Needlework
AS BONY expected, Mrs Loftus definitely refused to sell her hay. Yet by no means did her refusal indicate any guilty knowledge of the whereabouts of her husband, for the stack might well be the property of the Agricultural Bank; or she might think that the run of good harvests would not continue beyond this year, when certainly the price of chaff would rise.
Still, the detective regarded both Mrs Loftus and the hired man suspect. He had cast his net and had landed his catch. He had examined fish after fish until but two remained which bore the outlines of that terrible marine monster, the stingray.
Contrary to his emphatic assertion to Hurley that he knew just where George Loftus was, he was not positively sure that the body was where he suspected it to be, and he was sure only that Loftus was dead from that sense of intuition which had stood to him in the past. Had it not been for his rash promise to Lucy Jelly, had not her father interested himself so much in the Loftus case, Bony might at this stage have handed the case over to John Muir, confident in the sergeant’s ability to finalize it, and himself have returned to Brisbane.
But he had given that promise to Lucy Jelly. In winding up the case Muir would not separate the two cases as Bony hoped to do in order to keep Lucy’s father out of it if possible. And now, in keeping his promise to her, he would complete the case against the two suspects in his own peculiar way. He was the relentless nemesis, the king of Australian trackers well forward on an easy trail.
In his possession was a duplicate of the key guarded by the secret of the table leg. That morning experts in Perth had reported on the three hairs submitted to them: that long hair which Bony had taken from Mrs Loftus’s hairbrush, the short hair he had found in the lace of Mrs Loftus’s pillow, and the second short hair he had secured from Mick Landon’s hair-comb. The experts stated that the two short hairs originally grew on the head of the same man. It was, therefore, proved that Landon had slept in Mrs Loftus’s bed the night or one of the nights previous to the Jilbadgie dance. And if Bony’s belief in the position of Loftus’s body was correct, then it was more than likely that, as Mr Jelly had surmised, Landon had not been in his right bed the night the farmer had reached home.
The detective had arrived at that most interesting point in any criminal case, the point where surmises and theories are proving to be correct. In the one circumstance of the urgency of his return to his native State he would have relinquished his investigations to John Muir, but it was the circumstance of Mr Jelly which kept him back from such action. Normally the case was not rightfully his, but since he had decided to carry on in orderto fulfil his promise to Lucy Jelly, he delayed action against the suspects until he had discovered the receptacle fitted by the secret key and had laid bare the secret of Mrs Loftus’s mattress.
Doubtless he would not have appeased any other officerso easily as he had appeased John Muir. The Western Australian knew Bony, knew his methods, had experienced the iron of his will. Bony had said, “Go away for from three to five days. I will send for you”, and Muir had gone, knowing that Bony would send for him, would hand over to him the completed case, would allow him all the credit before departing for Brisbane satisfied with the knowledge of his triumph.
Early in the morning, after John Muir returned to Burracoppin, Hurley related to Bony what had transpired during his visit to the Loftus farm. Mrs Loftus had received him alone: Landon was out on the harvester machine and Miss Waldron had driven herself to Merredin. At Hurley’s casual inquiry regarding the sale of her haystack Mrs Loftus had become momentarily agitated, had regained control of her features in an instant, and then had said that she had no intention of selling.
She wished to know the name of the prospective buyer, and, this information not being obtained, she was made easier when Hurley said he would apply to a farmer farther south who had two stacks of last year’s hay, one of which he might sell. Then she made one slip. She revealed her true thoughts of Bony; revealed the lie she had acted the Sunday he had visited the farm when she was so friendly, by saying to Hurley in a parting shot:
“Take my advice, Eric, and don’t introduce your friends to your best girl. One of them has been paying Lucy a lot of attention, and a fence-rider cannot stand that, because he is away for such long periods.”
“The old man is still away,” Eric said with a grin which wiped away the possibility that Mrs Loftus’s poison had had any effect on his mind. “So I can court Lucy as she should be courted. I am to tell you that she and Sunflower expect us both for tea at six o’clock this evening.”
“That is delightful of them,” cried Bony. “I shall be most pleased to accept.”
“Good-oh! I’m going out there for the day-I’ve got three Sundays to take out-and I’ll come for you about five o’clock. Try and knock off on time tonight.”
Bony smiled generously, saying, “Permit me to remind you that I haven’t any Sundays to take out, that I am working for the Rabbit Department, and that I shall be late for work if I do not go along for my breakfast at once.”
Hurley sighed.
“I wish I had the gift of the gab,” he said. “I wish I could talk like a book. Tell Ma Poole that I’ll be up forbrek at eight.”
Leaving the Depot, Bony walked rapidly along the main street. Beyond the station, already eight or nine wheat trucks awaited admission to the wheat stack now daily growing steadily higher. A large sheet of white paper bearing roughly printed letters in red ink, pinned to the notice board outside the post office, attracted the detective’s attention, and, reading it, he was informed that the officers of the local branch of the Wheat Farmers’ Protection Association desired the attendance of every member at the meeting to be held at the Burracoppin Hall the following Saturday evening. Mick Landon’s neat signature was appended as the secretary.
Now a little less hurriedly, Bony went on his way, his gaze fixed reflectively upon the ground. Next Saturday night Landon would be in Burracoppin at that meeting. Would Mrs Loftus accompany him? Mrs Loftus was a member of the Association, Bony knew. She would have a vote. Probably shewould accompany Landon. And if Mrs Loftus and Landon attended the meeting it seemed certain that Miss Waldron would go with them, for Miss Waldron would be nervous of remaining alone at the farm after what had occurred there.
“You are quite an expert needlewoman, Miss Jelly,” Bony said when, after tea, Lucy and he were sitting on the veranda and Hurley was helping Sunflower with the washing-up in the kitchen.
“Yes. I am supposed to be very good,” Lucy admitted with low laughter. “Do you like this?”
Bony’s gaze travelled swiftly from the ample figure of Mrs Saunders, then gallantly watering a single rose-tree with water ladled from a petrol-tin bucket, to the silk-worked table centre, almost finished, which lay spread over the girl’s lap. The sun was about to set. The still air throbbed with the incessant hum of the tireless harvester machines.
“It is certainly very beautifully done,” he told her with an engaging smile. “It must take long and constant practice to be able to do it so well.”
“I have almost finished it. Would you like to guess for whom it is intended for a gift?”
“For Eric?”
“Oh no! One does not give a man a table centre.”
“Then it must be for Mrs Saunders. If not she, then I give up.”
“It is not for dear Mrs Saunders, either. I’ll tell you. I am making it for your wife.”
“For Marie?”
“Yes. Will she not like it?”
“Like it!” he echoed. “Why, of course she will like it. We have nothingso beautiful as that in our home, because one could not buy such exquisite work in a factory-filled shop. Like it! My wife will adore it. Indeed, it is very kind of you.”
Bony’s blue eyes were lit by the bright flame of his mind. He was glad that he had promised this young woman to remove the shadow over her life, and his sentimental heart beat at its nearness to her sweet presence.
“I am glad you think she will like it. I wanted to show my appreciation of your kindness to us, and this centre will remind you of us when you are at home in Queensland. Will that be soon?”
“It will, I think, be soon.”
Pensively he stared out over the vast extent of cleared flat country to the far-distant mottled-green sand rise with the clumps of ragged trees along its summit. The proposed gift touched him as nothing ever had done. She was saying:
“May I ask when you expect to leave? You see, I would like to know so that I can finish this for you to take with you.”
“I shall be staying in Burracoppin until I have learned the reason of your father’s strange absences, and that will be shortly after he receives the next telegram calling him away. Meanwhile, would you like to join me in a little adventure?”
Lucy Jelly regarded him with wide, steady eyes.
“Tell me about it,” she said invitingly.
“I am badly in need of the services of a good needleworker,” he began slowly. “Unfortunately, I can use a needle only in a crude way. You remember I told you how your father was shot, and I know you have been wondering what I was doing near the Loftus homestead to see it done. Actually, long before the Loftus people returned from the dance, I thoroughly examined the interior of the house. There I found several most interesting things and came across a little mystery which has been bothering me. I found that a small opening had been made in the flock mattress of Mrs Loftus’s bed, an object pushed among the flock, and the opening most neatly sewed up again.
“Badly as I wanted to know what the mattress concealed, I dared not cut the stitches because I knew that I never could sew up the slit precisely as Mrs Loftus had done. Of course I could not make another opening, for she would discover it, and it was important that she did not know I had been there.
“Later I thought of you. You could sew the slit again exactly as Mrs Loftus had done after I had cut her stitches and found what she had hidden there.”
“But whatever would she say?” asked Lucy.
“She would not know. We would go there next Saturday night if she and her sister and Mick Landon go to the farmers’ meeting at Burracoppin, which I think most likely. They should be away at least three hours, so that we would have plenty of time.”
“Is it important that you should know what she has hidden?”
“Were it not I would not dream of asking you to assist me.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. I am sorry I asked you that.” For three seconds she paused, biting her nether lip. Then, with sudden resolution, she added: “I’ll help you. What number cotton did she use? Was it white cotton?”
“What number?”
“Yes. Sewing cotton is numbered according to its size and strength. Very likely, as the mattress is of strong material, she would have useda forty cotton. It was cotton, wasn’t it? It was not white thread?”
“Inside a lady’s room I am an utter fool. Still, I believe Mrs Loftus used white cotton and not thread. But the number of the cotton
…”
“In that case I will take several different cottons, several sizes of needles, and some white thread because some thread is very like cotton.”
“But surely Mrs Loftus would not note a change in the number of the cotton she used?” Bony asked, aghast at his exposure of his lack of knowledge.
“It would be quite likely for a clever woman to do so, and Mrs Loftus is a very clever woman. If you want her work copied, let us make a good copy. What time shall we go?”
“You would really like to accompany me?”
“I know now that I would. Tellme, do you suspect Mrs Loftus of anything? I shall not repeat what you tell me, Mr Bony.”
“I think she hasle motd’enigma.”
“Meaning that she holds the key to the mystery,” Lucy said, laughing. “You see, I haven’t forgotten all my French.”
“Nor have you forgotten anything about cotton,” he added, laughing with her.
Bony was coming to respect Lucy Jelly for her mental qualities. She was so feminine, yet so sure of herself. She was entirely without the frivolity and shallowness of many young girls, so very worthy to receive his confidences. So he said:
“I think I know where Loftus is, and I believe that Mrs Loftus, too, knows where her husband is.”
“Do you?” She was staring at him when she added: “And do you think Father knows?”
“Frankly, I cannot say ‘yes’ to that. Precisely what is the mainspring of his interest in the disappearance of George Loftus I have no idea, unless he is engaged in a little private detective work, thinking that the police have given up the case. Of course there may be something inside the Loftus house which he badly wants, which would explain his visit there the other night. Much concerning him will be made clear when he receives the next telegram, because I shall then know who sent it, and, knowing, can trace the reason of it all.
“I’ll have a quiet talk to Eric about our going to the place on Saturday. We shall want his assistance. Yes, that is a very lovely centre. Hullo, Sunflower! Have you and Eric finished already?”
“It doesn’t take him and me long to wash up. We can talk and work. Lucy and Mrs Saunders can’t talk and work, Mr Bony,” the maid explained, adding when she saw that her sister was about to offer objection: “Look! What did I say? Lucy has put in only five threads since you have been out here together. I said that she couldn’t talk and work at the same time.”
“You have sharp eyes,” Bony said with admiration.
“Have I? I wish they were as sharp as yours.”
“They are, every bit, Sunflower. Eyes become sharp with practice. It is a great asset to be able to use one’s eyes, and that is done only by making observation a habit. What were you both doing down at the dam this afternoon?”
With a pretty blush Sunflower said:
“How did you know?”
“Well, as both you and Miss Lucy went to the dam this afternoon, I assume that you went in for a bathe. There are faint smears of clay on your shoes. The clay is identical with that surrounding the dam.”
When the laughter had subsided, in which Mrs Saunders and Eric were able to join. Sunflower suggested with wonderful tact that Bony might like to play a game of euchre. Quick to see what lay behind this suggestion, he instantly agreed and followed the maid and Mrs Saunders into the living-room-kitchen, leaving Lucy and her lover to stroll away through the fast-falling dusk.
The three played euchre with much concentration for over an hour, when the dogs barked, and a moment later steps sounded on the veranda boards. From the open doorway Mick Landon said pleasantly:
“Good evening, everyone! May I come in?”
“Certainly, Mr Landon. Will you take a hand at euchre?” Sunflower asked politely but not warmly.
When Landon stepped into the lamplight they saw that he was dressed in a well-pressed pair of gabardine trousers, a white shirt with collar laid back and sleeves rolled to the elbows, and white tennis shoes. As usual, he was shaved. Seating himself at the table, he said:
“Really I came over for a word with Eric. Is he out?”
“Yes, but they’ll be back for supper shortly,” Mrs Saunders told him, holding the pack of cards ready to deal.
“If I may, I’ll wait. Please deal me a hand too.”
Coolly sure of himself, Landon picked up the cards dealt him, smiled at Sunflower, and nodded genially at Bony. He asked Mrs Saunders how she was weathering the heat, and of Sunflower how she enjoyed the dance at the Jilbadgie Hall.
“We shall not be having another dance till March,” he said regretfully. “It’s too hot during the summer to have dances, don’t you think?”
“Yes, it is” Mrs Saunders agreed. “And besides, people are too tired to go off to dances after a long harvesting day. There’s the dogs barking again. That’ll be Lucy and her boy coming back.”
The lovers entered a few moments later.
“Here is Mr Landon waiting to see you, Eric,” announced Sunflower, when the two halted just inside the door.
“Evening, Miss Jelly. Hullo, Eric!”
“What do you want to see me about?” Hurley asked, unfortunately, soBony thought, glancing quickly at him.
Laying down his cards, Landon swung round to face the fence-rider.
“Mrs Loftus was saying that you called yesterday to make an offer for her haystack. We saw you pass with Bony this evening, and she asked me to come over to find out if you have found a seller yet.”
“Well, no, I haven’t.”
“You offered two pounds, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Hurley replied stiffly.
“Do you think that your man would go a bit higher?”
Bony’s eyes were engaged with the task of making a cigarette, yet he sensed that once again Hurley glanced at him sharply. All his nerves felt as though tautened by one string, as a violin string is tightened by a musician.
“He might go a little higher,” Hurley admitted after that revealing glance. “What would Mrs Loftus take?”
When Landon next spoke Bony knew that he was bluffing.
“Well, really it is not for her to say what she would take, but rather what your man is prepared to give. She is not at all anxious to sell, but, being a businesswoman, she would feel bound to accept a good offer.” The man paused, then added: “Say three pounds a ton.”
Hurley did not now need silently to refer to Bony. Three pounds per tone for hay in the stack was absurdly high. He did not see, as did Bony, that the sum was set high purposefully.
“A man would be a fool to pay three pounds, Mick.”
“Of course he would,” Landon agreed instantly. “As I said, Mrs Loftus doesn’t want to sell, but she will sell for a really good price. Who’s the man who wants to buy?”
“I was asked not to say.”
“Perhaps I could guess?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Was it George Loftus?”
The detective noted how Landon’s peculiar slate-blue eyes were blazing at Hurley. Instead of prevaricating, as Bony would have done by asking a cross question, Hurley answered Landon’s question in the negative.
“Was it Mr Jelly?”
Bony learned afterwards that at this point Hurley feared that Landon would find out what he wanted to know by a process of elimination. The fence-rider suddenly retrieved his former mistakes by saying in a hesitating manner:
“Er-oh no! It wasn’t Mr Jelly. It’s no use keeping on, Mick. I shall not tell you who asked me to buy hay. Anyway, if Mrs Loftus won’t sell at two pounds, I’m sure I’ll find someone else who will.”
Landon capitulated with a smile. Getting to his feet, he said:
“Very well, if you won’t say.”
Bony could have patted Hurley’s back with approbation, for his hesitant reply removed Landon’s suspicions that the buyer was Bony and centred them on the absent Mr Jelly.
“Your father away again just now?” he said to Lucy Jelly with the calculating eyes of a sensualist. It made Hurley fidget. Bony felt a surge of blood at the temples.
“Yes. He went on Sunday,” Lucy replied coldly.
“What time Sunday?”
“I think Mrs Loftus will be waiting to know about the hay, Mr Landon.”
Once againcame Landon’s easy laughter. It was as though he knew his power over women, knew that he had but to exert himself to conquer Lucy Jelly.
“I seem crammed full of questions, don’t I?” he said. “Mr Jelly is a strange man. One of these times when he goes away he will never come back. If you rear a parrot in parrot country, directly the young bird can fly it will go away with the wild ones for ever-lengthening periods until the time comes when it will stay with the wild ones for good. I’ll be going. Good night, everyone!”
Still smiling, he walked out of the house, followed by Bony, who really wanted to make sure that the fellow actually did return at least as far as the rabbit fence. Outside in the silent night he said:
“Seen any more prowlers?”
“No. I think old Loftus is satisfied with what he got.”
“You still think it was Loftus?”
“I ammore sure it was since we heard that it wasn’t Loftus at Leonora. By the way, do you know who it is who wants to buy hay?”
“I do not.” Bony replied distinctly.
“Would you like to earn atenner?”
“I’d do a lot of trying,” Bony admitted. “I’m sick of Western Australia. I want to get back to Queensland.”
Landon caught at Bony’s arm.
“I’ll give you atenner,” he said, “if you find out who it is who wants to buy Mrs Loftus’s hay. Will you have a go?”
“I certainly will,” the detective agreed fervently. “That will be an easy ten pounds for me.”