Frantic Ants
BONYSATat the Sergeant’s desk, hands resting on blue papers, tapping fingers betraying his mood. With him were Alice McGorr and Essen.
“Everyone satisfied it was suicide?” he asked, when they were wondering why the silence.
“The bank was closed for the day, and the teller and the accounts officer were working late. Within three seconds of the shot they were in Bulford’s office. He was sprawled over his desk, the office revolver between his right hand and his head. He had cleared his desk of all papers as though knowing they would be ruined by his blood. The rear door of the bank chamber was ajar; the side door was locked.” Essen paused, to add with emphasis: “Suicide all right.”
The long dark-skinned fingers continued their slow tapping on the blue documents, and presently Alice said impatiently:
“Did you expect it, Bony?”
She was examined by blue eyes unusually blue, steady, cold, inscrutable. Memory of him that afternoon created regret for having spoken and she was glad that the fingers ceased their tapping to become busy with a cigarette.
“Yes, I did think suicide might be the road Mr Bulford would choose,” he admitted. “There was another road open to him which could have led him to the foot of the rainbow. We discussed that road. You see, Alice, Mr Bulford was unfortunately weak, but he had three shining attributes: honesty, loyalty and veneration. I am risking contradiction by events, yet believe my assessment is correct. Essen, where is Yoti?”
“Still at the bank when I left twenty minutes ago.”
“Contact him. Ask him to ascertain from the bank staff if either of the Cyril Martins interviewed Bulford today.”
“Either! But the young feller…”
“Is in Mitford.”
Essen stared, frowned, withdrew to the telephone on the wall of the outer office. Bony lit his cigarette, and Alice forgave his inattention to her. She heard Essen speaking, wanted to ask questions and instead obtained a cigarette from her handbag. When Essen returned, he was still frowning.
“The Sergeant says that young Cyril Martin interviewed Bulford shortly after two this afternoon.”
“H’m! I could be wrong in my assessment,” reflected Bony. “I don’t think so. I want to know when young Cyril Martin came to Mitford, and especially if he was in Mitford about the time Mrs Rockcliff was murdered. He must not be aware of the enquiry, and that is of extreme importance.”
“I’ll get going right away.”
“Wait. Have dinner first. Both of you go along now. And do please keep in mind that our baby investigation continues to take priority. Return after dinner. I’ve work for you both.”
He accompanied them to the outer office, and on looking back from the main doorway Alice saw him at the telephone.
Bony heard Essen’s car leave the yard before hearing the voice of Mr Beamer.
“Ah, Mr Beamer! Inspector Bonaparte! Have your people returned from walkabout?”
“Oh no, not yet, Inspector. They won’t come back for several days at least.”
“Sudden, wasn’t it? The Sergeant said something about them being afraid of a Kurdaitcha, or something equally silly.”
“Yes. I don’t believe it, of course. As Sergeant Yoti suggested later, it must have been one ofthemselves out for a joke. Making all those drawings on the ground and what not.”
“Seems obvious, Padre. The Chief didn’t go on walk-about?”
“No. Neither did his son, Fred, and half a dozen others. The hospital lubras wanted to clear out, but Chief Wilmot ordered them to remain as there are several patients as well as Marcus Clark. Now my wife has to keep them pacified, too.”
“When did they go on walkabout last time?” Bony asked.
“Oh, let me think. Not long ago. About a month.”
“And the time before that, d’youremember?”
Mr Beamer chuckled.
“I do. We were all set ready to be visited by the Premier, and they all cleared out the day before, that is, all except about a dozen. The Premier had to inspect an almost deserted Settlement.”
“You must find life amusing as well as crowded, Mr Beamer. Anyway, Mrs Beamer and you will be able to take it easy for a while.”
“I wish we could, Inspector,” ruefully replied the Superintendent. “There’s no chance of that; we’re always behind with our work. Er… it’s dreadful news about Mr Bulford.”
“Yes, it is. I’ve only just heard about it.”
“He must have been frightfully grieved about the baby. We liked him so much, my wife andI. We bank at the Olympic, you see, and came to know him really well.”
“I rather liked him, too,” Bony said. “He must have broken under the strain. Well… Thanks a lot, Mr Beamer. I’ll run out again to see you some time.”
“Yes, do.”
Bony rang off, and paused before the duty constable, who stood.
“When did you come on?”
“Four, sir.”
“D’youkeepa record of inward calls?”
“Yes, sir.”
Bony checked the sheet pinned to a board and bearing that day’s date. The Olympic Bank had called at 4.29 pm. Yoti at 4.41. Dr Nott at 4.44. The next call was made by Dr Nott at 5.14.”
“Do you know why Dr Nott rang twice?” Bony asked the constable, who was able to provide an item not without interest.
“Yes, sir. The first time Dr Nott rang to say he couldn’t possibly leave a case at the hospital, and to call Dr Delph. I rang Dr Delph’s house and someone there told me the doctor was out. So I rang the hospital and asked them to tell Dr Nott that we couldn’t contact Dr Delph. I was getting anxious, knowing the Sergeant was at the bank and what for, when Dr Nott rang again saying he would be leaving the hospital within five minutes.”
Bony renewed examination of the day sheet, found nothing more to keep him. He had but stepped from the side door when the telephone shrilled and he paused, waiting, expecting news from Yoti. The constable spoke:
“Police Station. I couldn’tsay, marm. Who is speaking? Oh! yes, something like that, I think. I don’t know. Sergeant Yoti is attending to the matter, and he’s not here at the moment. Yes, all right!”
Bony went back, raised his brows in question, and the constable reported:
“Mrs Marlo-Jones, sir. Wanted to know if it was true about Mr Bulford. As the Press has already been informed, I didn’t blank her out.”
“Quite right, Constable. By the way, did anyone else ring asking what had happened to the bank manager?”
“A Mrs Coutts did, and so did Mr Oats from the Library. I told them the same as Mrs Marlo-Jones, and nothing more. Can’t keep anything like that dark too long in a place like Mitford.”
“No, it would get around,” agreed Bony.
Mrs Yoti and Bony had almost finished dinner when Yoti appeared. He looked at Bony as though displeased, and Bony discussed the river flats. Afterwards, when they were smoking and Mrs Yoti was clearing away, the Sergeant asked:
“What do you know?”
“That Bulford committed suicide with the bank’s revolver.”
“You saw him this morning, they tell me.”
“Yes, I did call on him.”
“Oh!” Yoti glared. “You won’t talk, eh?”
“No. I want to listen.”
“Well, he shot himself through the mouth.” Sergeant Yoti sighed. “A bloody policeman isn’t supposed to have any feelings, but when I looked at him sprawled over his desk I thought what a terrible waste of life. I’ve played bowls with him, and I’ve met him at Lodge, and I won’t believe he did himself in over pinching the bank’s money. There can’t be anything like that.”
“Has it been suggested?”
“No. The teller took charge, and the bank inspector’s due to arrive from Albury. Do you know why he committed suicide?”
“I’ve a half-cocked land of idea,” countered Bony, and the phrasing did not escape the Sergeant, who said:
“Funny how life treats some people. You know, me and the wife never had any trouble, always got along well. Looking back, we sort of changed for the best as the years went by, butthere’s a lot of people who begin to change for the worse immediately they’re tied. You met Mrs Bulford, of course?”
“Yes. Alice McGorr says she is the type of woman whoget themselves ‘Crippenised’.”
Yotigrinned, the grin became a genuine chuckle of laughter.
“Good one, that,” he said. “Thatlass is about right regarding the wife. Bulford was meek and milk, but liable to blow up. Poor old Bulford! If only he’d had guts enough to knock her down once a week.”
“You appear to dislike Mrs Bulford.”
“Nothing new about that. Now she’s blaming you for hounding her husband over the disappearance of their baby, for getting him alone and defenceless in his office. The long worry over the baby, plus you, drove him to suicide. What about giving a little? It’s my turn to listen.”
“Very well, I’ll give you what I know,”assented Bony. “In his first statement to me, which was identical with that given to the previous investigator, Bulford said he remained working in his office after his wife left until half past five. Subsequently he stated he had not remained at work after his wife left, but had gone to the Library to talk to Mrs Rockcliff. This morning, I informed him that on the day his baby was abducted the Library was closed to the public while renovations were being carried out. I asked him for the truth, and he declined to give it. When I left him, he knew I would discover the truth; in fact, it could be that he was convinced I knew all the truth concerning the abduction of his child.”
“So that’s it,” Yoti slowly exclaimed. “And do you know the truth?”
“I may be right in my guess. Now, how did the trouble with the doctors turn out?”
“It seems that the teller of the bank rang for Dr Delph after he rang me and, being understandably upset, he merely asked for Delph to be sent to the bank at once. When Delph didn’t turn up, I rang Dr Nott, and the house said he was at the hospital. I told Mrs Nott why we wanted her husband in a hurry, and she said she’d get him. Then Nott rang the man on duty, saying he was on a serious case which he couldn’t leave, and the duty man rang Delph and was told Delph was out. Meanwhile, Nott finished up at the hospital but did not want to leave his patient if he could help it, and he rang Delph. The cook at Delph’s house told him the doctor couldn’t answer the call because Mrs Delph had been taken ill.
“Mrs Delph suddenly ill! H’m! She seemed to be well enough at Alice’s plonkparty.”
“Drinks like a fish,” growled Yoti. “Haw! Ought tobe ‘Crippenised’ . Good one, that. How did you know about the doctors?”
“Your telephone record. I’d make it a must at every Police Station. Think you could enlist your Postmaster friend to aid us again?”
“Why not? What’s the use of friends if you can’t use ’em?”
“I’d like a list of all the calls made by Mrs Bulford after four this afternoon, all the calls made by theDelphs after four this afternoon, and all the calls made by and to the Aboriginal Settlement. Up to, say, midnight tonight. Think he would do that?”
“Do it for me, anyway. Now, why the interest in young Martin?”
“I’m keeping that angle to myself.” Yoti watched the eyes harden, and the chin firm. “You must travel with me, Yoti, and I have to tread with the spring, and silence of a stalking cat. As I have already said, the babies must take priority over the murder of Mrs Rockcliff. I’ve put Essen on to the Martin angle, and Martin mustn’t know our thoughts. The same attitude applies to the stolen drawing, itself of much less importance. I know why it was stolen, and until the investigation into the abductions is concluded I am not interested in who stole it or where it is. When did the Premier come toMiford?”
“Eh? Oh, the Premier…”
“January 3rd, Inspector,” interjected Mrs Yoti. “And if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to remove the tablecloth.”
“Mind? Of course not. As your husband is so argumentative, make him do the washing-up.” Bony smiled, and withdrew before the glare in the Sergeant’s eyes.
He found Alice and Essen in his room, the former wearing a dark-brown dress and a small black beret with a large red bobble perched to one side. The ensemble disagreed somewhere or other. Was it the brown and red or the bobble on the black?… Bony gave up.
“All ready for the job of earning our wages,” he remarked cheerfully. “You haven’t got a line on young Martin already, Essen?”
“Only that he came in his own car, which is garaged at a Service Station. A pal of mine is manager of the garage, and he’s going to nose around this evening without mentioning me.”
“Good! Now for another job. I want a boat, light and shallow draught. I want it at eleven tonight. Can do?”
“Yes. Know just the thing.”
“There’s an old jetty a hundred yards up-river from the bridge. Have the boat there at eleven,”
“On the dot,” agreed Essen.
“How far up the Settlement Creek does the river back water?”
“Don’t know that one. Could find out from the town butcher who runs stock on the far side of it.”
“Obtain the information… with your usual caution.”
Essen left, and Bony regarded Alice, and Alice knew she had not previously met this particular Bony.
“Mr Bulford committed suicide, Alice. And Mrs Delph becomes suddenly ill. As soon as it’s dark, pay the cook a visit and find out just what the illness is, and if possible the cause. Let me know by phone. Then skip along to the Olympic Bank and keep an eye on Mrs Bulford. Clear?”
“Quite. You stirred up the ants’ nest, didn’t you?”
“You’re guessing, Alice.”
“P’haps.”
“Well, stop it. See you tomorrow. I must talk to Yoti.”
He left her mutinous but high on the peak of action. He passed Essen at the telephone and sank into the chair beside Yoti. Yoti put down the pen with which he was writing a report on the Bulford suicide, and Essen came to state that the water in Settlement Creek lay as far back as the lantana swamp. Bony asked him to draw a rough map, and the sketch showed the lantana swamp due north of Mr Beamer’s house at the entrance to the Settlement.
“I was hoping that was so,” Bony said, distinctly gratified. “In the morning, Essen, I want you, accompanied by two constables, to proceed to the Aboriginal Settlement, leaving here exactly at nine o’clock. On reaching the Settlement, I want you to tell Beamer that you have information concerning Marcus Clark’s trespass in Mitford which necessitates interrogating every aborigine remaining at the Settlement. I want every aborigine called to the hospital ward where Clark is a patient and there kept for at least an hour. Cross-question them on the imaginary information, and permit not one to leave Clark’s ward during that hour. There will be, so Beamer told me, not more than a dozen to be rounded up, and I want them out of the way for an hour only. Clear?”
“Yep. That’ll be done,” answered Essen. “With two men, I’ll leave town at exactly nine. Meanwhile…”
“Your patrols on duty?”
“Yes.”
“Good! Now I have to make my own preparations. I’ll see you again, Sergeant, before I leave.”
Bony vanished beyond the doorway, and Essen looked at his superior with the ghost of a smile widening still further his wide mouth.
“Busy little man… sometimes, isn’t he?” he remarked to the wogs flying about the light.
“Reminds me of a Chinese I knew and sometimes played draughts with,” Yoti said seriously. “Ah Chung let me win a man off him, then perhaps two more, and then another, and I’d think I had him well sewn up. And he would sort of hesitate and say: ‘Igibbit chance’. He’d move a man to make me move, and then he’d clean the board. And do it every time.”
“Yair! This half-caste seems something like your Chow,” Essen drawled. “Plays his leads, then stirs up a mob ofabos, and we get what? Nearly all theabos clear out, and a bank manager shoots himself. And now he’s going off on a boat trip, and tomorrow I’m to bale up the remainingabos on fake information. I’d better go after that boat.”
Yoti nodded, and returned to his endless writing.
At eight o’clock the duty constable reported, was told to lock up and go home. At eight-twenty Alice McGorr rang up and spoke to Sergeant Yoti. At nine-fifteen the Postmaster came in with two bottles of beer and to talk for fifteen minutes. At nine-forty Bony reappeared.
He was dressed in black. There wasn’t a speck of white about him. He wore a pair of old black canvas shoes, and about his neck were slung a roughly made pair of sheepskin overshoes with the wool on the outside.
“Fancy dress ball this time?” mocked Yoti.
“Something of the kind. Anything further?”
“Yes. Your Alice McGorr rang to say that Mrs Delph has had a nervous breakdown.”
“Indeed!” purred Bony. “She gave me the impression she was heading for it.”
“From information received,” continued Yoti grimly, “it is alleged that Dr Delph communicated with a Dr Nonning in Melbourne, saying his wife was seriously ill, and asking him to come to Mitford at once, to assist him with his practice.”
“Promising, Sergeant,” Bony almost lisped. “Nonning is Mrs Delph’s brother, the well-known psychiatrist.”
“Any good to you?”
“It gives. Dr Nonning is also a collector of aboriginal relics. I wonder if he would be interested in that missingdrawing? ”