“A lesser man than you, Bony, could not tread it.”
“It is hard. Can you not think of a third way?”
“There are only the two, my son. Let us again refer to Defoe, who in effect so aptly says: ‘Men remarkable for all the virtues and all the vices, famous men and infamous men, they are but mortal clay.’ Death is the end of them, although I know it is not the end of their souls. What is a man’s reputation? Merely a manifestation of vanity. Pride is vanity. Vanity is the spur of success. Next to love the greatest human virtue is—sacrifice. But it takes a big man to make a big sacrifice—the bigger the sacrifice, the bigger the man. I believe you are a big man, my son.”
The little priest held out his hands and, rising, Bony took them with tears in his eyes.
“I will try to be big, Father,” he said with a tremor in his voice.
“You are big. Also you have won your case, and a little old foolish priest in Mount Lion knows you won it.”
Bony sighed. Father Ryan smiled and gripped his hands the more tightly.
EPILOGUE
COLONEL SPENDER, Chief Commissioner of the Queensland Police, looked up at the entrance of his secretary.
“Detective-Sergeant Wills has reported from Toowoomba, sir. He states that the money and securities stolen from the bank have been recovered in the cashier’s garden, and the cashier arrested.”
“Good! It is about time that matter was finalized,” growled Colonel Spender. The secretary then made a further announcement:
“Ex-Detective-Inspector Napoleon Bonaparte has called to see you sir.”
Very deliberately Colonel Spender laid down his pen, his face becoming ominously red.
“I will see him—at once,” he snapped.
When Bony entered, the police chief was writing rapidly, and when Bony stood before his desk, he continued to write.
“You appear, sir, to be very busy this morning,” Bony murmured. “Shall I call again?”
The pen scratched horribly. Ink spattered over the document. The pen was flung down on the desk. A fist crashed after it.
“What the devil do you want?” Colonel Spender roared, lifting up his well-nourished body and with it the chair. The chair banged on the floor. Colonel Spender glared.
“I have to apologize for not reporting sooner,” Bony explained gently. “I was detained.”
“Well, as you like New South Wales, you had better get back there quick. There is nothing for you to do here.”
“I was not detained in New South Wales, but in Toowoomba, which, as you know, is in Queensland. You see, sir, as Toowoomba lay in my way, I thought it as well to stay there a day or two and clear up the little difficulty of that bank robbery.”
“But Sergeant Wills_____”
“An excellent man, sir,” Bony cut in; “methodical and sure. However, he lacks imagination. His methods plus my imagination achieved results. I took over the case two days ago—last Wednesday. I presume that my reinstatement will date from Wednesday morning, sir?”
Bony was smiling. His blue eyes beamed benevolently on the red-faced colonel. Again Colonel Spender bumped his chair. He tried to snort, but failed. He could only glare.
“The New South Wales Commissioner will doubtless report to you my failure in the Far West case,” Bony went on. “Paradoxically, I succeeded, yet failed. I have admitted failure in Sydney. I shall admit failure to my colleagues in Queensland.”
“Fail! You fail!” gasped the astounded chief.
“Yes, Mr Chief Commissioner, I have failed for the first time in my career.”
“Damn you! I don’t believe you, Bony.”
“Officially, sir, that is my report.”
“And unofficially?”
“Sir, we have known each other for many years,” Bony said gravely. “Will you permit us now to meet as private individuals? I have lost or shall lose the respect of my colleagues, but I want badly to retain yours. I owe it to you and to myself.”
“I knew there was something behind your insubordination,” Colonel Spender said more calmly. “Lock the cursed door and tell me the yarn.”
Bony told “the yarn”. He told Colonel Spender what he had told Father Ryan. He explained that the death of Marks was not really murder, but justifiable homicide. He described how he had found Dot, the American, dead of snake-bite, and how he found he could not drag out from the past all that was best left buried there because a white woman had been kind to him.
And when he ceased there sat in the Chief Commissioner’s chair a very kindly looking white-haired, white-moustached old gentleman who at that moment felt humbled by the gentle soul of the half-caste within whom warred the impulses and complexities of two races.
“You see how it is,” Bony concluded. “This case turned out to be the perfect murder. It would have remained unsolved had it not been for a wholly extraneous incident in the victim’s past—that head wound received in the war which necessitated a trepanning operation. Dot and Dash in combination were very clever men, clever because they were calm, calm because their consciences were clear. Marks was a bad man, and the world certainly is no poorer by his exit.”
“And you will suffer the stigma of failure to protect that girl’s happiness?”
Bony inclined his head.
“She is a great woman, sir. I—I am only Bony, after all.”
Colonel Spender cleared his throat violently. Once more he was Chief Commissioner of the Queensland Police.
“As from last Wednesday you are reinstated without loss of rank or privileges,” he said. “As a subordinate you are a damned nuisance, yet I can’t do without you. Go up to Longreach and find the murderer of that station-hand. And don’t come back here and admit failure because of a pair of eyes.”
“Very good, sir,” consented Bony, smiling in his old frank way. “I shall take Marie, my wife, and little Ed. and Bob, who is so restless, and we’ll go there on a walkabout. My wife’s eyes are grey. I shall see no others. Good-bye, sir!”
The door closed.
“Well, I’m—well, I’m_____” Colonel Spender snorted. He blinked his eyes and banged the desk bell for his secretary. “Thank God, he’s a policeman and not a scoundrel!”
The Sands of Windee Page 29