see. Well, might this explain it? For the last three years I have lived on a cannibal island where the Chief has twenty-one wives—God help him—where the High Priest drinks out of his predecessor’s skull, where twins are sacrificed, when they occur, to the new moon—fortunately, they occur less often than the new moon—where the word “Holalulala” means “Take his eyes out” and “Lungoo” means “Fried knuckles,” and where there is a Temple of Gold that would make the Bank of England’s mouth water.’
‘What’s that?’ exclaimed Medworth sharply.
‘So, after all, perhaps it is natural that my bump of surprise has got a little blunted,’ went on Oakley. ‘And you can take it from me. I have done everything in my power to assist the blunting process. If that sounds good, forget it. There are two ways of going mad. You can get raw and feel everything, or you can get numb and feel nothing. I’ve got numb. As soon as I begin to feel anything, I knock it on the head. Course, one gets caught a bit sometimes.’ He paused and glanced towards Ruth, then turned to Lord Cooling again. ‘It would give me the greatest pleasure, sir, to smash that monocle out of your blasted eye. I wouldn’t mind squashin’ the feller who called me fishy under my foot, though I’ve a notion he’d feel slimy. If I kissed that pretty girl over there—first I’ve seen of my own race for three years—I would probably recall a very pleasant sensation. But I only allow little emotions. The infants in arms. Big ’uns—taboo. So you’re safe from me, the whole damn lot of you. Note—from me. As for t’others, why worry? Think of yourselves, and then compare yourselves with the stars. Millions. Billions. Trillions. It’s just amusin’.’
One man, at least, was uninterested in the philosophy of Mr Robert Oakley.
‘Pardon me,’ said Medworth, ‘but would you mind repeating that about a Temple of Gold?’
The next moment everybody was uninterested in Mr Ernest Medworth. A faint sound was beginning to disturb the silence of the forest. The slow and distant beating of a drum.
‘The Campbells are coming, hurrah, hurrah,’ observed Oakley unemotionally. ‘Well, good luck, chaps.’
He turned to go, but Medworth seized his arm.
‘Wait a minute—where are you off to?’ he demanded. Medworth’s voice contained plenty of emotion.
‘Pity about your complexion,’ answered Oakley. ‘Try and do something about it.’
‘Shut up, you fool, and answer my question!’
‘Certainly. I’m off to report.’
‘Do you mean you’re going to tell them about—us?’
‘That’s exactly what I mean. The presence of you and the absence of Oomoo. They’re apt to be a bit over-excitable when they’re not prepared for surprises.’
Medworth let his arm go and turned to the others.
‘What do you think about it?’ he exclaimed. ‘Don’t you think he ought to stay?’
‘It doesn’t matter what they think about it, old chap,’ replied Oakley, as the distant drumming grew louder. ‘I’ve got to go. I’m part of the Lord Mayor’s Show. Of course—if any of you would like to come with me?’
There were no volunteers.
‘Just one final question, Mr Oakley,’ said Lord Cooling. ‘When the—er—Lord Mayor’s Show arrives, what attitude do you advise?’
‘Don’t start hitting about,’ answered Oakley. ‘Just be nice and obliging. Like me.’
Then he turned again, and a few seconds later had disappeared like an impossible dream into the forest.
‘Oi!’ muttered Ben, with a gulp. ‘Me knuckles is hitchin’!’
‘Well, ladies and gentlemen,’ said Lord Cooling, after a few moments of silence broken only by the distant beating of the drum. The fact that it was still distant was the sole bright spot in the situation. ‘Do we adopt Mr Oakley’s advice, and wait?’
‘I don’t see any alternative,’ answered Haines.
‘Nor do I,’ added Ruth.
‘No, not now that the fool’s gone off to tell ’em,’ muttered Smith, nervily. ‘Who let him go? We ought to have kept him, the blasted idiot!’
‘Well, I do see an alternative,’ exclaimed Ardentino. ‘At least we can put the ladies into safety!’
‘Where’s that?’ inquired Ben.
Lord Cooling smiled acidly.
‘Yes, where is your safe spot?’ he asked. ‘Find it, Mr Ardentino, and I have an idea the ladies will not be the only occupants. Yourself, for example?’
‘Are you insinuating anything?’ demanded Ardentino angrily.
‘No—suggesting,’ replied Lord Cooling. ‘I am suggesting that the only reason we don’t all climb trees is because we don’t see any with convenient branches low enough. Personally, I think this is just as well. Eight representatives of King George found by a band of naked savages at the tops of eight trees would not be the best advertisement for the Union Jack.’
Ruth gave a little shriek of laughter. Smith looked scared, and Ardentino frowned.
‘You may think this the moment for humour!’ he snapped.
‘It is certainly not the moment for panic,’ responded Cooling.
‘Who mentioned panic? Or trees, for that matter? Well, I’m going to have a look round, anyway—’
‘And I’ll join you,’ interposed Miss Noyes, with sudden efficiency. ‘You’re quite right. What we need is to organise a base. And then someone can come out from it to—to parley with them. Don’t you agree, Mr Smith?’
‘Eh? Yes! I must say that sounds sensible,’ answered Smith. ‘Now, then. Base. Let’s find one.’
He ran towards a mass of rocks, like a lost dog. The film star and the girl guide captain followed him with only a fraction less dignity. The drum was growing considerably nearer.
‘Let them go, let them go!’ grunted Medworth. ‘They’ll be caught with the rest of us, and meanwhile we’ve got something more important to talk about!’
‘And the whole day, of course, to talk about it,’ commented Lord Cooling.
‘Well, we’ve got a minute, haven’t we?… Hallo! What’s that?’
The drum had abruptly ceased. The cessation was even more unnerving than the sound.
‘I
