“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 say au revoir 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
IT was ten o’clock this warm spring day in Brisbane. The staff at Police Headquarters, 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 the 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.
To one side of the desk, facing both men and the two Chiefs, sat Bony.
Colonel Spendor bounced his chair, haw-ed, teased the papers Lowther placed before him, glared at everyone including Bony, and opened proceedings.
“Detective-Inspector Napoleon Bonaparte,” he said. Bony stood. “You are to understand that this is not a Court of Disciplinary Action, but an Official Enquiry from which recommendation might be made to terminate your appointment. You have been given due notice of this?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You may select any officer present to assist you.”
“Thank you, sir. Under the circumstances, I will decline assistance. May I ask a question?”
“You may ask questions at any point.”
“Then, sir, other than Superintendent Boase and my colleagues, who are present?”
“Representatives of the Chief Secretary’s Department, and of the Commonwealth and Queensland Governments.”
“Sir,” persisted Bony, “in justice to myself, may I be informed whether there are representatives of the Commonwealth Security Service and the Commonwealth Investigation Service?”
“Representatives of those services are also present,” replied Colonel Spendor, and hurriedly wrote a note which he passed to the Chief Secretary. Bony sat down. The Chief Secretary read: ‘Raise that wager to ten pounds.’ Without a muscle moving, the C.S. wrote his acceptance.
“A telegram was sent you at Cowdry, South Australia, to report here without delay,” stated the Colonel. “You failed to obey.”
“There is no proof, sir, that I received any such telegram.”
The Chief Secretary’s only reaction was a slight tightening of the mouth. Colonel Spendor haw-ed, bumped his chair, snapped:
“Superintendent Boase. Tell us what action was taken by your Department, in accordance with our request, to notify Bonaparte to report back immediately.”
Boase rose to relate that Maskell, at Mount Gambier, had been telephoned to transmit a message to Bonaparte, which had been done per Senior Constable Gibley. When he sat, Bony rose.
“Strange,” he said mildly. “I suppose there is proof of this?”
Lowther leaned over the Colonel and assisted him to locate a document. The Colonel cleared his throat.
“This is a sworn affidavit by Senior Constable Gibley that he, et cetera, et cetera, verbally informed Inspector Bonaparte of the message he was instructed to convey.”
Again Lowther leaned forward to assist with a document.
“This,” went on the Chief Commissioner, “is a statement made to Sergeant Maskell, of Mount Gambier, signed by a postal messenger at Cowdry. ‘On’ ... yum yum yum ... ‘I delivered what I suppose was a telegram inside a buff envelope, to Mr. John Luton, for delivery to Inspector Bonaparte, the inspector being away fishing or something. I did not at any time see the message.’ And this,” continued the Colonel, “is a statement by John Luton given to Sergeant Maskell. Ah ... urmph! What the...! This reads: ‘I have told Sergeant Maskell, who is a friend of mine, that I’m not a bloody letter-box, yours faithfully, J. Luton.’“
Dead silence. Bony rose to his feet.
“Again I ask for documentary proof that I received a telegram ordering me to report to my headquarters. Gibley’s affidavit is unsupported. I don’t know Constable Gibley very well. I will not say he is untruthful. I do say that my long study of abnormal psychology has convinced me that the human mind is unreliable. A fantastic thought of to-day can become a strong belief to-morrow.”
The Colonel tormented his papers. The C.S. wrote a note to him saying: “One to you, Colonel.” Colonel Spendor nodded agreement, his face expressionless. He glared at Bony. He glared at those officials he resented being on his premises, poking their noses into the affairs of his Department. He haw-ed, and loudly bumped his chair on the floor.
“Inspector Bonaparte, I suggest that you address us on your activities of a police nature whilst on leave of absence.”
“I thank you, sir, and accept your suggestion,” Bony said slowly, and produced a sheaf of notes. He looked intently at the officials before bringing his gaze back to the Chief Commissioner. “I was in Adelaide when granted leave of absence, and decided to spend my leave with Mr. John Luton, who resides near Cowdry.
“Mr. Luton’s nearest neighbour was the late Benjamin Wickham, the meteorologist of world renown. Further, Wickham and Luton had been close friends for many years. Wickham died in Luton’s house, and because his doctor believed that Wickham’s heart was not strong, he signed the certificate that Wickham died from heart disease accelerated by alcohol.
“Luton protested that his friend had never complained of his heart, that both of them were recovering from a drinking bout, and that Wickham died of something not alcoholic. The protest was made both to the doctor and to the local policeman. Both of them told Luton he should be sent to a home in Adelaide, on the grounds that he was of advanced age, that he was living alone, and therefore was a liability. Although a witness to this episode is dead, Luton’s suspicions of foul play are general knowled
ge in the locality.
“This would give you, sir, the distinct impression that Luton was revealing signs of senility, that he was living in squalor, and that he was a liability to both his neighbours and the authorities. The opposite is the truth. Luton is remarkably virile in body and mind; he lives in a well-kept cottage surrounded by a garden he cultivates, and he is in possession of considerable means.
“The fact that he has considerable means was not known either to the doctor or the policeman, who probably thought he had been entirely maintained by the late Benjamin Wickham, and therefore was minus social status, and without influence. I intend to put forward a different interpretation of this attitude towards Luton when he expressed grave doubt that Wickham had died of the effects of alcoholic poisoning. I am convinced, sir, that had Luton been known to be a man of substance his doubt would have been forwarded to Police Headquarters, and that cremation would not have been permitted until after a post-mortem.
“I will conclude this section of my reply by stating that the doctor who signed the certificate was a relative of deceased, that he was short of money, and that he knew he was an important beneficiary mentioned in the will. And that the local policeman was being unduly influenced by an agent of Security Service resident in Cowdry and, as a bank manager, a person of local power.
“It was that reaction to Luton’s suspicions, rather than Luton’s grounds for suspicion, which decided me to probe a little before deciding to investigate, and I hadn’t probed very deeply when I did decide to investigate.
“It may be redundant to point out, sir, that I am a police officer sworn to uphold the law, to prevent a crime whenever possible, wherever possible. That I was not in my own State did not absolve me from my sworn duty. I point out, too, that I was at the time on leave of absence, and that I was breaking no regulation governing my employment.”
Bony looked intently into the eyes of every man seated in the row, trying to determine the interest each individual had in these proceedings. Speaking clearly, deliberately, he continued: “I enjoy an earned reputation for not relinquishing an investigation once begun, until convinced whether or not a crime has been committed. Thus, despite hindrance, I reached the murderer of Benjamin Wickham.
“I will now present in detail the forces which attempted to hinder me, and which, if triumphant, would have blindfolded Justice and must have permitted a murderer to evade the consequences of his crime.
“What are these forces? One is the Security Service: its agents in every town, in trades unions and commercial offices. We know that Security Service has no police powers, and that its function is to report only to the Prime Minister of the day. Outside, no one knows its members and agents. Another force is the Commonwealth Investigation Service, which has power to arrest and arraign for trial. Information from the first supplied to the Prime Minister is passed to the second for action when considered necessary. This we all know.
“In theory, sir, an excellent brake on subversive activities. In practice, a waste of public money, because there are no legal bars to subversive activities unless the country is at war. And the main result of the activities of these services is that, while unable to control subversion for which they were established, they have proved, in this particular case, a hindrance to the elucidation of crime, prosecuted by an officer of a law enforcement organisation.
“As I shall show. The world knows how Wickham fought for recognition, how he was constantly rebuffed. What is not yet known is that the Commonwealth Government ultimately realised the value of Wickham’s meteorological knowledge to the entire world, and particularly to any one country ambitious for world conquest. The Government approached Wickham only after it had learned that several other countries had been and were in contact with him. The disillusioned Wickham wouldn’t again treat with his own Government, who then became panicky and set their forces to work to induce him to negotiate, and, failing this, to prevent his recorded knowledge being passed to a foreign country.
“The preliminary contact with Wickham was made through the local Security agent in Cowdry, the manager of the Commonwealth Bank. When I tested him, he fell into my trap and communicated with his superiors, who actually had the temerity to attempt to have me withdrawn from the area by cajoling you, sir, to order me to report...”
“I don’t think, Inspector Bonaparte, I like that verb ‘to cajole’,” interrupted Colonel Spendor.
“Pardon, sir. The verb is ‘to request’—by requesting you, sir, to order me to report without delay. Had they contacted me and, with reasonable courtesy, explained that they were trying to prevent a foreign power from obtaining knowledge of priceless value to Australia, and that I happened to be stamping on their feet, I would have withdrawn at once, with the intention, of course, of returning and continuing my investigation after they had achieved their objective.”
Bony related in sequence the events which led finally to the arrival of Superintendent Boase and the C.I.S. at Mr. Luton’s cottage. He told of the attack on Mr. Luton, the threatened waylaying of Wickham’s secretary, why he had burned the car, and how later he had learned that one of these men, named Marsh, was a member of S.S. from Melbourne. He told of the ‘hawker’ sent to spy out the land before another assault on the cottage was made by the foreign agents, his capture, and the ultimate use of Knocker Harris as a Trojan horse.
“These events have additional significance,” he went on. “All occurred after I had gone to Adelaide to test a rumour that I had been ordered to report back to my headquarters. Security did not know I was under cover when these events occurred, and yet no effort was made while they were keeping Mr. Luton’s cottage, as well as Mount Mario, under observation, to protect an old man living alone, an old man certain to become the centre of a foreign interest who reasoned as they themselves did.
“What is clear, sir, is that the foreign agents were always ten jumps ahead of the Commonwealth Services, and that I was five jumps ahead of the foreign agents.
“I have placed in safety the will of the late Benjamin Wickham and the book in which he recorded his ultimate calculations. Under the terms of the will, the weather calculations are bequeathed to Dr. Carl Linke, the late Mr. Wickham’s assistant. Like many brilliant scientists who have come to this country as displaced persons, Linke has been treated by the authorities in a manner which, in a future age, will cause guffaws of laughter. I intend to see that Dr. Linke receives his inheritance from his friend and co-worker in the field of meteorology, and, if the Commonwealth Government is still interested, I might suggest that Dr. Linke be approached with some degree of deference.
“And, finally, sir, there are two matters of a more personal nature. I have prepared a full report of this investigation to submit to a national journal for publication. I now hand to you my resignation that, following its acceptance, I can release my report to the press.”
Bony sat down and crossed his knees, careful not to spoil the immaculate creases. In the room there was not a sound until a chair scraped the floor and a man stood to ask:
“May I speak, sir?”
“Well, what is it?” growled the Chief Commissioner, and from the tone Bony was sure the questioner must be a Security man.
“I would suggest, sir, that Inspector Bonaparte’s resignation be not immediately accepted.”
The Chief Secretary pencilled a hurried note to the C.C., who, turning disdainfully from the person standing, read:
“I’ll pay.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Always a Trump Card
IN his own office, Colonel Spendor raised himself and the chair and crashed it enthusiastically, for he was delighted by the trend of the enquiry, which would undoubtedly reach far beyond his Police Department.
The Chief Secretary had departed to confer with the Premier, and Lowther was dictating his notes to a typist. With the Chief Commissioner were Superintendent Linton, Bonaparte’s superior, and Superintendent Boase.
“It would seem, sir,” said Linton
, heavy and red, “that Bonaparte has the game sewn up. The point about lack of proof that he received the telegram could be made the subject of an amendment to the Regulations, don’t you think?”
“I’ll store that for further consideration, Linton,” the Colonel evaded. “First things first. The Chief Secretary will present to the Premier an undeniable handle to turn in the innards of more than one Commonwealth Cabinet Minister. For, mark you, the Commonwealth Government won’t face Bonaparte’s threat of publicity. The S.S. and the C.I.S. will be so shaken up that they won’t recognise each other next week. They’ve had it coming to them, and by gad! it’ll take ’em now by the throat.”
“You approve of Bonaparte’s tactics, sir?” pressed Linton.
“I do not,” retorted Colonel Spendor. “But, Linton, I have to admit to private feeling in this matter, and the result has pleased me greatly. Others in this State will rejoice also. And when you dissect what Bonaparte said this morning, you will agree that he employed diplomatic blackmail like a Canberra veteran.
“I’m sure, Boase, that your own C.C. will concur that the Commonwealth has steadily been edging into our State spheres of police activity. How the Commonwealth deals with subversive activities is of little concern to us at this moment, but when Commonwealth organisations act like a lot of damn school-children playing cops and robbers, resulting in citizens being in physical danger, we are entitled to protest. And now this Bonaparte and his Cowdry affair will arm the resistance movement, as it were. Bony knew this, and he played every trump in the pack. Well, we’ll have him in. Lowther! Where the devil are you, Lowther?”
Bony was invited to be seated between the two superintendents. Smartly dressed in a grey pin-striped suit, the tie just one shade too bright and the breast handkerchief a fraction too ironed, he regarded the white head of his Chief Commissioner, and then glanced at the man either side of him. The face was calm, the eyes were masked, the mobile lips were still and gave nothing away.
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