Alleyn. “What would your grandfather have thought?”

Te Pokiha put out his thin dark hand as though to take up the tiki. Then he paused and drew back his hand.

“The demi-god Tiki was the father of mankind. These little symbols are named after him. They do not actually represent him but rather the human embryo and the fructifying force in mankind. The ornament and carving is purely phallic. I know something of the history of this tiki. It was tapu. Do you know what that means?”

“Sacred? Untouchable?”

“Yes. Long ago it was dropped from the breast of a woman in a very tapu place, a meeting-house, and remained there, unnoticed, for a long time. It therefore became tapu itself. The meeting-house was burned to the ground and a pakeha found and kept the tiki, afterwards telling where he had found it. My grandfather would have said that this in itself was a desecration, a pollution. The pakeha, not long afterwards, was drowned in attempting to ford a river. The tiki was found in his pocket and given, by his son, to the father of the man from whom you have bought it. Your man was once a very prosperous run-holder, but lost almost everything during the depression. Hence his desire to sell the tiki.”

“Miss Gaynes has repeatedly expressed her opinion that the tiki is unlucky,” said Alleyn dryly. “It seems that she is right. What would your grandfather have thought of the reception they gave it last night? Poor little Meyer was very facetious, wasn’t he, pretending to say his prayers to it?”

“Not only facetious but ill-bred,” said Te Pokiha quietly.

“I felt rather ashamed of my compatriots, Dr. Te Pokiha, and, as I told you at the time, I regretted my impulse.”

“You need not regret it. The tiki is revenged.”

“Very much so. I shall ask Miss Dacres to return it to me, I think.”

Te Pokiha looked at him, hesitated a moment and then said: “I do not think she need fear it.”

“Tell me,” said Alleyn, “if it’s not an impertinent question, do you yourself feel anything of — well, anything of what your ancestors would have felt in regard to this coincidence?”

There was a long pause.

“Naturally,” said Te Pokiha, at last, “I do not feel exactly as a European would feel about the tiki. What do your gipsies say? ‘You have to dig deep to bury your daddy’.”

“Yes,” murmured Alleyn, “I suppose you do.”

“I hear you are working personally on the case,” said Te Pokiha after another silence. “May one ask if you feel confident that the murderer will be found?”

“Yes, I am confident.”

“That is excellent,” said Te Pokiha, tranquilly.

“It is simply a question of eliminating the impossible. And, by the way, you can help us there.”

“Can I? In what way?”

“We are trying to establish alibis for all these people. Mr. Mason’s movements are a little more difficult to trace than those of the cast, because he was in his office before the supper-party. Wade says you saw him there.”

“Yes. I did. At the end of the play I made for the exit at the back of the stalls. I noticed that the office door into the box-office was open, and thought I would look in on Mr. Mason before going behind the scenes. He came in just as I did.”

“From the yard?”

“Yes. He had been out to speak to the stage-doorkeeper, he said.”

“That tallies with what we have. How long did you stay in the office? By the way I hope you don’t mind me hauling in shop like this?”

“Not in the least. I hoped that we might discuss the case. Let me see. We stayed there for about ten minutes, I think. Mr. Mason said that they would not be ready behind the scenes for some little time and suggested we should have a drink. We took off our overcoats and sat down by the fire. I refused the drink, but he had one, and we both smoked. The men from the box-office came in and Mason dealt with them. Someone came in from the bank to take the cash, and the stage-doorkeeper looked in too, I remember. Oh, yes, and Ackroyd, the little comic fellow, you know — he looked in.”