'You are looking at a row of grass-trees,' George explained. 'You are not the first to mistake a grass-tree at a distance for a squatting native.' 'I did not say they were Maoris,' Terence replied coolly. 'There were six grass-trees when I first noticed them, and now there appear to be seven. Aha! Look, George. Number seven is crawling off. It is our friend Sounding Sea, who has been spying on us. I saw him dodging into the bush this morning, and now that I am sure of his game, I may tell you that I have suspected him for a week past.' 'What keen eyes you have to pick the fellow out,' said George admiringly. 'In certain lights, and at a distance, the illusion of the grass-tree is perfect. It is as well, perhaps, that we failed to find the hole, since that rascal is on our track.' 'Well, we know where we stand now,' observed Terence, 'and the gay Sounding Sea will find that two can play the game of spying. We will look for Paeroa to-morrow in spite of him.' Late next night the friends crept out of their _whare_, which stood near the back of the stockade, and searched for four hours in the underground world; but they found no trace of the missing trio. 'We must get back before dawn,' said George; 'for Sounding Sea may take it into his head to pay us an earlier visit than usual. I don't think that Paeroa is hidden down here. The existence of the place is known only to the privileged few, so there would be no occasion to confine him far from the entrance.' 'Besides, I fancy that both the chief and the wizard would fight shy of the spot after their uncanny experience.' Terence chuckled at the recollection. 'Yes; come on. We can't afford to take risks.' Thrice they unsuccessfully explored the underground reaches during the next fortnight; twice they tried, and failed, to find the forest opening; and then, suddenly, the face of the situation began to alter. It was now three weeks since Te Karearea had set out for the front, and sick or wounded Maoris were constantly filtering into the _pah_, one and all with the same story to tell--the continued success of the chief, and the impending annihilation of the detested Pakeha. The worst news they brought was that of the death of old Kapua Mangu, who had been shot while weaving a spell for the destruction of the Arawas. His head had been brought back to the _pah_, and was now in the hands of the gentleman whose business it was to preserve the grisly relic. One night George entered their hut in a state of great agitation. His face was pale and his eyes glittered; but for some time he sat silent, while Terence watched him anxiously. 'Anything wrong, old fellow?' he inquired at last.