Bony Visits the Sick
BEFOREBREAKFASTthe next morning Bony made additional notes covering the results of Alice McGorr’s visit to the Delph’s cook. These notes were supplementary rather than additions to the build-up of the background against which five infants had been stolen and a mother of one murdered.
Having breakfasted, he rang Essen to pass the order to Alice that she was not to report to him until after lunch, when they would interview Mrs Coutts concerning the abduction of her baby, and at nine o’clock he set out for the Public Hospital to chat with the man who had tailed Alice the previous evening.
Permittinghimself to hope that the shadowing of Betty Morse and Alice was evidence of the first move made by his opponents, Bony sauntered along Main Street as the shops were being opened, and then took the cross-street to reach the river boulevard and the hospital. A hot north wind was threatening to raise the dust, and to bring the indefinable scent of the Inland which was to become so significant. The river gums already were spraying their perfume of eucalyptus.
Following an interview with the Matron, awardsman conducted him to a single bed ward.
There was nothing clear-cut about the patient, a veritable League of Nations having subscribed to his pedigree. Bony dissected him in a flash of time: two parts Australian aborigine, three parts Malay, one part Chinese, three parts European, and one part Brazilian gorilla.
The name on the hospital chart above the head of the bed was Bertrand Marcus Clark, which might have annoyed that pioneer Australian author.
The bed was a heavy ironone, and a pair of handcuffs anchored the patient’s left foot. Otherwise he was as comfortable as medical science could make him, despite the right foot being in plaster, the left arm in splints, and the top of the cranium being bandaged. Small dark eyes regarded the visitor balefully, and Bony kept out of reach of the uninjured right arm.
“How are you this morning?” Bony gravely asked.
“What’s it to do with you?”
“I…er represent the police,” Bony said soothingly. “It would seem that you erred in your assessment of the situation in which you ultimately found yourself last night. Foot-cuffed to the bed, too.”
“I didn’t do no ’arm,” vowed Bertrand Marcus Clark, adding a rider, however.“Only being in town after sundown. Met an old bloke I knew years ago. Camped down the river a bit, he was, and I went with him for a bit of a yabber. He had a bottle of gin, and that sort of mucked up the time.
“When I got going from the Settlement, it was dark, but not dark enough to go straight through the town. I ’ad to keep to quiet streets, not wanting to be grabbed by the police. Then all of a sudden three blokes jumped me. I clouted one flat and booted another in the stomach, but the last one got me arm over a shoulder and snapped the bone. Then I got slogged in the ankle, and me head bashed in.”
“What a fight, Bertrand. What happened then?”
“Passed out, of course. Icomes to and there’s a bloke bending over me what lives in the nearest house. The ambulance comes, and Constable Essen gets rough ’cosI’m in town after dark. When I won’t tellno lies about it, he gets properly nasty, and I remembers I still got one good fist left.”
“Quite a beano, Bertrand,” sympathised Bony. “Still, you’ll receive only six months. One for resisting arrest, one for bad language, another for being in town after sunset, and three for following two young women with intent to molest. We could, in fact, work it up for three years.”
“I’m tellingyou’s the truth. Don’t I look like theflamin ’ truth?”
“You look terrible to me,” admitted Bony. “Did I not know thetruth, I would believe the number of your assailants was thirty, not three. The picture you present this morning must read: Aboriginal thug, intending to molest defenceless white girl, inadvertently mistook his mark, as intended victim is expert in the art of judo and the Australian Science of Boots-and-All-In. Too bad… for you, Bertrand.”
The patient was able to turn his face to the wall, and kept it there.
“Further, Bertrand, you are a liar, as was proved later last night when Constable Essen found no friend camped downriver at the place you said you visited him and enjoyed his hospitality. Gin you said it was which delayed you. I’m glad you chose gin, Bertrand. Never indulge in plonk. Leave plonk to the elite of the allegedly superior race.”
The patient continued to gaze at the blank wall.
“For you the prospect is indeed gloomy,” Bony went on. “And yet, in your grave extremity, you have a friend. None other than Detective-Inspector Napoleon Bonaparte… otherwise me. Come clean and tell me why you tailed that innocent young woman, and I will persuade her to withdraw the charges against you of assault, battery, doing grievous bodily harm, and making a hell of a bad mistake. Then you would have only to spend one week in the jug for being in town between sunset and sunrise.”
The silence of the patient continued whilst Bony rolled and lit a cigarette. There might be something in the third degree system of the American police, even in the methods of the Hungarian police. But then, no. British methods, if slower, do produce greater obstacles to crime investigation, and so prolong the interest of the investigator.
The interest provided by Bertrand Marcus Clark lay in Alice McGorr’s opinion that he tailed her not for the purpose of assault but for the purpose of learning her actions in company with Betty Morse. Was that intention to satisfyhis own curiosity or the curiosity of another who employed him? Eventually, Bony was satisfied that Bertrand Marcus Clark was not going to enlighten him, and so politely he wished him well, for the time being, and departed.
The morning sun was now really hot when he strolled from the hospital grounds to the boulevard, where he appreciated the black shadows under the trees. And then a car slid to a halt at the kerb and Dr Nott called:
“Hullo there, Inspector! Did the Sister turn you away because it wasn’t visiting hours?”
“Morning, Doctor!” Bony leaned on the door of the smart coupe. “I’ve been visiting Mr Marcus Clark, and Matron was most charmingly co-operative.”
“You interested in that inky blackguard? Done over properly, wasn’t he?”
“From appearances, yes. Mitford must be a rough place. Poor fellow.”
“Peaceful enough generally, Inspector. We have our baby-thieves, our occasional murderer, but hoodlum stuff in respectable streets is rare enough to be news.”
“Perhaps Clark fell into a drain or something. People are always digging holes in unlikely places. You look tired.”
“I am. Four additions to the population last night. Expect four more between now and tomorrow.” The tired eyes were illumined with enthusiasm.“Two of a kind last night. Seven pounds apiece… twin boys.” Bony could see the doctor’s chest expand. “Only lost one baby in the last six months, and that was the fault of the fool mother.”
“Fool mothers are rare?”
“Happily so, Inspector. But neglectful mothers are not. Some women don’t deserve to be blessed with a baby, and many oughtn’t to be allowed to keep the child.”
“What, in your opinion, is the greatest factor causing a mother to neglect her child?”
“Booze,” was the swift answer.
“So! And the next factor?”
“Writing novels.”
“Is that so?”
“Both are forms of escapism, and a normal woman should be happily content with the responsibility of a baby. Mrs Ecks drank to excess and, to my mind, deserved to lose her child. Mrs Coutts writes rubbishy novels. You met her, I suppose?”
“Not yet. I may call on her this afternoon.”
“When you do you will agree. How’s the investigation going?”
“The baby-thieves are a little slow in announcing themselves, but they will. Criminals invariably call on me, some quickly, others a trifle reluctantly. I have but to wait. You know, I pride myself on being the most patient man in Australia.”
Dr Nott chuckled, but Bony’s face remained calm.
“Once upon a time,” Bony said, “I was with a murderer in an unfurnished house from which the light had been disconnected. All I did was to sit on the floor with my back to the front door and wait. And I had to wait only three hours for the murderer’s nerve to break, when he came to me with the request to be taken into custody. Subsequently he said he could see my eyes glowing in the darkness, and that I had a hundred pairs of eyes which closely hemmed him into a corner. Imagination, of course, Doctor. My eyes are quite normal.”
Nott, who had listened without movement, abruptly pushed out the clutch and shifted from neutral to low gear.
“Normal, eh! I wonder! Well, I must get along to see my babies. See you sometime, I hope.”
“Oh yes. I may be lolling about Mitford for ten years. Aurevoir!”
The gleaming car passed through the hospital gates, and Bony sauntered along the boulevard and eventually entered the offices of Martin amp; Martin, Estate Agents, Auctioneers andValuers, on Main Street. He asked to see the senior partner.
“What is the nature of your business?” asked the clerk, his eyes superciliously registering this client.
“My business is to unmask murderers… and other incidentals.” Bony witnessed the superciliousness fade. “I am a detective-inspector. The name is Bonaparte.”
Mr Cyril Martin was sixtyish, looked like an undertaker on duty, and spoke like a saw eating into the heart of a red-gum log.
“Sit down, Inspector. What can we do for you?”
“The subject interesting me at the moment is the late Mrs Rockcliff,” opened the seated Bony as he crossed one creased trouser leg over the other. “You rented her the house in Elgin Street, I understand.”
“Yes, that’s correct. We gave the particulars yesterday to the constable.”
“You let the house to Mrs Rockcliff for a period of twelve months?”
“Yes.”
“At the monthly rental of ten pounds?”
“Yes.”
“Calendar months?”
“Yes. The constable obtained all…”
Bony smiled. “I like my information first-hand,” he said. Mr Martin did not smile.
“The rent was paid promptly?”
“Oh, yes. On the 12th of every month.”
“Was that rent date a term of the lease?”
For the first time Mr Martin evinced hesitation.
“Er, no. It was an arrangement Mrs Rockcliff herself made with us. She offered to pay the first three months’ rent in advance in lieu of a reference, which normally we would insist on having.”
“How did she pay the rent?”
“In cash.”
“To whom?”
“To my clerk in the outer office.”
Bony produced his cigarette-case, and Mr Martin hastened to forestall him.
“Most extraordinary affair, Inspector. I met Mrs Rockcliff only twice. She seemed to be quite a nice woman, too.”
“The victim of homicide isn’t necessarily not nice, Mr Martin,” and the estate agent chuckled as Bony’s observation was smilingly made. “Could you be more precise in your impressions of Mrs Rockcliff?”
“Yes, I think so. I should say she was well educated. She spoke well, culturally, if you know what I mean.”
“Australian or English?”
“I’m doubtful on that point. She had no pronounced English accent. And, like you, she didn’t have the Cockney-Australian accent, either.”
“Who owns No 5 Elgin Street?”
The timing of this question was well chosen… when Mr Martin was looking directly at the questioner. The shutters fell.
“A Miss Mary Cowdry who lives in Scotland,” he replied with less spontaneity.
“What is Miss Cowdry’s address?”
“Well, the last time we heard from her she was living at a hotel in Edinburgh. She travels a good deal, and we send the rent along when she writes for it.” Mr Martin again chuckled. “She’s what we call one of the floating owners. We have several clients in that category.”
“How do you transmit the money to Miss Cowdry?”
“Oh, through the bank.”
“What bank?”
“The Olympic.”
Mr Martin nicked a handkerchief from his breast pocket, cursorily wiped his nose, furtively mopped his forehead. Despite the fan, it certainly was close in the office. Bony rose to leave, glancing at his wrist-watch.
“When could we expect to have the house released by the police?” asked the Estate Agent, also on his feet. “Rental houses are few in Mitford, as elsewhere, Inspector, and the demand for them is heavy.”
“Possibly in a week, Mr Martin. It could be later. Well, I won’t take up any more of your time. Thank you for your co-operation.”
“You are welcome.”
Bony doubted it as he passed from the offices to Main Street and the hot sunshine. It was ten minutes after eleven, and morning-tea time, and he was passing Madame Clare’s Hat and Frock Salon when Alice McGorr almost collided with him.
“Such haste,” he admonished her.“In Mitford, too.”
“I’ve spent all my money,” she said.
“I can easily believe that, Alice. The hat suits you very well.”
The soft brown eyes searched his face for irony, and, as she was beginning to expect, saw nothing of it.
“My, it’s hot, isn’t it!” she exclaimed. “Were you going to ask me to morning tea?”
“Your perspicacity is astonishing, Alice. I thought of it the moment you bumped into me.”
“Only way to make you notice me.”
“Most unseemly, such was your haste to read my mind on the subject of morning tea. Here we are.”
At the table inside the comparatively cool cafe, she asked:
“What have you been doing this morning behind my back?”
“I visited the hospital and did my best to comfort the sick. Poor unfortunate little man. You did ill-use him.” Alice was examining her recent purchase with the aid of a small mirror. “You appear to be quite unconcerned about your victim.”
“He’s lucky that his neck’s not broken.”
“Generous of you. What have you been doing this morning?”
“Off duty. You told Essen to tell me. I bathed their baby, and then decided to buy a hat. On the way, I thought I’d call at the Station for you… thought you’d like to choose the new hat. The duty constable told me you had gone for a walk, and Sergeant Yoti had his office full of reporters. They were badgering him with questions and he was snarling. I asked the desk constable where Essen was, and he said down at the Municipal Library… there’s been a robbery.”
“Robbery at the Public Library?” exclaimed Bony. “Well, I expected it, you know. People will read books, and now that the government has cut down on the importation of books, people are bound to rob the libraries to get them. It’s a crime which I acclaim. May I have another cup of tea?”