“But, my dear, good man,” said I, with rising temper, “Great Tohungas of the Earth or no Great Tohungas of the Earth, I have other things to do. I have other books to make; look here”—I turned to the piles of manuscript on my table and placed my hand upon the largest—“this book must be made before the moon has died once.”
“I care not,” he replied imperturbably. Then there was a flash of quick anger in his eyes as he added: “You will obey my word, for the cursing power of Ngaraki, my father, dwells in my eyes, and before him no man could say ‘I will not!’ and live.”
At this barbarous attempt to browbeat a civilised human being with the mention of a savage hereditary cursing power I was so amused that I forgot both my anger and my fear and laughed loudly. But even while my laugh was at its height my glance encountered that of my visitor, and I became unaccountably silent. There was a fierce power in his eyes which backed up his words, and my ill-timed amusement gave place to a cold fear. What was this? His gaze held me as if in a grip of iron, and though I struggled inwardly to free myself from its strange hold, I was unable to do so. I tried to rise from my seat, but could not. I made a frantic effort to cry out, but my voice refused to act. With those terrible black eyes burning into mine I shivered and fell back in my chair. Then I saw, or thought I saw, behind the form of Aké Aké a line of grim and stately chiefs, standing in an unbroken chain, which, ascending gradually into the far horizon, finally disappeared in the distant mists of antiquity. As I looked sleep pressed my eyelids down with a masterful hand, and I sank into oblivion.
When I awoke half an hour later and found myself alone, my first thought was that I had dreamed fantastically, and I had almost confirmed myself in this conclusion when my glance fell upon the package lying upon the table. I snatched it up and got at the contents. I soon saw that it was indeed what my visitor had said—the record of one Wanaki. With this record in my hand I could hardly dismiss the matter as a dream. I rang the bell, and Gapper came in smiling, just as he is wont to smile when some caller has been generous. I questioned him as to whether he had let the visitor out.
“O yes, sir,” he replied; “some time ago.”
“Well, Gapper,” I asked carelessly, “what did you think of him, eh?”
Gapper grinned. It was the grin dedicated to gold, not mere silver.
“In the first place ’e was a gentleman, sir,” he said; “and in the second place ’e kep’ up ’is disguise remarkable well. ’E looked like a lord, sir. Might I make so bold as to ask who ’e reely was?”
“He is Aké Aké,” I said severely; “Aké Aké Rangitane, a great Maori chief. And look here, Gapper, if you had as many pounds in the bank as that chief has eaten men in his time you would be a rich man.”
My man gaped at me in astonishment; then, when he was fully assured that I was not joking, he went away and double-bolted all the doors and windows.