The reason Ben did not hear the gong was because, just as Oakley was on the point of striking it—his hand was actually raised to do so—a sudden thought came into his mind. He paused and considered the thought. He decided it was a good one. His default would mean a row, but it might save another row considerably bigger.
He hurried after the High Priest and his prisoners, therefore, without first acquainting the prostrate village of the departure. His conversation with Ben had given them a long start, and he did not overtake them until they had nearly reached the Temple. Ruth and the child were walking a few paces ahead of the Priest, and the Priest was watching them with the intentness of a cat.
Oakley watched the Priest with equal intentness. The intentness gave his mind a pain. His mind was not used to this distressing exercise, and it rebelled. ‘What are you using me like this for?’ it complained. ‘Confound all these people! Let me go to sleep again!’
Oakley sympathised with his mind’s protest, agreeing with it utterly. These people were an unholy nuisance. Instead of adding to one’s acceptance of life, as good pals should, they invaded philosophy and pierced the comfortable sluggishness that he had woven around his tortured body to deaden sensation. They were dragging him out of his self-protective stupor. But … well, what was there to do about it? If Oakley had developed his power of acceptance, he must accept even this new human invasion on his long-suffering emotions.
It was Ruth who carried the most deadly weapons. Her very back stabbed, bringing uneasy longings to starved eyes. ‘That’s a good back,’ thought Oakley, striving callously to reduce it to the terms of a joint hanging in a shop. The ruse was completely unsuccessful. The smaller back of the child gave Ruth’s a maternal quality that made her all the more distracting.
‘H, e, l, l,’ thought Oakley as he increased his pace, passed the High Priest—ignoring the latter’s glare—and overtook Ruth. He fell into step quietly beside her till she noticed him and turned her head.
‘Good-afternoon,’ murmured Oakley.
‘Lovely weather,’ answered Ruth.
‘Who’s going to win Test Matches?’ he asked.
‘We are,’ said Ruth. ‘Batsman’s wicket. Besides,’ she added, ‘haven’t we got the umpires? To stop any body-bowling?’
‘Body-bowling?’ repeated Oakley puzzled. ‘What’s that?’
Ruth smiled, but the smile faded as a shortened shadow that was not hers or Oakley’s or the child’s crept into the corner of her eye.
‘Cave!’ she murmured.
‘I’m cavying,’ Oakley murmured back. ‘Au revoir for a moment.’
He dropped behind to the advancing Priest, made some earnest signs, and then came forward again.
‘I’ve done my little piece,’ he said. ‘Told the H.P. that I am giving you a few special instructions direct from Oomoo, and that I’ve just time to finish them before we reach the Temple if I’m not interrupted. That gives us three minutes. He thinks the instructions are to be a good girl till you see Oomoo again. Well, perhaps it’s not a bad one.’
‘Yes—if I am made to understand it,’ answered Ruth. ‘What, exactly, does “good girl” mean on this island?’
‘In your case it will mean to wait obediently in the Temple till tomorrow’s sunrise, when the trial takes place.’
In spite of herself, Ruth looked startled.
‘Do you mean—?’ she began.
‘That you are not going back to your original prison?’ said Oakley. ‘Yes. You’re changing quarters. You’ll stay—with the child here—in the Priest’s annex, just behind the Temple. Make a note of the geography, will you? May come in useful. Temple’s on the promontory we’re reaching. First comes outer wall. Then gate in outer wall. Call it Outer Gate. All gates can be fastened on the inside, but not on the outside. Wooden bars that swing round and slide. No keys on the island. Outer Gate leads to large, gloomy, walled space. No roof. Need umbrella in rain. Call this space Outer Chamber. Beyond is another gate. Inner Gate. Leads to Temple itself. At end of Temple, third gate. Small door, rather. Call it Priest’s Door. Leads to a long ledge path. Don’t slip. Left, sheer drop into top of forest, though the tree-tops rise above it, forming untrustworthy wall. Right, trustworthy wall of rock, with a fourth door. Call this Front Door. Door to Priest’s quarters. I’ve never been in—yet. Note the “yet.” You’ll be taken there, and you’ll stay there till the trial. You’ll be absolutely safe—till the trial. Absolutely. Till the trial, the High Priest would defend you with his life.’
‘And at the trial?’ asked Ruth.
‘At the trial you’ll see us all again, and we’ll put anything right that’s wrong.’
‘I congratulate you, Mr Oakley.’
‘Meanin’?’
‘You are a politician. You choose your words tactfully. But I’m not a politician. When Oomoo smiled at me—and the child—did the High Priest interpret that as a sign that Oomoo wanted us for—’
‘Yes,’ interrupted Oakley wincing. ‘But please try and be a politician with me.’
‘Of course, you’re a fraud.’
‘Meanin’, once more?’
‘You pretend you can’t feel.’
‘It wasn’t pretence. It was genuine.’ He raised his eyes from the ground, and looked at her for a moment. ‘I suppose you know you’re ruining my life?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t worry. I still know behind it all that nothing matters. By the way, don’t get the idea that I’m paying you a compliment. Any pretty white girl would have done the same. Edna Best, Gertrude Lawrence, Tallulah—are they still queuing up for Tallulah?—Kay Hammond—I used to like Kay Hammond. Cheeky little thing. Still alive? So, you see, there’s nothing in it … As a matter of fact,’ he went on, now staring at the ground again, ‘there’s nothing in it, anyhow. I don’t care a damn. Not a damn. Well, any more questions?’
‘If there’s time,’ she answered.
‘For about three, I should think. There’s the outer wall ahead, but don’t stop to admire it. Shoot! I suppose they still say that at home?’
‘First question, then. Where does the ledge path lead if one doesn’t jump off into the forest on one side or into the Priest’s house on the other?’
‘Shoot me for a mug,’ replied Oakley. ‘I ought to have told you that without your asking. Meant to. Brain’s rusty. Needs oiling. It leads to a beach. Pretty long walk. Priest’s private beach. Taboo. No boat there. Difficult to get one there—’
‘Tom—Mr Haines—is looking for a boat.’
‘Is he? He won’t have any luck. They were all brought in before the storm for annual repairs. It’s a long path. Steep in places. Plateau halfway down. Well, second question?’
‘Did you sound the second gong? I didn’t hear it.’
‘You didn’t hear it because I didn’t sound it. You told me, you remember, that some of the party had gone hunting. I want to give them all the time I can to get back. Once I sound the gong the guards will be alert again. Thank the Lord, the H.P. hasn’t noticed my omission yet, but he will presently, and then I’ll have to return to the village and make a din.’
‘Wouldn’t they hear the din from here?’
‘They would but they won’t, because I’ve conveniently lost the gong. Left it behind by mistake on purpose. That’ll give me a chance to go back and find it—and to see the position. I’m supposed to stick around up here, you see.’
‘I thought you said your brain was rusty, Mr Oakley,’ said Ruth. ‘It seems to me to be working quite well. One last question, if I’ve not exceeded my allowance. What’s our plan to date—if any?’
‘Our plan to date,’ repeated Oakley, as they came within the shadow of the wall. ‘Oh, just to save seven or eight lives, and to pocket seven or eight tons of gold, and to convert a thousand cannibals to vegetarianism. But the seven or eight lives come first, and your own tops the list. If you think that’s sentimental, forget it.’
There was no further opportunity for conversation. The first gate had been reached, and the High Priest had drawn up with them again.
Oakley’s brain, in spite of his doubts, was working exceedingly well. Judged dispassionately, he found the surprising fact rather interesting. He noticed that the gate was slightly more ajar than he had recollected, and he gave it a quick push before the High Priest had a chance to notice this himself.
In silence they walked through into the outer chamber. Ruth struggled hard to suppress her shivers as Oakley, obeying an imperious sign from the High Priest, closed and secured the gate behind them. They crossed the chamber to the second gate, and entered the Temple. Here Ruth stood for a moment and gasped, as three others had gasped before her. She was given no time, however, to drink in the full strangeness of the scene, for the Priest prodded her and forced her hurriedly to the third door.
But at the third door the Priest himself paused. Oakley was a little way behind, stooping, and the Priest swung round to communicate a sudden thought. Oakley straightened himself quickly, and looked inquiring.
The Priest also looked inquiring. Oakley made a sign to imply that he had experienced a sudden pain in his back, probably administered by Oomoo to punish him for some omission. The Priest, accepting this, made angry motions describing the omission. The gong—why had not the Low Priest sounded the second gong? Oakley clasped his forehead, looked vaguely around, held up his two empty hands, glanced back in the direction from which they had come, and fell upon his face. The Priest made further angry motions. Oakley’s contrition, and his desire to repair his omission, became more and more evident. The Priest shrugged his shoulders, and pointed to the exit. But Oakley, who had risen, threw himself on the ground again before an effigy, and insisted on mumbling penance until the Priest, growing impatient, decided to leave him to it, opened the door to his quarters, and pushed his prisoners through.
Out of the corner of his eye Oakley watched the door open and close. He heard the wooden bar swung into its socket. He counted twenty. Then he rose, and bent once more over the real cause of his original stooping, which had not been a pain in his back, but a bit of soil.
One of his jobs was to keep the Temple spotless. He knew every smut and every stain, and conscientiously removed all that were removable. This bit of soil, he was certain, had not been on the ground when he had last been in the Temple. Had it been conveyed here recently—by a boot?
Putting two and two together, Oakley arrived at the decision that it had.
He glanced towards the door to the Priest’s quarters. He listened. There was no sound. Then he advanced to the door and listened again. Silence. He tried to visualise what was happening on the other side. Emotion suddenly seized him. It was like an abruptly released tide—a tide that had been too long in check. It made him want to hurl himself at the door and smash it down. He backed away, lest he should yield to the impulse.
He touched his forehead with his finger. The finger came away wet. He stared at the dampness, almost in terror.
Then he smiled. It was an uncanny, twisted smile, and perhaps it was as well that nobody saw it. It was the smile of a sane man creeping deliberately back to mental contortion.
‘My dear, beamish lad,’ he murmured, ‘have you forgotten that you are dead? And that, in a few meaningless years, we shall all be dust?’
In this recaptured mood he searched the Temple, and found, in the concealed recess beneath the giant golden pot, Lord Cooling, Ernest Medworth, and Henry Smith.
‘Come out, dears,’ he said softly.
They came out, and only Cooling managed not to look humiliated.
‘Is there time to talk, Mr Oakley?’ he asked.
‘There isn’t a second to talk,’ answered Oakley.
‘Then what is the order?’
‘Quick march back to Holloway.’
Medworth and Smith began their quick march at once, but Cooling hesitated.
‘Can we pass safely through the village, Mr Oakley?’ he inquired.
‘Have you heard the second gong yet?’ replied Oakley.
‘Thank you,’ smiled Cooling. ‘When we get back to England I shall allot you a thousand shares in Gold Temples, Limited. Lead on, MacDuff!’