Bony - 16 - Venom House

by Arthur W. Upfield

  Bony noticed many metal objects lying so wide that the fisher­man would never catch them, and, the magnet again being lowered, gently he moved it to catch so many objects that it fairly bristled.

  This catch eventually disappeared, and a hand was thrust far out and waved to him. Again the bait was lowered, and again raised bristling with the catch. Then a shower of objects fell from the window, and the game was continued.

  It was played for half an hour, and might have continued longer had not Janet Answerth appeared on the porch and come to investigate. Solemnly, Bony loaded the magnet, and, solemnly, he watched it being drawn up by the fisherman.

  “Whatever are you doing, Inspector? Why! Playing at fishing with poor Morris.”

  “Your brother is happy because never before has he caught so many fish in so short a time, with such little effort,” Bony said. “Wait and see. Dear me … I’m being quite political … Churchill and Asquith.”

  The magnet came down, rested on the ground, lifted to sweep in narrow arcs, gather a Meccano part, a bolt. Bony picked up other objects and dropped them against the magnet, and presently the loaded “hook” was moving slowly up the wall.

  “Morris will want to play all day, Inspector. And I’ve to tell you that Blaze has just rung up to say he advises coming over to fetch you, as very soon the Folly will be too rough for the boat.”

  “Oh! In that case I’d better accept his advice. It means, too, that Dr Lofty will not be able to visit his patient this afternoon. Has Miss Mary wakened?”

  “No, not yet. Mrs Leeper says that she can do everything the doctor tells her by telephone. She’s quite a good nurse.”

  The sun said it was ten-thirty, and Janet knew by the manner in which Bony estimated the house shadow that he was satisfied to know the time by this method rather than to look at his wrist-watch.

  “The doctor told us that Mary ought to waken about eleven,” she said, calmly. “You are, of course, very welcome to stay as long as you wish. But if the Folly grows too rough for the boat, you may have to stay until tomorrow. We should be rather glad to have you.”

  She had perfect control of her eyes and her face, but slipped a trifle with her voice as many a hostess does when secretly wishing the guest to the devil. Bony decided to leave as soon as Blaze could come for him, and he was taken to Janet’s sitting-room for morn­ing tea whilst waiting.

  Later, on looking back, Bony could find no note of discord. There was neither probing nor shying away from the purpose of his presence. They discussed her pictures, when she admitted that her study of art had been terminated by her father’s death, whilst her knowledge of world events proved that mentally she was not limited by her life at Venom House. When interested, as well as when emotional, the lisp was absent.

  Buffeted by three women, Bony felt a trifle less spiritually buoyant than usual, for he realized how far apart in mental stature he was from the Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte, who had claimed: “All the women in the world would not make me lose an hour.” Bony was perturbed when admitting to himself how little he knew of feminine psychology. An intelligent woman like his wife would have talked nineteen to the dozen, noted voice inflection, eyes and mouth expression and, having added all together, would have multiplied the answer by intuition, divided by imagination, and thus accurately summed up these three women. An hour! They had cost him six hours in a row.

  Three women under the one roof! One able to kill by pressing on a nerve in the neck. Another able to crack a whip hard on the nose of an infuriated bull. And the third conscious of her power over men and silly enough to believe herself infallible with all men. And with these three women under the one roof, a subnormal man of twenty-seven who claims with impish triumph to know who strangled his mother. As the outback bushman, like Blaze, would say: “Things is crook.”

  Standing on the porch, Janet waved to him. His acknowledge­ment was also accepted by Morris Answerth, and old Blaze shouted to make himself heard:

  “Gettin’ a good send-off. In a manner of speakin’ you’re going to get a good welcome. I got summat to show you.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “Reckon you’ll think so. Robin Foster and the lad are away shifting sheep, so you can take your time. Did she give you a cuppa tea?”

  “She did. Any fish in this lake?”

  “Plenty. You like fishin’?”

  “Yes. My favourite sport.”

  With the wind astern the crossing was fast, and, having locked the painter to the stump, Blaze led the way to the men’s quarters. At the kitchen door, he said:

  “What I got to show you’s in the wool shed. I was doing a bit of moochin’ around when I seen it.”

  “Can we enter without being observed from the house?”

  “ ’Fraid not. Why worry?”

  “True … why worry. Tell me, is the pathway over the causeway very difficult to follow?”

  Blaze stopped when between the kitchen and wool shed that he might not miss the effect of his words.

  “You aiming to make it one night?”

  “I might be. What do you think of the idea of Morris watching Miss Mary and you crossing and returning by wading, and chart­ing the hidden pathway in his mind so clearly as to be able to make it himself?”

  “Let me stew a bit.”

  The little cook went on and together they entered the wide door of the wool shed. It was completely empty, and there Blaze again confronted Bony.

  “There’s a sort of knack of getting over that causeway,” he said. “Going from this side you take a sight at the left corner of the house, and coming back you keeps your eye on the right corner of the shearing shed. There’s four big holes and one small one you got to get by. No, I don’t think Morris could make it, no matter how he nutted it out from his winder. I’m sure he couldn’t in the dark night. Takes me and Miss Mary all our time not to get slewed and fall into deep water after dark.”

  “Thanks. Pass it. What have you to show me here?”

  “That.”

  Blaze pointed to the wall, on which figuring had been done with blue raddle. Rows of figures had been lined out, and others sub­stituted above them. There was a number tallying with the number of sheep recently shorn. There were many small sums of addition, and of division. And there were the figures 94.

  “So Miss Mary worked out the theft of the wool the same way that we did,” Bony murmured.

  “Thought you might like to see it,” Blaze said with enormous satisfaction. “Now, why in hell didn’t she squawk about that stolen wool?”

  “Tell me.”

  “I could tell you easier how many seven-ounce glasses of beer ought to be in a niner. You say, Inspector.”

  “One day I will. Meanwhile inform me on another point. Tell me who goes over to saw and split the wood.”

  “Old bloke by the name of Winter. Does that and other jobs about every three months. Been doing it for years. Had a lot of bad luck in his time.”

  “Indeed!”

  “Yes. When he was a young feller he went to sea and fell down a hatch. Just happened to bite his tongue off as he was going down. Never talked since. Anyway, he kept going to sea until he got that deaf he couldn’t hear the orders, so he took to growing pineapples, and one night the house burned down and he couldn’t get his wife and daughter out.

  “Twenty year ago that was. He sold the farm and come to Edison ’cos he’d be near the sea, and took a job as yardman at the pub. Been there ever since, and takes a break by coming here and making a raft outer logs and polin’ it over. Decent old coot.”

  Bony warmly thanked the cook for his co-operation, and began the four-mile walk to Edison. He had proceeded half a mile when his mind focused on old man Winter who was deaf and dumb. Had the idea of employing him at Venom House emerged from Boccaccio’s Decameron?

  Chapter Nineteen

  A Guardian for Morris

  BONY LEFT ANSWERTH’S FOLLY shortly after eleven fifteen, and at eleven forty-five he made himself a couc
h of leaves on the bank of a running stream, and slept until three. Being fortunate to thumb a lift, he was in Edison by half past three, and took time off to shave and bath and make himself presentable to Mr Samuel Harston at five minutes after four.

  “Yes, Inspector, what can we do for you?” asked the large, bald man with the sharp, dark-brown eyes and the office-white hands. “Sit down. Smoke?”

  Mr Harston’s private office was, like himself, large, pleasant and comfortable. The outer office manned by two clerks was ad­ditional evidence of the prosperity he enjoyed. Bony settled himself with the air of a man prepared to relax for several hours. Having rolled a cigarette, he looked up at the stock and station agent before striking a match, and placidly opened what he knew, and the other now suspected, was to be battle.

  “How many cattle have the Answerths lost this year?”

  “I don’t know that. … Have you a reason for asking?”

  “I never seek for information. …” Bony lit the cigarette and added “… without a reason.”

  “Yes, of course, Inspector. I was thinking that Miss Mary Answerth would be in a better position to supply that information.”

  “Miss Mary Answerth is indisposed.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. I didn’t know.”

  “I had it hushed up by Constable Mawson,” asserted the omnipotent censor. “Last night Miss Mary Answerth was strangled.”

  The effect exhibited by the agent was not overdone. Bony’s statement raised him from his chair to lean with his hands upon his paper-littered desk and stare for long moments at his visitor. The visitor stared at him, and he was the first to wilt.

  “Strangled!” breathed Mr Harston. “I don’t understand.”

  “She will recover,” calmly announced Bony. “Dr Lofty, who accompanied Mawson and me to the house last night, left her in the charge of Mrs Leeper, who, as you probably know, has had extensive nursing experience.”

  Mr Harston sat down, and from a drawer took a cigar and lit it with a match which trembled. He waited for supplementary data, and Bony supplied it.

  “Having been lassoed with power flex, and then hauled back­ward to the ground, Miss Answerth found speech most difficult. That was before Dr Lofty gave her a sedative, from which, when I left late this morning, she had not awakened. Someone called her from the house in the middle of the night, and attempted to kill her. Only her unusual physical strength and mental agility saved her. I hope you will not make the matter public. Miss Janet concurs with me that publicity would be harmful to the family.”

  “Of course, Inspector, of course. … Dammit, these crimes cannot be permitted to continue.”

  “My only interest in these crimes,” Bony said, coldly, “is to establish who is committing them. Miss Mary being out of cir­culation, forgive the idiom, I have to turn to you for information she doubtless would give me. How many cattle have the Answerths lost this year?”

  “I understand that the number to date is twenty-nine, but how many were actually stolen, and how many merely strayed and will subsequently be recovered, remains for time to prove. Not a few farmers and pastoralists have suffered losses this year. Last year, too.”

  “Have any losses been reported since the death of Edward Carlow?”

  The agent gazed hard at the questioner and shook his head.

  “What of sheep losses, Mr Harston?” was the next probe.

  “The figure is much higher.”

  “How many sheep have the Answerths lost this year?”

  “Only the other day Miss Mary told me she thought she had lost well over a hundred since March 16th, when the entire flock was yarded.”

  “Do you know if she suspects any particular person of stealing her stock?”

  “I think she does,” replied the agent. “However, she was never explicit on this point. Suspicion, of course, isn’t proof.”

  “There would be fewer criminals at large if suspicion were enough, Mr Harston. Tell me … this Edward Carlow was a very prosperous butcher, was he not?”

  Bony could see the growing caution in the other’s brown eyes.

  “Yes, he was, Inspector. He opened this business just where and when it was badly needed here in Edison.”

  “Would you say he was extremely prosperous?”

  “I think I can say that.”

  “Pardon my pertinacity. Was he more prosperous than even the circumstances of his business warranted?”

  “These are prosperous times, Inspector. Everyone is prosperous.”

  “Excepting me, Mr Harston. Let us discuss wool. You marketed the Answerths’ clip?”

  “I did.”

  “What was the number of the bales?”

  The brown eyes flickered.

  “Ninety-two. They are to be offered at auction in the second series.”

  “Did either Miss Mary or Miss Janet tell you they had lost wool?”

  Mr Harston was now decidedly uncomfortable. Doubtless, stepping down from the Bench to be cross-examined like a witness wasn’t to his liking, and it was really odd how the examiner could hide himself behind eyes of bright blue.

  “Miss Mary told me she suspected some of the wool had been stolen during the shearing,” he felt compelled to answer.

  “When was it she told you this?”

  “It would be some time after the shearing. We went into the figures, or rather we checked the figures Miss Mary had worked on.”

  “Taking the number of sheep and lambs, working on average weight of fleeces, and deducing a loss of approximately two bales?”

  “That is so.” Mr Harston was admittedly astonished, and Bony said:

  “I also am intelligent. Was the loss reported to the police?”

  “I think not.”

  “Why not? Two bales represent a lot of money. To a tax-riddled salary like mine, anyway.”

  “Well, it was like this, Inspector. The position was a little obscure. The early losses of cattle were reported to the police, and when, later, some of the cattle were found to have strayed, subsequent losses were not reported. Miss Mary … you have met her and assessed her character … isn’t easily influenced. I advised reporting the matter of the wool to Constable Mawson, but she refused to listen, saying she would track down the thief or thieves and exact her own justice. But, of course, she didn’t.”

  “How can you be certain that Miss Mary did not?”

  “Well, I … I cannot be certain, Inspector. But, having known the Misses Answerth for so many years, I am quite sure that Miss Mary didn’t really mean what she said. Mind you, I am sure that if she suspected a particular man, she wouldn’t go to Mawson, but if she held proof she would report the matter to him for action.”

  “On what date did Miss Mary tell you she would exact her own justice?”

  Mr Harston took his time over this one, frowning the while at his silver inkstand. Patiently Bony waited, rolling himself another cigarette. Harston didn’t know it, did not realize that this dark man’s patience was inexhaustible. Otherwise he might have saved himself the trouble of trying to escape from the trap he felt had ensnared him.

  “I really cannot recall the exact date,” he replied.

  “Try, Mr Harston. It is important.”

  “Now look here, Inspector. As I told you, I’ve known these Answerths for many years. The original Answerth was a thorough blackguard, and his son and grandsons were almost on a par with him. But these two women, Mary and Janet, are at heart kindly folk. Miss Janet is renowned for her generosity and good works, and although Miss Mary is often unorthodox in her approach to a problem, calling a spade a spade when it is actually a garden trowel, she would not …”

  “The date, please, Mr Harston.”

  Mr Harston sighed.

  “It was the day after the shearing was finished.”

  “When Miss Mary discussed the wool loss from her figures?”

  “Yes.”

  “And five days later the body of Edward Carlow was found in the Folly. Did you not consider
it probable that Miss Mary had exacted her own justice? Pardon me, that’s not a fair question. Do you think that Miss Mary is physically capable of handling a man of the weight and strength of Edward Carlow?”

  “To that, Inspector, I must answer yes. One afternoon at the hotel across the street Miss Mary tackled a bar full of men. Five needed Dr Lofty’s ministrations. But murder … no! I’ll never consider the possibility. It’s … it’s damnable.”

  “I agree,” murmured Bony. “However, I have to weigh and assess every possibility. What do you say when I tell you that Edward Carlow had in his slaughter-yard shed the wool stolen from the Answerths’ shed?”

  “That I still refuse even to consider that Miss Mary killed the man. When a little tipsy, she loves a brawl. But murder … no! Murder in cold blood … preposterous!”

  “Miss Mary says she was awakened by someone throwing earth against her bedroom window. A man standing below asked her to go down to him as he wanted to talk about the theft of her cattle. Only by exploring every avenue can I settle the questions who and why. My long experience shows me that a threat spoken in anger dies at birth.”

  Mr Harston was instantly mollified, unaware that Bony had not yet finished with him, and feeling that he himself had been at fault. Bony moved to fresh pastures.

  “Tell me why the causeway hasn’t been maintained,” he pressed. “The property, though comparatively small, appears to be in good and efficient order. With the ruling prices of meat and wool, there must be plenty of money.”

  Mr Harston relit the stub of his cigar, made a mess of it and killed it on the ash-tray. Having lit a fresh one, he said:

  “I don’t think I can answer your question, Inspector. Meaning that I’m doubtful that I know the answer. As you mentioned, there’s no lack of money. The fortunes of those two women must be considerable, and I have no idea just how much they’re worth today.” Harston chewed the cigar, caught himself in the act and refrained before it was ruined. “I have not been unaware of changes these last ten or a dozen years, changes towards me due much less to anything held or imagined against me than to something which has been building up in them.”