Huia came in wearing cap, crackling apron, and stiff curls. She looked like a Polynesian goddess who had assumed, on a whim, some barbaric disguise.

“Would you like cold ham, cold mutton, or grilled steak?” she asked, and her voice was as cool and deep as her native forests. As an afterthought she handed Barbara a menu.

“If I ask for steak,” said Dr. Ackrington, “will it be cooked…”

“You don’t want to eat raw steak, Uncle, do you?” said Barbara.

“Let me finish. If I order steak, will it be cooked or tanned? Will it resemble steak or biltong?”

“Steak,” said Huia, musically.

“Is it cooked?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. I shall have ham.”

“What the devil are you driving at, James?” asked Colonel Claire, irritably. “You talk in riddles. What do you want?”

“I want grilled steak. If it is already cooked it will not be grilled steak. It will be boot leather. You can’t get a bit of grilled steak in the length and breadth of this country.”

Huia looked politely and inquiringly at Barbara.

“Grill Dr. Ackrington a fresh piece of steak, please, Huia.”

Dr. Ackrington shook his finger at Huia. “Five minutes,” he shouted. “Five minutes! A second longer and it’s uneatable. Mind that!” Huia smiled. “And while she’s cooking it I have a letter to read to you,” he added importantly.

Mrs. Claire came in. She looked as if she had just returned from a round of charitable visits in an English village. The Claires ordered their lunches and Dr. Ackrington took out the letter from Dr. Forster.

“This concerns all of you,” he announced.

“Where’s Smith?” demanded Colonel Claire suddenly, opening his eyes very wide. His wife and children looked vaguely round the room. “Did anyone call him?” asked Mrs. Claire.