Doctor Havant had a profound influence on Igor Mitski, whom he joined, and on those to come after. Maddoch averred that Dr. Havant saved them from degenerating to the level of animals. He had hypnotic powers of a kind which could subdue Riddell and Jenks, but not Mitski, Brennan or the girl. Maddoch said he could resist Havant’s hypnotic power, but admitted he had realised that only a strong leader could save this small community from the depths.
“You know, Inspector, I believe that,” he went on earnestly. “The doctor has a never-ending library of stories; it really is a library. We listen to him telling stories, for so long as he will, such as Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath and Buchan’s Thirty-Nine Steps. He’s like Scheherazade who saved her life by telling the tales of the Arabian Nights, and if you close your eyes and just listen, you can almost live the stories. He has saved our lives, because even Riddell came to understand that these caverns hold something worse than perpetual darkness.”
“And yet there are fights like that we witnessed today,” Bony interposed.
“Oh, yes. Doctor Havant does nothing to stop them. He says the steam must escape through a safety valve; that the bursts of violence are the valve. These oppressive caverns have subjugated what virility we had; they do not exactly encourage the upshoot of the sexual urge. We are sane enough to realise that the first to attack the woman could be killed by the others.
“Igor Mitski died because of her. He was never any more than polite and friendly, but she teased him, and the others knew it. I’ve seen her encourage Mark, and even Riddell’s ape-like advances. She invites murder—not her own, of course. I think she aims to have us kill one another until the best man wins. Meanwhile, she believes she has full control of us all, including you.”
“What has she said about her own case?” asked Bony, and Maddoch’s face expressed disgust.
“Said she killed her husband because she was sick of him and his lies, yet boasts how she put it over the jury, the press and the public; boasts how good an actress she is. You don’t believe, really believe, I killed Mitski, do you?”
Bony turned to gaze steadily at Clifford Maddoch. To become the manager of a branch of an important wool firm is not an executive height to which a weak character can climb, and he tried to see Maddoch as he must have been before the final straw was laid upon his back. Mentally he would have been dynamic. He would have been expert on the many classes of wool, a man whose judgment was sound, and whose decisions were quick and accurate.
Once he had arrived at the moment of decision that no longer could he suffer his wife’s nagging voice, he would immediately begin to plan how to remove it. And now—the once important executive, pleading to be believed he hadn’t killed again. The yellow light revealed the large eyes, the colourless complexion, the trembling mouth of a man shocked by mental torture, racked by disgrace and punishment, and exposed to human violence and depravity. Execution would have been merciful.
“I shall answer that question if you promise not even to hint of it to the others.” he said, and was troubled by the eagerness with which Maddoch assented. “Unless you have made a pair of stilts, Clifford, you couldn’t have killed Igor Mitski.”
Maddoch sighed audibly. “Thank you indeed, Inspector.”
“Then let us be allies, Maddoch. I need an ally. You will understand that my position isn’t, shall we say, normal, in relation to all of you. I need support, discreetly given, in things I must do and say; a secret ally who would keep me up to date on an intrigue hostile to me. How does this appeal to you?”
“You may count on me.”
“Then I shall rely on you. Tell me, what d’you think of Doctor Havant?”
“A brilliant mind somewhere or other out of gear. I say that because I don’t think he is unbalanced, just kind of out of gear. Maybe that applies to us all, yourself excepted. Life here is unnatural, and especially so for the doctor. Prison, Inspector, by comparison was heaven.”
“I can believe that, Maddoch.”
“Down here we are unable to get away from each other. And worse, we are unable to get away from ourselves, excepting those precious times when Doctor Havant becomes our story-teller. Accustomed to mental distractions such as books, the stage and the cinema, the newspapers, modern man quickly degenerates if deprived of such escapism. That is a threat to us all.”
“Yes, that is true,” conceded Bony, and stood.
“Hullo, that dog has run off again. Busy, isn’t she? Now you see her; now you don’t.”
Lucy was being petted when they entered the ‘hall’. A cloud masked the sun and the interior light was dim, the domed ceiling invisible. Doctor Havant and Riddell were sitting on the rock ledge, separated by something about three feet wide, and were moving lumps of rock. On Bony crossing to them, he found that the lumps were pieces and the game was draughts, the board being marked on the rock base by scoring with a knife point.
Both players being gravely intent, Bony moved to sit with Mark Brennan who, a little too casually, slipped a roughly square shaving of rock under his right thigh. He had been doing something to the piece of rock with a table-knife which at Bony’s approach he employed to chip tobacco. Bony sat beside him, his back to the rock wall.
“You remember Jim Ord, Inspector?” asked Brennan.
“Yes, I do. Why?”
“He was in Goulburn with me. Used to tell us he’d have got away with murderin’ a Swede up near Milparinka if you hadn’t took a hand.”
“Ord was clever, Mark. He made only two mistakes. Did he tell you what he said after I had him arrested?”
“Yes; just like him, too. He told you he wasn’t whingeing about it. Said that when a bloke breaks the law, he is gambling against the cops, and it’s a fair go. He was proud of what you said, too. It was, ‘Ord, you really extended me.’”
“I remember,” Bony admitted. “He was a good sportsman, yet knocking a man down with a loaded bottle and then kicking him to death isn’t sporting.”
“Well, look at what Stassan did to Ord’s little girl. I don’t hold with that sort of thing. Stassan got it just where he deserved it most.”
“D’you really think, Mark, that the best way to get even is to kill?” asked Bony.
“With a bloke like Stassan, too right I do. And so do most of the other blokes in Goulburn. Queers and pimps and rapists ought to be hanged automatically, and when Ord booted Stassan to hell, he oughta got a knighthood. Thank Kelly we haven’t a Stassan here with us. He wouldn’t last long.”
“Would you place Igor Mitski in that class?”
“No, Inspector. He just slapped the kid down a bit too hard, that’s all. You know, sometimes you got to give a bit of licence. There’s Mitski king-hit and belted around Europe. He’s a musician and a top singer, and what happens when he comes to Australia? Stuck away out west, teaching a stupid brat brought up to the idea that she’s the squatter’s daughter, and the rest of the world is scum. I don’t blame Mitski for slappin’ her down. It was just his bad luck he larrupped her too hard. What’s to do about him now?”
“The circumstances being what they are, the body will have to be disposed of without the usual legal formalities.”
“Any idea who crashed him?”
“Not yet, but I shall, Mark.”
“I know. We all know that when you start you keep on your feet. One of us killed Mitski, and he must know you will get him, sooner or later. His only hope is to do you in before you cotton on to him.” Brennan smiled, and that he could smile was a revelation. “If he bumped you before we got out of here, before we got back to home and glory, I’d be really vicious for him.”
“Have you any ideas on who killed Mitski?”
Brennan shook his head.
“Have you any ideas on why he was killed?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“Against Institute rules to help the cops.”
“Institute rules?”
“Yes, Institute rules, Inspector. The Institute of Released Murderers. You know,
your Fellowship, remember? Here, this is your certificate.”
From beneath his leg Mark Brennan produced the thin slab of limestock rock. He had scored plainly with the knife:
D. I. N. Bonaparte,
F.R.M.I.
From the stone Bony’s eyes rose to meet those of the man who murdered twice within thirty seconds.
“Thanks, Mark, I shall treasure this unique scroll.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Female Jonah
THE cloud passed from the westering sun, and swiftly the hall was transmuted to a place of warm colour. This effect was notable, even on Dr. Havant’s chalky face, and strengthened Bony’s first impression of him. He was sitting easily on the rock ledge, studying the draught board, and Bony could not make up his mind whether the doctor was intentionally encouraging Riddell, or was actually placed in a quandary by a man of greatly inferior intellect.
Having pocketed his ‘scroll’, he rose to his feet and crossed the chamber to become a spectator of the game. Riddell looked up, his small eyes illumined by triumph. The doctor continued to study the board, made once as though to move a man, hesitated, then did move it. Whereupon, Riddell countered, placing the doctor in a position from which there was no escape.
“Congratulations, Joe,” Havant said, sliding his long body off the ledge. “Well, Inspector, how have you been getting along with Maddoch?”
“I’ve now a mental picture of these caverns and connecting passages, Doctor. The problem of who killed Mitski is similar to draughts, and a game I shall win. Meanwhile, there is the disposal of Mitski’s body to be attended to.”
“Agreed. What do you suggest?”
“I assume burial is out of the question.”
“In earth, yes. There is only the one place for the body, and that is down the crack where Fiddler fell. Shall I have it taken there?”
“Yes, and thank you, Doctor.”
Havant regarded Riddell. He called for Jenks, and Jenks came from the alcove which served as the kitchen. In the same calm and formal manner, Dr. Havant said:
“I want you two fellows to take the body of our departed friend to Fiddler’s Leap, and inter it.”
Riddell’s wide mouth tightened. Jenks’ square face registered no emotion, but he said:
“Remember what Mitski told us happened when Art Fiddler fell down there?”
“Yes, Ted, I remember what he said about it,” replied the doctor. “Subsequently there was the noise of a drain partially choked. Perhaps you could bring your majestic brain to bear on this matter, and suggest an alternative ... cemetery.”
The majestic brain tried to oblige, and failed.
“All right, then. Come on, Joe,” assented Jenks.
“You might assist them, Mark, and you, Clifford, with lights,” urged Dr. Havant.
Brennan went to the kitchen for the lamps, and they heard Myra Thomas say:
“What we call dinner, Mark, will be ready in half an hour. If you men want me to go on with the cooking, you’ll be back for it.”
“Okay, Myra,” Brennan said. “If we ever get out of here, you won’t have to do any more cooking.”
“So you told me before, Mark.” The voice was clear but low-pitched. They heard the soft laugh, the gentle tinkle of a pan. “Get going, Mark. The watch dogs are not far away.”
The breath hissed from Riddell. Jenks chuckled. Maddoch said: “That’s what I meant, Inspector.”
The gorilla flashed about and punched the little man’s chest, and Maddoch was spun and sent staggering, fighting for air. The voices and the words had triggered Riddell. It was as though a spark had jumped from the kitchen stove to a pan of gunpowder, and that when Riddell blew up, the explosion also ignited Jenks.
Jenks slid backwards to the wall to start his run, and Riddell, oblivious of Dr. Havant’s shouted order, sprang towards Bony. Jenks didn’t make his run. Havant did not repeat his order. Mark Brennan stood in the entrance to the annexe and little Maddoch fought to conquer his laboured breathing. They saw Bony side-step the charging gorilla, saw Bony flash in behind and slide his arms up under the big man’s arm-pits, his hands lock behind Riddell’s neck.
The indirect light from above fell upon Riddell’s contorted face, and they saw the expression of Riddell’s eyes change from fury to agony. They watched Riddell’s wide mouth open to scream, and knew that he was too paralysed to scream. Uninhibited, accustomed to violence, yet Riddell’s face revealed that he was enduring indescribable pain indefinitely prolonged. They watched Bony’s thumbs working about the base of Riddell’s skull, and even they were shocked.
Myra Thomas came to join them, and on seeing Riddell’s face, her violet eyes opened wide, and her mouth curved into a smile as she said:
“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself, Joe.”
Bony stood back from the huge body, and like a tree, wrenched from its roots by a gale, Riddell fell stiffly sideways to the floor, where he lay on his back, his mouth opening and closing until relief came and he was able to scream.
The scream faded into sobs of anguish, and the girl’s soft laughter.
“Go to your kitchen,” Bony said.
Myra Thomas would have defied him had she not been caught by blue-ice eyes which grew and grew until she could see nothing else. She had resisted Havant’s hypnotic eyes, but these were different, terrifying, magnetic and challenging. When she was freed, she ran to obey.
“Riddell! Get up!” commanded Bony, and Riddell groaned, turned over, humped and lurched to his feet. With legs splayed wide, he swayed drunkenly, eyes bloodshot, mouth but a sagging travesty.
“That is an aborigine hold, and many persons would pay much to learn its secret. I don’t like applying it, Riddell, and I don’t want to apply it to you again. And you others, pay attention. I command here. I hope to escort you from this place to civilisation, and therefore, you are not going to behave like wild animals. You will obey without question, and you will perform the tasks I set you. Convey that body to the place named and dispose of it.”
Their shuffling faded into the tunnel-like passage. Maddoch crawled to Bony’s camel gear and retched. Havant went to him. Bony entered the kitchen.
“Mrs. Thomas,” he began softly. “I have had to deal with women exactly like you before. Doctor Havant will have a scientific term for your behaviour. You have a single-track ambition, but not here. Under normal conditions female coquetry is socially accepted. These are not normal circumstances, as you are fully aware. You will thus conduct yourself with rigid discretion.”
Her dark eyes held only admiration as he reprimanded her. Her expression was subdued but her eyes defeated him. Her voice came softly on a note of seriousness.
“I can be the soul of discretion, Inspector. Anything I can do to help, just tell me. And I hope you will loosen up and call me ‘Myra’.”
“Where were you when Igor Mitski cried out?”
“Here, attending to the breakfast coffee. When I heard him, I knew he was in trouble, and I ran along the passage and found the others already there.”
“The others.... Was Brennan there?”
“I think so, but I could be wrong. You see, I was upset by seeing Mitski lying in a pool of blood.”
“You were playing him against the others?”
“What do you mean?”
“I repeat,” Bony said icily. “Were you playing Mitski against the others?”
“I still don’t understand what you mean, Inspector.”
“I believe you do, but I’ll put it another way. Were you arousing the men by encouraging Mitski, as you roused the others by play-acting with Mark Brennan here in this kitchen?”
The girl’s eyes flamed scornfully.
“Do you actually believe I would encourage advances from murderers?”
“Yes. They are men.” He indicated an empty box for her to be seated. “I shall keep to Igor Mitski, as you will, even if we do so for an hour, a day and a night. Mitski was a pointer, as Mark Brennan just now wa
s a pointer, to your ambition, your attitude towards men, your reactions to this position in which you now find yourself. You are not unintelligent, and must know that in all hell there is no more violent loathing than that in the heart of a man made to appear a fool to himself. Did you permit Igor Mitski any intimacy, or just play-act with him?”
“To me Mitski was a musician, a singer, that’s all,” she declared, her voice now low and vibrant. “When I was tossed into this warren, it was like being one hen in a yard of roosters. You wouldn’t know about that, but I haven’t lost any feathers yet. I was brought up the hard way, and I got somewhere only by using the gifts I was born with. You men, you make me tired. Clever thinkers, protectors! I use my brain, and I have plenty to spare if you need it.”
Was she being honest? Bony doubted it.
She went on more calmly:
“Mitski was gentle and thoroughly decent. He was like Cliff Maddoch, a dreamer, the kind of man a girl dreams about when she’s seventeen, but when she’s twenty, her man has to be the strong, determined type, the sort she has to fight off to save her virginity. Film stuff.
“When I was dumped here, it was Doc Havant who kept the roosters away, and it was Mitski who helped him carry me into the other annexe and nurse me out of the dirty drug I’d been given. I couldn’t play favourites and so what could I do but be nice to Brennan and Riddell and the rest?”
Plausible! Reasoned! Genuine or fake? Did she believe what she said? Or was she blinded by vanity?
“I’ll tell you what would have happened if you hadn’t come,” she went on. “The man who murdered Mitski planned to murder the others so he’d be the only rooster in the pen. In my opinion Riddell is that man. Riddell was quick in accusing Maddoch. And it was the kind of plan Riddell would think of. Which is why I was glad to see you giving that ape a little something to think about besides me.
“Then you believe that my coming alters the situation?”
“It couldn’t possibly make it worse. Or could it?”
“Then will you please adopt an attitude of watchful coldness to everyone—especially me?”
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