Proceed as Usual
HOURSLATER, when the shadows were noticeably longer, Bony suggested that someone should accompany Barby to the out-station and, if no one was there, take the track to Sandy Well to locate Martyr and the main homestead. The suggestion found favour, and everyone wanted to go with Barby.
“All right! We’ll all go. Better than sitting on our sterns. What’s to be done aboutMacLennon?”
The question was put to Bony, and the others, waiting for his views, didn’t realize how much his ego was boosted. Lester sniffled:
“Could do with a morgue, there’s bodies all over the scenery.”
He was told by Carney to shut up, and Bonysaid:
“Because of the birds and the dingoes, the body should be put inside the hut. We could make a start now. While the body is being brought in, perhaps someone could bake something to go with George’s tins of beef. We must take plenty of water in case we break down when trailing Martyr.”
It was arranged that Lester get on with baking scones, the girl would prepare another curry, and Bony would fill petrol tins with water. Carney went off with Barby in the utility. Eventually, the dogs having been fed, the cats attended to and the pet galah imprisoned in his cage, the party left Johnson’sWell.
The sun was then a mighty crimson orb low over the depression, and it was setting when they arrived at the out-station. No voice hailed them, and Lester insisted on leaving the vehicle to look at the thermometer under the pepper trees.
“What next?” snarled Barby, but stopped none the less. “Sun going down, getting a bit cool, and he wants to see if it’s true.”
Lester jumped to the ground and slouched to the instrument. They saw him peering at it. He straightened and peered again. Then he shouted:
“A hundred and nineteen and a bit. Caw! Wonder itain’t busted.”
Forgetting to sniffle, he climbed on to the body of theute.
“You sure?” demanded Carney.
“Take a deck yourself,” snapped Lester.“A hundred and nineteen now. What must she have been round about two this afternoon? Aflamin ’ record, I bet.”
They left the empty out-station, took the track up the long slope, and passed over the crest where Bony had observed the dust left by Martyr. No one looked back. Those on the tray body stood to look over the cabin top. They could see the track winding ahead for several miles. It was empty.
The normally red land, now covered by areas of dry grass dotted by clumps ofbelar andmulga, was apricot and silver in the waning evening light. They were grateful for the breeze created by the speed of the utility, and for the conquest of wind over flies.
Now and then Lester, clinging with Bony and Carney to the cabin top, sniffled and snorted.
“A hundred and nineteen at six o’clock!”
It was dark when they topped the following swell, and there Barbybraked the vehicle to a stop, for far away blazed the lights of several vehicles coming their way. It being obviously unnecessary to go further, Barby turned theute, cut his engine and climbed from the cabin.
Three,” he said. “Martyr in his ute, the Boss in his chromium chariot, and Red driving the juggernaut.”
“Hardlybe Red, George. He wouldn’t be able to keep up,” Carney pointed out.
“There’s three coming, anyhow.”
“The third is probably being driven by a policeman,” offered Bony, and after that no one spoke.
Presently the lights caught them, and ultimately the first car stopped a few yards away. From the driver’s window the overseer called:
“Righto, George! Get going back. I can give room here.”
The girl got in beside Martyr. Carney went with Barby, Lester seemed undecided, but followed Carney. Bony vanished. He reappeared beside SergeantMansell, who was driving the third vehicle.
“Been a hot day, Sergeant,” he remarked when climbing into the rear seat.
“Terrible,” replied the heavy man in plain clothes and, being uncertain of the identity Bony wished recognized for the benefit of the man sitting with him, added:
“A hundred and twenty-four at Menindee. One degreelower atPorchester homestead.”
“Must be a record, surely.”
“Easily. Broken Hill radio just said it’s been 117 degrees down in Sydney. Dozens of people collapsed. Nearly did myself. Fires raging in Victoria. Doctor here wouldn’t leave till four o’clock.”
“Too damned hot to move,” declared the doctor.
“You might introduce us. Sergeant.”
“Sure. Detective-Inspector Bonaparte… Doctor Clive.” The acknowledgements were given. “How do we go, Inspector?”
“As we were for the moment,” replied Bony. “I am thankful you were able to come along, Doctor. There are three bodies to be dealt with: death by fire, assumed; death by drowning, assumed; and death by heat, easily established.”
“Quite a job,” murmured the doctor, and would have put a question had not SergeantMansell interrupted.
“The drowning case Gillen, by any chance?”
“Yes. I located his remains yesterday resting on dead Lake Otway. Man namedMacLennon -you know him, perhaps-wasstruck by the sun. We were camped in the shadow of a hut, and I believe the heat upset him even before he determined to walk back to the out-station without a hat or a shirt. You can deal with the heat case on the spot, but the other two must be referred to a pathologist.”
“Ah-ha!” exclaimed the sergeant.“Suspicious circumstances?”
“Yes.”
“As you will remember, Inspector, I was never satisfied about Gillen’s disappearance, even before the money interest came out. Is this fire business mixed up with the Gillen affair?”
“It might be,” cautiously replied Bony, recalling thatMansell’s first report on Gillen cast no doubts on accidental death. “IsDraffin coming on behind us?”
“Yes. Loaded with stores and gear and stuff, including a coffin.”
“Did you bring a constable?”
“Too right, Inspector. He’s travelling with Mr Wallace.”
“Good. Until the morning carry on as though everything is routine. Let no one suspect you think anything wrong in the case of Mrs Fowler. Tomorrow I will begin my inquiry into the deaths of Mrs Fowler and Raymond Gillen, following which you, Doctor, can with SergeantMansell decide your subsequent actions.”
“The fire victim is to be our first charge, Inspector?”
“Yes. On our arrival there will be much confusion till the place is put in order by Wallace and his men. The remains of Mrs Fowler, and the office safe, must not be tampered with until daylight.”
Confusion there was, and yet order was eventually established by Wallace. Barby was dispatched to Johnson’s Well to transfer his camp and return the men’s belongings. In the hearing of all, Doctor Clive said he would like to examine the body ofMacLennon as quickly as possible, and that the remains of Mrs Fowler could be retrieved at daylight. That brought sobs from Joan, and Wallace himself took her to sit in the old arm-chair on the veranda.
Martyr went off with the doctor to Johnson’s Well; Lester and Carney proceeded to build a camp fire and erect over it a beam from which Barby could suspend hisbillies and dixies. The fire illumined the front of the quarters and the line of out-buildings, and, whenDraffin arrived, it aided the helpers to unload the stores and gear… and the coffin, so handled that Joan did not see it.
With utensilsDraffin brought from the main homestead, Lester brewed coffee, and opened tins of biscuits, meat and cheese. Oil-lamps were lit and Wallace took a large suitcase to an empty room, then told Joan his wife had packed it for her. The room was next to that occupied by Lester.
Barby returned with his load, and at once washed and then took charge of the fire and the cooking. All the dogs were loosed, and the two cats cleaned themselves underBarby’s feet and his galah in the cage woke to mutter words which disgraced its owner. With tragedy absent, it could have been a festive occasion.
A kind of buffet dinner was set out on a trestle table distant from the fire for comfort and yet advantaged by its light They stood around to eat, and spoke in subdued tones because of the dead and the presence of Joan Fowler, now arrayed in a lime silk dress once packed in that suitcase.
Nothing about her registered the strain she had undergone for many hours. Firelight burnished the red-gold hair, and the silk dress gleamed as greenly as her eyes.
“What happened to you, Mr Martyr?” asked Carney when the chance offered.
“Had fan-belt trouble a mile this side of The Shaft,” replied the overseer.“Spent a couple of hours messing about with it. Didn’t get to SandyWell till after eleven last night and then no one was in the office.”
“Don’t wait up on the chance of hearing disaster on the phone,” remarked Wallace.“Heard about it, of course, this morning. Mr Martyr wanted to return here, on a bit of rope for a fan-belt and a prayer. Just as well he didn’t, with the heat rocking the mercury all over the States. Could easily have perished. As for us… we left about five this afternoon, and even then the petrol almost exploded a dozen times before we got to Sandy Well.”
Lester came to sniffle and announce that the thermometer still registered 101 degrees, and when told by the sergeant of the record at Menindee he was aspleafsed as though he had backed a Melbourne Cup winner. Obviously he was trying to be cheerful… as the others were… and it did not appear that Joan ignored their efforts.
“We weren’t to blame, Mr Wallace,” she entreated Wallace. “Mother was always so careful with the stove andthe frig. It was so quick, so sudden.”
“Try not to think about it too much, Joan,” advised the big man. “We’ll straighten it all out tomorrow. The place was old and the heat would make it tinder-dry. You did your best, and all of us can imagine how quickly it happened.”
Reaction set in and she burst into tears. Martyr stared hard atBarby’s fire. Carney turned his back on her and sipped coffee. It was Lester who gently patted her shoulder. Wallace looked meaningly at the doctor, and Clive nodded. She did, however, insist on helping Barby to clean up.
It was not unusual for the ‘government house’ party to camp apart from the men, and RedDraffin put up stretchers for Wallace and the doctor, the sergeant and Martyr outside the store which was the closest to the site of the burned homestead. The men gathered in the light given from the cooking fire, and presently RedDraffin joined them.
He was barefoot asusual, his trousers and shirt were greasy and stained, as usual. And, as usual, his face was enlivened by his smile and twinkling eyes. Joan happened to be in her room.
“How did the rabbits go, George?” was his first question, and Barby glowered.
“Still going,” he answered, carefully stepping over a cat.“Fenced the Channel yesterday. This morning the Channel is yards under dead rabbits and ’roosand birds.”
“Ioughta been with you.”
“No good. The ’roostore the fence down, and the sun did the rest. There’ll be millions of rabbits digging under the deaduns to get at the water this very minute.” The glower lifted, the dark eyes cleared. Triumph crept intoBarby’s voice. “But we needn’t worry about the rabbits. A bit of a heat-wave can’t knock them out. There’ll be millions get through this summer, and when she rains they’ll breed like hell. You ever seen a picture of the mouse licking up the drops of wine leaking from a barrel, and the cat’s sitting on the top step of the cellar? The mouse says: ‘Now where’s that bloody cat?’ And that’s what all the rabbits will be saying, Red: ‘Nowwhere’s that bloodymyxotocksis?’ ”