A New Experience
BONYRELAXEDONthe edge of the bluff. It was almost totally dark, and he had watched the night extinguish the furnace colours on and above Lake Otway. The Swede would have lost his bet had anyone taken his odds on the pelicans leaving, for last seen by Bony they were gathered in close-packed mobs like crowds about road accidents. Now it was night and the only sounds to reach Bony were the conversations of water-birds and the radio in the house behind him, for the men were at dinner in the annexe.
All the people who were at Lake Otway when Gillen vanished were here this night, save Barby in his camp across the Lake. The only addition to this community was himself, a supposedly itinerant horse-breaker. Before Wallace had left to return to the big homestead he had made clear the selection ofWitlow andHelstrom to take the ewes to the River, having ascertained from Martyr that the overseer had offered the change toMacLennon and Carney as they had been working much longer at the out-station. Both these men preferred to remain, the former because he did not like change and the latter because the pubs at Menindee couldn’t be far enough away.
This cleared up a minor point concerning Martyr, a point which would have had to be considered had the overseer not given those two old hands the opportunity of change, but it stressed the significance of the fact that those two men had remained constantly at Lake Otway, and were determined to stay on.
Wallace had agreed to probe RedDraffin and the point to be raised was the suitcase key, the key to the true fate of Ray Gillen. Draffin had said Gillen always kept his case locked and the key on a cord round his neck. This was supported by Barby. When Martyr, with Barby and Lester, examined the contents of the case the day after Gillen was missing, it was not locked and the key wasn’t seen by Barby. Draffin said the case was so full that its owner had to kneel on the lid to close it; Barby said the case was but little more than half full when they had listed the contents.
That neitherDraffin nor Barby had informed the police or even Wallace of their suspicion that something of value had been removed from the case was quite in character, for neither had closely associated with Gillen and, like the average bush-man, they would not want to be drawn into a police inquiry. In none of the police reports was there mention by Gillen’s room-mate, Carney, of the key worn by the missing man… or mention of it by anyone else.
Bony was considering the implications behind the progress of his own investigation when there was a light step behind him and he turned to see a dark figure approaching.
“I was hoping you were still here, Bony,” Joan Fowler softly said. “I want to talk to you. You won’t mind?”
“No. I won’t be lonely now.”
Together they sat on the edge of the low bluff where steps had been cut. The girl said:
“We must talk quietly, ’cosvoices carry, and I’ve sneaked out. I saw you here before it got dark. You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about you. D’youthink I was very terrible to sling that milk at Mother?”
“RedDraffin, I think, would have suggested even sterner measures. It would seem that your mother can be very difficult.”
“She won’t believe I’ve grown up and all that. You don’t really like me, do you?”
“Not to like you would be plain silly,” was his cautious response.
“I don’t mean just that way. I mean, well, you know how I mean, don’t you?”
“How do you mean?”
“Now you are being difficult. Just imagine. When I go to meet a man, he wants to kiss me to show how much he likes me.”
“Ah! But you see, Joan, I am married, and you are Temptation.”
She restrained her laughter… and moved close to him.
“Beingmarried’s got nothing to do with it, Bony,” she whispered.“You men! You aren’t all the same, no matter what Mother says. Some want to smother me; others, you for instance, have to be told. Kiss me, please.”
The danger of being seduced had never been previously encountered by Inspector Bonaparte, but one kiss would be both pleasant and ungallant to refuse.
“That was nice,” Joan sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. “Do it again. You like me now, don’t you?”
“Yes. You are very desirable, but I… I amunseducible.”
“I haven’t really tried yet.”
“What else can I do for you?” hastily Bony asked.
“Would you do anything for me, Bony?”
“Bar throwing milk at your mother.”
“Are you still my friend?”
“I have, I hope, proved that.”
“I must go back.” She swung her body round to confront him, and he could see the starlight in her eyes. “Mother will wake up to me if I don’t. Will you do something for me… please?”
“Tell me.”
“What would you think about a man who promised to marry you and, because he came into money, wanted to get out of it?”
“If you are the lady, the man needs the attention of a psychiatrist.”
“A what?”
“Mental doctor.”
“Oh! Yes, he does… Now you’ve made me admit I’m the girl. Well, so I am. Mind you, I wouldn’t marry him now, but I’m not letting him get away with it.” Joan moved closer. “Pity you are pure, Bony, but I’m glad you’ll help me. I’ve no one I could trust to see that I get a fair deal.”
“I shall make sure that you get a fair deal,” he told her.
The girl fell silent, and Bony waited.
“A long time ago,” she resumed, “Harry Carney made love to me. You know how it goes in a place like this. No amusements, nothing much to do, nowhere to go. He promised to marry me, and I believed him. Then he went cold and called it off, and I made him tell me why. He said it would be silly to marry on a station hand’s wages, and that’s all he’d have until his uncle died and left him a pile. When I said we could wait, he said his uncle might live for another thirty years even with a sick heart.”
Joan fell silent again, possibly expecting Bony to jump in with indignant sympathy. Instead, he asked:
“How long ago was that?”
“Just a year. And lately I’ve been wondering about Harry. He’s moody and restless, and I think his uncle died. I think Harry’s come into his money, and I’m worried he’ll sneak off and leave me cold. That’s why I want you to help me.”
“How?”
“Just by watching him. You know, without him knowing. Just tell me when he starts packing up ready to go.”
“But he couldn’t go without you seeing him put his things into the Boss’s car orBarby’s utility.”
“He could get away all right, Bony. There’s Ray Gillen’s motor-bike still over in the shed. Harry’s good with a motorbike. We took it out one afternoon when Mr Martyr and the other men were away at the lamb-marking. We went for miles on it.”
“The lamb-marking? Last May?”
“Yes.”
“Only that time?”
“Yes.”
“But everyone would hear him start the machine. You would, too.”
“It would be too late then. Harry would be on it and off.”
Bony did not trouble to point out that before Carney, on the stolen machine, could arrive at Menindee to the south, Ivanhoe to the east, or Wilcannia to the north, the telephone could cripple the plan. Nor did he state the fact that Carney was intelligent enough to devise a far more subtle plan. Nevertheless, the motor-cycle in the shed had been prepared for the road.
“He’d persuade George Barby to give him a lift from here, Joan.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” she argued. “I know, because he’s already got the bike filled with petrol. I watched him. It was the day before you came here, and he was supposed to be out riding. I happened to see him sneak into the shed, and ran over and looked through a crack in the wall. He was filling the petrol tank. I saw him unscrew things and clean them. Then he pumped the tyres and put the sheet back, and tossed sand on it to make it look dusty like it was.”
“H’m! Could be serious,” conceded Bony.
“I know what I’m talking about.”
“You have given that impression. You want me to watch him?”
“Please, Bony.” Her hands pressed his shoulders. “Will you… for me?”
“Very well. Now off you go, and you don’t have ‘to be kind to me’.”
Flippantly, she tilted his chin, jumped to her feet and ran, and he waited a minute before strolling to the men’s quarters. Someone cut the dynamo motor, and the result relieved the mind and freed the ears to register other noises. Within the house a radio gave music. From the Lake the birds called. In the men’s sitting-room Carney was writing a letter and Lester was reading a paper through spectacles perched on the end of his long nose.
Instead of entering, Bony sat on the broken chair and rolled a cigarette. He wondered what lay behind Joan Fowler’s inducement to persuade him to watch Carney, discarding the absurd story of the rich uncle, and having to accept the fact of the motor-cycle being prepared for a getaway by Carney.
A figure loomed into the light from the living-room, and when the man mounted the veranda Bony sawMacLennon. MacLennon obviously noticed the glow of Bony’s cigarette, for he paced the veranda and sat with his back against a rail post.
“Took a chance and cut off that damn engine five minutes ahead of time,” he said.“Gets on my nerves nights like this. I hate it when thewind don’t blow.”
“Could be no wind for weeks at this time of year,” Bony pointed out. “Getting near the end of the sheep lift?”
“Yes. Passed the last flock to go to the fellers at Sandy Well. Martyr’s given us a day off tomorrow. Crook on the sheep, too, movin ’ them in this weather. Not so good, either, on the horses, I suppose.”
“That’s so.” Bony tossed the cigarette butt over the rail and began to roll another. “The Swede andWitlow are lucky to be going to the River.”
“They can have it,”MacLennon said, a trifle sharply.“Too much spit and polish there. Martyr’s easy compared with the Boss. You see the end of your contract in sight yet?”
“About three weeks.”
“You’ll see the Lake dry out.”
“Looks like it,” agreed Bony. “Pelicans seem to be preparing to go for good. Water downunder two feet by the marker this evening.”
“It’ll go quick at the end.”MacLennon struck a match and held it against his pipe, and the illumination revealed his square face and powerful shoulders. The black moustache, always trimmed and snipped short, partially balanced the broken nose. He spoke with the slow deliberation of the punch-drunk, and often put a punch into his speech to emphasize a point important only to himself. “Find Ray Gillen when she dries out, I expect.”
“The feller who was drowned some time ago?” queried Bony.
“Yes. Went swimming one night. Mustagot cramp. Ruddy fool.”
“How so?”
“Been a hot day. Hot night, too. First heat of the summer, it was. He always tore into the water at the run. Worst thing out for getting cramp. Owed me forty quid, too.”
“Bad luck,”sympathized Bony.
“Yes. I won it at cards. Not all at once; over a coupler weeks. He said he would pay up some time. Offered to give me a gold locket as security. Me, I’m a fool. I told him I’d wait for the cash. Ought to havetook the locket. He always had it on a cord round his neck. Mustawore it when he went swimming.”
“Then it will be with his skeleton. Close by it, anyway, if the cord hasn’t rotted by this time.”
“That’s what I’ve been working out,”MacLennon said, keeping his voice low. “I wasthinkin ’ you might do me a favour if you happen to find Gillen.”
“How?”
“There’s no knowing where the skeleton will be now. Could be anywhere on the Lake floor. Good place to exercise young horses… on the Lake when she’s dried out. If you happened to find the skeleton, would you nab the locket for me? It’s mine actually.”
“Yes, all right.”
“Good for you. And keep it dark from the others. Suspicious lot of
…”
Above the noise of the radio reverberated an explosion, the house walls making the sound deep andhollow.
“Gun!” exclaimedMacLennon and heaved up from the veranda. Bony vaulted the railing and ran to the house, raced up the wide steps to its front veranda. There were lights seemingly in all the front rooms. The door behind the fly-netted door was closed.
Bony was conscious of the others behind him.
“Gun, wasn’t it?” queried Carney.
“Sounded much like it,” Bony said and pulled open the fly-door. He was about to knock on the inner door when somewhere within the house a woman screamed hysterically. Thencame Joan Fowler’s voice raised to shouting pitch.
“Stop it, you damn fool!”
There was a bumping sound and the noise of pounding feet. Bony knocked heavily on the door, and behind himMacLennon rumbled:
“Get in! Get in! Sounds like a rumpus.”
Bony thrust the door inwards to bang against the wall of a short passage. At the end of the passage stood Martyr in his pyjamas. In his right hand he held a 12-bore shotgun.
Somewhere along a cross-passage Mrs Fowler was hysterically crying, and they distinctly heard the face-slap momentarily stopping the hysteria. A door slammed, cutting the whimper threatening renewal of the screaming.
“What happened?” asked Bony, and was relieved of tension when the overseer leaned the weapon into a wall corner and advanced to them.
“An accident,” he said, evenly.“Nothing for anyone else to worry about, when Joan can pacify Mrs Fowler. I was cleaning my gun when it went off. Didn’t know it was loaded, and I could have sworn it wasn’t.”
“Funny time to be cleaning a gun,” growledMacLennon. “Do any damage?”
“No, I don’t think so. The charge went into the floor. Everything is all right.”
The air was heavy with burned powder. From a distant room Mrs Fowler could be heard sobbing.
“It’s quite all right, Mac. You can get back to the quarter,” Martyr told them.
He was unusually pale, but his voice was steady. He stood with his hand on the door preparatory to closing it. Lester sniffled and that touch of normalcy killed unreality. And unreality was buried when Martyr said:
“Good night!” and closed the door.