“By shooting him dead?”sneered theC.I. S. man.
“In view of what occurred earlier this evening, Superintendent Boase, and in view of the fact that with me in this house is an old man and a young woman, I am prepared at any time and place, either at official enquiry or in the press of Australia, to claim that I did not fail in my duty.”
Bony outlined the events of the late afternoon, ending with the entry of the little man armed with an automatic pistol, and his capture and confession-what there was of it. He went on:
“Prior to these events, there have been strange happenings in this part of the State of South Australia; unlawful activities by several persons. One: the office of the late Benjamin Wickham was broken into and ransacked, this crime not being reported, as far as we know. Two: men came here and employed threats and menaces for the purpose of pumping Knocker Harris for information concerning the late Mr. Wickham’s work and papers and, three: a Miss Jessica Lawrence was waylaid when she left this house late one night. The car used by these persons was destroyed and reported to the local officer as an accident. Also, a Dr. Carl Linke was removed by persons purporting to be police officers. And I had been enjoying two or three days of peaceful fishing when someone in Cowdry reported to someone to have me recalled to Brisbane, according to what Senior Constable Gibley inferred one pleasant afternoon.
“There, Superintendent Boase, you have sufficient material on which to base your investigations. The foreign gentleman present will no doubt supply valuable information. The dead man at the gate is obviously his accomplice, and the third man with whom he came from Adelaide is the person attacked by the dog he failed to shoot. There are other matters we can discuss at your leisure.”
“Now is the time, Inspector Bonaparte,” Superintendent Boase decided, and the left eyelid just barely flickered. “I arrest you on a charge of manslaughter.”
“But you can’t do that, Super,” interjected theC.I. S. man. “I have already a warrant for his arrest, and power to conduct him to any lock-up in the country. You know that.”
Boase stretched, yawned, grinned without mirth.
“This is my territory,” he said stonily. “Bonaparte is my prisoner.”
“But you can’t…”
“Don’t be a blasted fool. Killings are my job.”
“Yes, and get to hell out of it!” shrilled Alice, appearing among them. “My uncle wants peace and quiet and something to eat. Nowdefongerate. This isn’t an opium den. Go on! Imshi!”
Chapter Twenty-five
The Blackmailer
SENIORCONSTABLEGIBLEYarrived with reinforcements, and thus enabled Sergeant Maskell to relieve Boase of the routine work.
“Bring in that dog-fighting fellow,” Bony said curtly, and Boase found himself repeating the order.
The dog-fighter appeared decidedly ill-used. His overcoat and trousers were ripped. He might lose at least one ear, and his hands were lacerated.
“This one of the men you accompanied from Adelaide?” Bony asked Tolnic, and, after hesitation, the little man nodded.
“Very early on Wednesday morning the dog-fighter there was here with another man; not that man found dead in the gateway. They walked into this house, bashed Mr. Luton, lashed him to a chair and kicked his knees. They demanded to know where Wickham kept his papers, and referred to an important notebook. When Mr. Luton declined to say anything, this dog-fighting thug produced a hypodermic and prepared to inject a drug to force the information from Mr. Luton. It was unfortunate for him and his accomplice that I arrived back from Adelaide in time to prevent a most serious crime.”
“They came this time for what?” asked the would-be arrester.
“You ask Tolnic. That’s your job,” Bony replied coldly, his blue eyes blazing, and reminding Gibley of an uncomfortable moment.
The Commonwealth Investigation man asked. He asked twice, and Tolnic was dumb. From the next room Mr. Luton roared:
“Leave him to Alice. She’ll make him talk.”
“You be quiet, Uncle,” shrilled Alice. To those either side of the dog-fighter she commanded: “Take that stinking thing away.” When the command had been obeyed, to Bony’s amusement, she turned to the little man.“Now you, Tolnic. Speak up. Remember me? Every time your wife is dissatisfied you will remember me. I’m telling you something. You’re in the soup, d’youunderstand? You’ll lose your job and you’ll be locked up, but this is a good country, and ordinary people like you and me, and these policemen, don’t go in for torture. They won’t stand for your wife and kids being badly treated. You just tell the policemen what’s what. Inspector Bonaparte’s already told them what you told us, but I think there’s a bit more. Now, about being stuck up on the street and told to take this job ‘or else!’… is that true?”
The little man breathed the affirmative answer. Only Tolnic and Boase saw the soft gleam of sympathy in the girl’s brown eyes. She nodded encouragingly.
“You tell everything that happened from the time you left Adelaide with these men.”
Added to the men’s original objective in bringing him, Tolnic’s role had been also to ascertain who was in the house with Luton, with emphasis on the man who had frustrated their earlier attempt.
As their car had passed Mount Mario, they saw a car turn off at the bridge and take the track to Luton’s house. They had parked their car deep in the scrub, and they waited there until Dr. Maltby had left.
They had overheard Alice’s reception of the doctor, then Tolnic was instructed to proceed as planned. They had not thought of the dogs now free of the kennels, and the dogs bluffed Tolnic at the gate. From the veranda Alice had further bluffed him, and he had returned to his masters to report.
Then Gibley had called at the cottage. They overheard that Mr. Luton was abed with a cold, that his clothes had been hidden to immobilise him, and when Gibley drove away they were convinced that the only person with Luton was this woman with the devastating tongue.
When the dogs had raced away after Gibley’s car, the position was open and shut for Tolnic to offer his wares at the back door. He was to hold up the woman, gag and secure her, then to knock Luton out if he proved difficult. Meanwhile, they would lie in wait for Knocker Harris should he appear, and at dark would take over from Tolnic. Tolnic was to encounter all the risks, and if he was apprehended, and talked, his wife and children were to be bashed. The usual technique!
Alice smiled at him. Then she swung about to face the men.
“Having given you a few lessons on interrogation,” she told them, “I am going to make tea and sandwiches. So you all get out of my kitchen, and stay out, see?”
They drifted, and Boase asked with mock humility: “Can’t I stay here with Bonaparte?”
“Yes, let’s,” Bony supported, and they sat at one end of the table and regarded each other like representatives of East and West. After Alice had slammed the door to the sitting-room, there was quiet. Bony said:
“You and I, Boase, have to be good. This affair is big, proved so by the interest ofC.I. S., and, I am confident, also by S.S. Politics, Boase. Crime is as a sweet rose nodding in soft sunshine over the black evil of a political cesspool. Admit that theC.I. S. has been putting much over your Department.”
“Correct,” snapped Boase, taking from a pocket a pipe and pouch. “What annoys me is I don’t know how much.”
“I could tell you. I know most of it now. They put a lot over me, too. I am not a politician, and no one can be permitted to use me as a scapegoat. To employ an old saying, ‘I shall get out from under,’ and although in calm moments you won’t blame me, you will get hurt in the process. Wait! You and I have always worked amicably. I think we could agree that off duty we have a mutual personal liking. I need your assistance now. You will need mine later.”
“What do you want?” asked Boase, eyes small, tapping the stem of his pipe against the stiff hairs of his moustache.
“I must return to Brisbane as fast as I can.”
“Oh! Pre
tty hard-with all this mess. What can you do?”
“The loud pedal will be down hard on the cremation of Wickham’s body, in view of the protest made by Luton both to Maltby and Gibley. I must push it down, because, in order to emerge safely from under, I can spare no one. You assist me to get to Brisbane within hours, and I’ll present you with a soft pedal that you can push.”
“All right, Bony. I’ll buy.”
“I have proof sufficient to satisfy any reasonable man that Ben Wickham was murdered, how, by whom, and why.”
Superintendent Boase actually permitted his chin to drop. It didn’t occur to him to doubt, for Bony’s reputation was too solidly on the ground of achievement. So he said levelly:
“Blackmail, eh?”
“Blackmail, Super.”
“If I don’t pay, you let a murderer slip into limbo?”
Bony shrugged, smiled, and Boase burst out with:
“None of your Mona Lisagrin with me, Bony. When do I pay, and when do you?”
“Immediately we reach Brisbane, I shall be on the mat. You will be there; a unique experience for us both. You will hear me contending with stupid officialdom. You will hear me uttering dire threats. And, when you leave Brisbane for your own city, you will acknowledge that I shall ever be the ‘Great Australian Blackmailer’. And, Super, you will be rejoicing that the matter of that cremation will never come up to annoy you and reflect on your Department.”
“May I confer with my ChiefCommish?” Boase said ironically.
“Certainly. We should fly to Brisbane, via Broken Hill. The political police could be a hindrance at Melbourne and Sydney. By the way. Alice, just a moment.”
“I’m just serving supper. Sugar, Superintendent Boase?”
Boase looked at her sharply. He had not before heard this voice, this normal voice. And it appeared that not previously had he seen the normal face of this talented young woman. She placed tea-cups and plates before them, added plates of scones and cakes. Then seated herself between the big man and Bony.
“I present, Super, Policewoman Alice McGorr, of Melbourne.”
Boase glared at Alice, squinted at the plate of cakes, raised his gaze to meet the laughing eyes of Bony.
“The States, you see, are well represented. Alice-I am sure she will be delighted to be so addressed by you-is on leave, and will be staying here for another week to look after her poor sick uncle.”
Bony had purposely raised his voice, and from the bedroom came the lion’s roar.
“Poor sick uncle be damned!”
Boase lifted both hands off the table. He said:
“I give up. I give ruddy well up.”
And Alice said meekly:
“Now, Super, just drink your tea, and swear after if you want to.”
Bony pulled the bell at the front door of Mount Mario and, while waiting, the moon told him it was about ten o’clock, the moon being less usable than the sun as a clock. To the maid who answered the bell he said:
“I am Inspector Bonaparte. I wish to see Mrs. Parsloe.”
He was invited inside and offered a chair in the hall. Two minutes later he was bowing to a white-haired woman, large, austere, and, he was thankful to note, intelligent.
“I have been wondering why you didn’t call when you were down last, Inspector,” she said. “Please take that chair. It’s very easy.”
“Unfortunately I cannot stay as long as I would like, madam. I am leaving almost at once for Adelaide. There are several questions I wish to ask, and a service to render which I believe will relieve your mind relative to a certain matter.”
Mrs. Parsloe flipped a cigarette from a pop-up box, and Bony was not slow with a match. She looked above the flame and smiled.
“It seems that you are addicted to trading questions, Inspector. We have heard all about you from the Reverend Mr. Weston. I too agree to trade.”
“I thank you, madam. Will you begin, or shall I?”
“Perhaps your questions would be more exciting?”
“As you wish. Why did you not report the burglary of the office?”
“I was asked not to report the matter to Gibley, and I would prefer not to mention by whom.”
“Was the ‘whom’ the person you reported Dr. Linke to, the following morning or afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“This ‘whom’ had been in contact with you previously, had he not?”
“Yes.”
“You reported Dr. Linke for what reason?”
“My brother’s weather calculations and other papers and a book were missing, Inspector. Dr. Linke, a very nice man, is a foreigner. His…er… work for my brother wasn’t quite regular, but, according to my brother, invaluable.”
“Have you knowledge or even an idea where he is at the moment?”
“Oh yes. He returned to us this afternoon.”
“Ah! I am happy to know that. I must see him, and Miss Lawrence, before I leave.” Bony smiled and extracted a sheet of paper from a pocket. “In the course of my…er… fishing expeditions, I came across your late brother’s will. As it was in an unsealed envelope, I took the liberty of reading it. I present you with a rough draft of all the clauses in it.”
“You found the will!” exclaimed Mrs. Parsloe, abruptly standing.“And that notebook!”
“Yes, and the notebook. I know that Mr. McGillycuddy was most interested in the notebook, but the will expressly states he is not to have it.”
“He wasn’t going to get it,” Mrs. Parsloe asserted sharply.
“Unless the Commonwealth paid the figure you named to Mr. McGillycuddy?”
“Unless… Why, you seem to know everything, Inspector.”
“Yes, Mrs. Parsloe, now I know everything. Later, when I have gone, you might ring Mr. McGillycuddy and say I said so. Now, where can I see Dr. Linke and Miss Lawrence?”
Mrs. Parsloe was an angry woman when she left the room.
Thirty seconds were given to Bony to admire the pictures, when Linke flung open the door and followed Jessica. She clasped both of Bony’s hands, and Linke gripped his arm.
“Bony! Is everything all right?” Jessica asked anxiously.
“Splendid. Mr. Luton is in bed with a slight cold. He is being nursed by the young woman you contacted in Melbourne. She is very efficient, and will be staying with Mr. Luton for a week at least.”
“Yes? Go on. There’s more.”
“Greedy, are you not? The enemy has been captured, and the police are all over the place mopping up. I am going to Brisbane for a few days, and shall be back for the extension of my leave. Go and see Alice and Mr. Luton tomorrow. You’ll like Alice, and she’ll like you.”
Bony regarded Dr. Linke, smiling and open, and obviously happy.
“I found Ben Wickham’s will and the missing green-covered notebook, Doctor.”
“Ah! Good! That is very good, Inspectore.”
“I had sufficient audacity to read the will. Ben Wickham has treated both of you very handsomely. He thought a great deal of you, and to you, Doctor, he bequeathed that mysterious notebook. Now I must go. Superintendent Boase is waiting for me. Because of the audience down at the cottage, I was not able to sayaurevoir to Mr. Luton. Please give him a message. Tell him I’ll be back to stay again soon, and not to disturb the hens until we can rob their nests together.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Blackmail by Inference
ITwas ten o’clock this warm spring day in Brisbane. The staff at PoliceHeadquarters, normally calm and slightly bored, was this morning influenced by an undercurrent of excitement, for the rumour was rife that at long last Inspector Bonaparte was really to be stood on the mat.
The Chief Commissioner was in a wicked mood. He tormented the sheaf of papers on the desk, and now and then would lift himself and the swivel chair and pound it on the floor. His meticulously barbered white hair and the full white military moustache emphasised the dull red of his furious countenance, and his diamond-hard blue eyes bored directly across t
he desk to the dark, lawyer-type face beyond. His voice, though low, had a penetrating effect.
“I’ve told you, and I’ve told others, sir, that Bonaparte isn’t a policeman’s boot-lace, but he is my ace investigator, and further, and most important, he is a man of honour. If he had been told the true state of affairs down at that damn place called Cowdry, he wouldn’t have stirred up this… this… confounded Commonwealth balderdash and nonsense.”
“The fact, Colonel, cannot be evaded that he did not comply with the order to return,” calmly argued the Chief Secretary. “Had he obeyed the order, we would not now be embroiled with Commonwealth Instrumentalities. I am afraid that Bonaparte will have to kill the cat.”
“Are you hoping he will have to?” demanded Colonel Spendor, renowned for his loyalty to and protection of his officers.
“Certainly not.”
“Then I’ll wager you five pounds that Bonaparte doesn’t kill the cat.”
The legal countenance softened a fraction in what was supposed to be a smile. The Chief Secretary accepted the wager, and rose with the Chief Commissioner.
“Then we’ll go along to this Gilbertian court-martial,” decided the old cavalry officer.“Lowther! Where the devil are you?”
“Here, sir,” replied the gaunt secretary, opening the door for them.
“Bring those damn papers, and for heaven’s sake try to appear bright.”
Lowther smiled at the ramrod back passing through the doorway, snatched the sheaf of papers from the desk, and followed on. They entered a room much larger than the Commissioner’s office, and it was obvious that the space was needed, for, in front of a covered table, sat a row of men who stood until the Chief Commissioner and the Chief Secretary were seated.
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