A Promising Pupil
MR. LUTONwas rubbing anembrocation into his bruised and swollen knees, while Bony was busy at the stove cooking breakfast and watching the coffee-pot.
“Getting old, blast it,” growled Mr. Luton. “Old age is a curse. Can’t take a bit of stoush any more, and can’t deal it out.”
“Strong-smellingembrocation you have there,” remarked Bony.
“A good one Knocker Harris invented. Half eucalyptus and half camphorated oil with a dash of some of the herbs he’s got in his bit of a garden.” Mr. Luton chuckled.“Knew a feller who suffered from rheumatism. He’d heard that pure emu oil was good for it. So he got an emu and boiled him down and drew off about a pint of pure oil. Before he come to use it, his son came on it and oiled his saddle and bridle with it. Next day all the leather was like spongy paper and finished.”
“Did he ever try it for the rheumatism?” questioned Bony.
“So they say,” replied Mr. Luton, now whistling through his remaining teeth like a man grooming a horse. “Terrible penetrating stuff, emu oil in the pure. It cured his rheumatism overnight, but it rotted his leg bones to sponge inside a week.” A moment later he asked, off-handedly:
“D’youthinkthose ponging foreign bastards will come again?”
“I hope not, but they may.”
The old man stood, making a wry face, and he said furiously:
“Look! Forty years back I’d have pulled their ears off and mixed their rabbit brains together. What do you reckon this country’s coming to?”
“Your question would indicate that Australia is proceeding from one point to another, Mr. Luton. Instead, it has already arrived. You have been extremely fortunate, and I, to a lesser degree, by having lived in an era when human behaviour was influenced by a code inspired by the world’s rulers. Since the world’s rulers have become schemers and scientific thugs, what can be expected of us, the ruled, the scum? Don’t let it worry you. Good and evil are relative.”
“Could be right. That bacon smells good. How did you get back here?”
“Train and car.”
“When you left, did you intend coming back?”
“Yes. What about your hands? Breakfast is ready.”
Mr. Luton unrolled the legs of his pyjamas and hobbled to the wash-bench.
“Knees any easier?” asked Bony.
“Much. Take a lot to damage ’emproperly. But that ape knew just where to kick.”
“He and his kind have, of course, plenty of practice. I am serving you three eggs. We have to eat. When Gibley told me the other afternoon I was to report to my Department, or else! it was necessary to determine how strong were those persons who were made nervous by my presence here. I did that by going to Adelaide, and I assessed the strength of the opposition when the S.A. Police Department went to the extraordinary limit of having me conducted out of their State. I am convinced they were motivated by a Power outside their State and outside the Constitution.
“Those thugs knew I left by bus yesterday morning. It is certain that it was they who broke into the office at Mount Mario. And that they are the foreigners in whom Constable Gibley expressed interest. Their actions, I believe, have nothing to do with my recall and the extraordinary behaviour of the S.A. Police Department.
“Anyway, before reporting to theC.I. B., Adelaide, I rang Mr. Wickham’s friend who, with his son, supplied the necessary transport for stocking the bar down below. It was arranged that he would have his car just outside Serviceton when the Melbourne train pulled in. The police escort being instructed to leave me at Serviceton, I was saved the bother of evading her, and was happy about that, because she was a joy to look at, and intelligent.”
“Wait a bit!” implored Mr. Luton.“She… she… she! Police escort a she?”
“Yes. Policewoman. Chosen, I think, to reduce to the least possible minimum any rancour I might feel toward the S.A. Police. Anyway, we arrived at the bridge just when you were exploding your whip. The young fellow who drove thought the reports were those of guns, and only with difficulty did I prevail on him to leave it to me, and also to leave me at the bridge and return to Adelaide.
“We arrived when you were addressing a bullock called ‘Red’. Accept my sincere compliments on your linguistic artistry! We heard plainly all the adjectives in their magnificent sequence. However, in the midst of our enchantment, your performance ceased, and on arrival I found that you must have gone in for a gargle. The front door was open, and I heard voices. I regret that I did not arrive two minutes earlier.
“We are left with several items. Those thugs were indifferent to what was occupying you at this time, being confident they would quickly find what they were looking for. They thought there was no danger of interruption from you, and, because of the hour, no interruption from anyone else. Hence the open door. They knew what they were looking for -that green-covered book. And they knew of Wickham’s friendship with you, and of his visits here.”
“Think they would have found the cellar?” asked Mr. Luton.
“They would be experts in tearing a house to pieces.”
“What was wrong in handing ’emover to Gibley? They can’t do such things in Australia.”
Bony shrugged. “Remember the story about the great king who visited Australia and committed a murder? To have handed those trained sadists over to Gibley might have resulted in ringing down the curtain before the end of the drama.”
“All right. Leave ’em. What about the Melbourne police? Wouldn’t they check up on the train and find youwasn’t on it?”
“Without doubt. My disappearance will send many people into a dither. Which is why, like Brer Rabbit, I am going to burrow deep.”
“You goingto hole up? Where?”
“In your pub down under.”
Mr. Luton evinced swift contentment. Bony said:
“Time flies, as a thousand million people have said before me. We must sleep, unfortunately. Now please listen carefully to what I say, while I clear the table and wash up. You will be the custodian, and there will probably be many visitors.”
An hour later, Bony surveyed his sanctuary, after hearing the trap-door shut and Mr. Luton replacing the floor-covering.
The stock had been slightly rearranged. The stretcher bed was set up against one damp wall, and a couple of gin cases served as a bedside table. The oil-lamp burned on the bar counter, and there was a primus stove on which to boil water for tea.
At three places a series of one-inch auger holes had been bored, to provide Bony with listening points. He could thus hear what was said at the front door, within the lounge, and inside the living-room. If Mr. Luton wished to converse with him, he would have only to lie on the floor at one of these points and emit a mild version of his bullock team whistle down the auger holes. Stacked spirits provided mounting steps to the listening vents.
It was a quarter to seven when Bony turned in. It was four minutes after two when he woke. Like the cellar, the house above was still.
Bony lit the oil-lamp. He put on his several spare pairs of socks and a large blanket dressing-gown belonging to old Luton, and started the primus.
About three o’clock he heard, very faintly, the dogs barking, and a moment later, the distant thud of Mr. Luton’s feet on his bedroom floor. The thudding eventually changed to the padding of comfortable slippers.
When someone knocked on the front door, Bony climbed the steps of brandy cases to sit on the topmost, when his head touched the perforated flooring. He could hear his host crossing the sitting-room, heard the door open, and Senior Constable Gibley say:
“Day-ee! What! You on the booze again?”
“Do I look like it?” snapped Mr. Luton.
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m not, Senior, and I’d take it kindly if you minded your own business. I had a bad night, as you seem to be interested, and if a man of my age can’t sleep when he likes and get up when he likes, then it’s time the atom bomb blew up the likes of you. What is it?”
“Now, now, no sparks, Luton. Keep your hair on. I only called for a chinwag, anyway. Yougoin ’ to ask me in?”
“Don’t see why. Still, if you want to waste the taxpayers’ money.
…”
They moved back into the kitchen and the door was closed. Bony descended from his brandy steps and mounted the gin steps which brought him beneath the kitchen dresser. He was in time to hear Mr. Luton following his instructions.
“Cup of coffee or tea? I’m going to light the stove.”
“Whatever’s handiest,” accepted Gibley. “Anyone beenaround this morning?”
“How in hell should I know? You woke me. Lumbago kept me up all night and I didn’t get off to sleep till after daybreak.”
“All right! All right! Of course the dogs would warn you if anyone had come around. They make enough noise.”
“They wouldof woke me, I suppose,” admitted Mr. Luton. The sound of case wood crackling in the stove reached Bony. Gibley said:
“How long do you intend living on here now old Wickham’s dead?”
“Just as long as it suits, Gibley. Anyone putting up an argument?”
“You’re a source of worry, that’s all. I don’t like old blokes living alone. It’s not safe. Anything could happen and they’d perish before anyone woke up to them being ill. That goes for Knocker Harris, too, although he’s a different case. If he caught himself alight or fell into the river there wouldn’t be much to it. You got any relations or anything?”
“You know, Gibley, up in the back ofNoo South, in my time, there were towns called ‘police-controlled’. The police in ’emcould do pretty well what they liked, especially with swagmen and old pensioners camped on the river near-by. Would you like to know something?”
“I like learning, Luton. Make that tea strong.”
“It’ll be strong enough to twitch your appendix. What you don’t know and what the quackdon’t know is that this house and the land along the river right to the highway belongs to me. You can tell Maltby that. And you can tell him, as well as yourself, that I’m the boss of this bit of country. Ben being murdereddon’t leave me defenceless.”
“Well now, you don’t say!” Gibley said slowly.“How come? They haven’t found Ben’s will yet, have they?”
“Nobody don’t need to. So neither you nor Maltby can shift me. Like to learn some more?”
“Yair. I’m in the mood. Where’s the sugar?”
“When I came here to live I’d sold a fairish bit of property up inNoo South when the price of land and stock was going up on the wool boom. So I got a lot of money to spend on advertising and such like, and I got a friend or two who knows how to do it. If you or Maltby interferes with Knocker, I’ll give you and the quack sucha advertising that your ears will burn right off your skulls.”
“I’m not saying I was going to interfere with Knocker or you,” countered Gibley. “All I’m saying is that you both give me a lot of worry, both living alone, and with no one living close to give a hand if needed.”
“Very thoughtful of you, Gibley,” Luton came back. “Pity you talk so much to the quack. He’s not good for you.”
“To hell with Dr. Maltby!” exploded the policeman. “I was only thinking of your welfare and my responsibility if anything happened to you. Wouldn’t be so bad if you lived together. Why don’t you put Knocker up here? He’d be happy to doss in with the chooks.”
“Soyou been talking to Knocker, eh?”
“I have not-not on this subject. How did you come to know Inspector Bonaparte?”
“He told you.”
“I know, but I’ve forgotten.”
“You come out from town, but you didn’t think to pick up my bread from the baker, did you?”
“I did. It’s in the car. When did you say you met Bonaparte in the old days?”
“Up on my place out from Wilcannia. He was making for Bourke and stayed the night. That was the first time I met him. When don’t matter, and how often don’t matter, either.”
“Seems to be a smart sort of caste, by all accounts. They wanted him back in Brisbane in a mighty hurry. What did he think of your cranky idea of Ben Wickham being murdered when he had the jim-jams?”
“Said he’d think about it.”
“Didn’t take to the idea, eh?”
“I don’t think he did,” answered the old man, and Bony congratulated him silently on his astuteness. “Blast it! What’s the matter with them dogs? Someone else must be coming. Don’t I ever have any peace?”
“Let ’emcome, Luton. I’ll have another cup of that appendix-twitcher.”
Without going to his porch auger-holes, Bony could hear the car approaching and stop at the wicket gate. The dogs maintained their warning right until someone knocked on the front door.
“I’ll see who it is,” decided Gibley.
Bony heard the door being opened.
“Why! Hullo, Sergeant.”
“The wife told us you were making out this way, Gibley. We’re wanting a few words with Mr. Luton. May we come in?” Two men crossed the threshold.“Good-day, Mr. Luton. This is Superintendent Boase down from Adelaide. What, you drinking tea, Gibley?”
Mr. Luton acknowledged the introduction to Boase, and gave to Bony that he already knew Sergeant Maskell, stationed at Mount Gambier. Mr. Luton suggested that someone bring extra chairs from the lounge, and that he’d made a fresh pot of tea. The Mount Gambier sergeant told Gibley he could get along, and Mr. Luton reminded him to leave the bread.
The talk was thin until after Gibley drove away. Superintendent Boase expressed the wish to have a home like this, beside a river like this, and the Mount Gambier policeman asked how the fish were biting, and did Mr. Luton think that Knocker Harris had a fish he could take back to his poor wife and starving children. Mr. Luton said he had about five pounds of kingfish he could have and welcome. After that, Superintendent Boase got to work.