I saw by his manner that he did not wish to give his English name, and, realising that it was no business of mine, I forbore from asking it. Kahikatea was certainly a good name, for, from a life spent mostly among the Maoris, I was able to see in their quaint way that this man was as a great “white pine” among the forest trees. Hence his name was good, and I called him by it.
“Good, O Kahikatea!” I said easily; “I will continue the story, such as it is. To put things briefly, a large estate in Bedfordshire has been left to a certain Miriam Grey, who has been missing for many years. On instituting inquiries, however, it was found that she had sailed from England and landed at Wakatu, across the bay, some eighteen years ago, to rejoin her husband, who came up from Hokitika to meet her. They set off together on the return journey towards Hokitika, but never arrived at their destination. It is supposed that they were captured by the Maoris.”
“In which case it is exceedingly unlikely that either of them is alive at this day,” replied my host.
“Wait a moment,” I replied quickly. “I have an extraordinary piece of evidence which tends to prove that Miriam Grey was alive and a prisoner among the Maoris as late as three years ago. When I was making inquiries in Wakatu I was almost giving it up as hopeless, and was on the point of starting for Hokitika, when the old curator of the little museum came up to me one day with the gleam of the clever discoverer in his eye, and drew me aside.
“ ‘Did you not say that the woman you were looking for was named Miriam?’ he asked.
“ ‘Yes,’ I replied; ‘Miriam Grey.’
“ ‘Come with me then. I’ve got something which may be a clue.’
“He led me on through the streets until we came to the little museum, and there in a lumber room of uncatalogued curiosities, he showed me this bit of carved akeak, which he said had been discovered on the sea beach two years before.”
I drew a small piece of carved wood from my pocket and handed it to Kahikatea, who took it in his hands and inspected it carefully.
“This is not Maori carving,” he said at once, “it is too delicately done for that. But it is the work of someone who understands Maori art—look at this double-spiral work round the border. But what are the letters? They are almost worn away.”