“Oh! What is this Tatter?”
“ ’E’sthe butler. When the truck isn’t in. Tatter makes the trip for the mail and papers.”
“What kind of man is he to look at?”
“Tatter? A biggish sorta bloke. Done a bit with the gloves at some time.’E’s never run foul of me-yet.”
“There is a man cook, isn’t there?”
“Yes. ’Is name’s Jules. Don’t see much of ’im. Bit of weed is Monsoo Jules.”
“A Frenchman?”
Joe nodded and blew cigar smoke at the cats. They objected, and one jumped lightly to Bony’s shoulder, where it settled and purred.
“How long has this Jules and Tatter been with Rockaway?” was Bony’s next question.
“Like the others they come ’ere with Rockaway. Even Mrs Light, the ’ouse-keeper, came with Rockaway and the gal. Some says that Mrs Light uster be lady’s maid to Mrs Rockaway afore she kicked orf. She’s a sour old cow… You like cats?”
“Much, and dogs, too,” replied Bony, who was stroking the animal on his shoulder.
“Can’t says as ’ow I’m partial to dogs,” admitted Joe, and Bony guessed that he was the cats’ defender against the attacks of local dogs. He gazed steadily at Joe, saying:
“When you were prospecting at Wapengo Inlet, did you discover any caves or natural holes in the ground?”
Joe regarded Bony from beyond a pall of smoke.
“It’s funny you asking me that,” he said slowly. “Meand Jack was talkin’ of caves and things last night. There’s a longish cave less’n ’arf a mile from Rockaway’s ’ouse. It goes away back under to top of the ’ill. Just the place for ole Rockaway to plant anybody he wanted to keep quiet-blokes like Bill Spinks and young Garroway, f’instance.”
“Indeed!” Steadily Bony regarded Joe through the smoke. “Do you, too, think they are still alive?”
“Can’t say as I do. But Jack does, and he thinks it because the Spinks women won’t admit they’re dead.”
“Where is the entrance to this cavern-from the house?”
“It’s straight up the ’ill from the ’ouse. Yousee, the ’ill top is sorta ’ollow. Sandstone and granite, and the sandstone ’as washed out leavin’ the granite cap still there. It’s a good place all right. Small entrance what could be easily blocked from outside.”
“Although we are unable to believe that Spinks and Garroway are alive, that cave would be a good place to keep them in for months?”
“For years. As I told you, the entrance is small and can be easily blocked from outside. There’s only one ’ole in the roof, and a rock could be rolled over that. Any’ow, it’s too high from the floor to reach and escape that way. Still, what would be the sense of killin’ Ericson and not them what saw the killin’ done?”
Bony slowly nodded in agreement, and for a space they were silent. Then he said:
“I would much like to examine that cave you speak of, Joe. Although we do not believe those two men to be alive, I must not disregard the possibility. The time has almost arrived to take a certain path of action, and before that action is undertaken I must be sure that the lives of possible prisoners are not endangered. I wonder, now. Would you accompany me, say tomorrow night, down to Wapengo Inlet and there take a look around?”
“Would I! Too right I would,” replied Joe, his mouth a-leer, his small eyes agate hard. “Thinking of Bill and young Garroway makes me kind of take a step or two to believin’ they’re alive.”
“Well,”and Bony lifted the cat from his shoulder, “I’ll let you know tomorrow about the expedition to Wapengo Inlet. Meanwhile I rely on your silence. When we do act we must act swiftly.”
“You can rely on me, Mr Bonaparte. I ain’t married, for a woman to get anythink outer me.”
On reaching the hotel, Bony passed at once to his room which was on the ground floor. There he opened his brief-case to refresh his mind on the statement made to Sergeant Allen by Eddy Burns.
He was standing at the table set before the window that opened on to the yard and garages, the case on the table, its contents not yet withdrawn. Slowly his slight body stiffened until it became utterly immobile. That “sixth” sense named by himintuition, was unaccountably aroused, its physical effect being a tingling sensation at the back of his head.
For quite a minute he remained standing thus, and then his nostrils expanded and relaxed. In this time his maternal blood conquered his white blood, and he became primitive, super alert, controlled by the nervous reflexes of primitive man and animals. Swiftly immobility fled, to be replaced by feverish activity.
He made a thorough search of the room and his possessions, but everything was in order. He examined the brief-case and the papers within, but found no clue to possible interference. He remembered exactly how last he had placed the papers in the case, and they tallied now.
“Strange!” he murmured.
The tingling feeling had passed, and again he was normal. The cause he attributed to a condition of health, for there was nothing within the room, or in the air, to have warned him of danger. It was then a quarter toeleven, and he took the brief-case to the licensee with the request that it be locked in the office safe.
He joined Emery in the main bar parlour, and for half an hour talked fishing over a drink or two. When he went to bed it was to sleep without delay. He was awakened by a small voice full of menace.
“Get up and dress. Don’t so much as whisper, or I’ll spatter the walls with your brains.”
Chapter Eighteen
Taken ForA Ride
A DETECTIVE is menaced by physical violence much less often than Hollywood would have us believe; and during Napoleon Bonaparte’s career threat to his life had been a rare phenomenon. He had himself never effected an arrest, his custom being to fade away after having placed the keystone of an investigation into position.
Mentally alert the moment the sound of the small voice penetrated to his subconscious, he recognized instantly the thing that pressed coldly and roundly against the back of his head. He was lying on his right side, facing the wall, and from behind him the small voice continued:
“Light, Dave.”
The electric light went on. Bony blinked. He continued to lie still.
“Get up,” ordered the small voice.
Obeying, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, to stare at the round orifice of the pistol barrel, the hatchet face of Dan Malone above the weapon, and Dave Marshall who stood by the door with his hand stillraised to the light switch. Then his gaze encountered the pale-blue eyes of the North American, to see in theman anger, no emotion, only a dead cold purpose.
“You gotta chance of living,” Malone said, and Bony noted his power of speaking distinctly and yet so softly that one had to strain hearing. “If you don’t do as you’re told, when you’re told, I’ll snuff you right out. It’s up to you. Dress and make no sound.”
To comply with the instruction was to exhibit common sense. The unusual situation produced the same mental state as that created in Bony’s mind by a fighting swordfish. It divided his mind, one part of it now seeking to cope with this second “startling development”, whilst the other part was astonished by the facility with which the pistol barrel remained in exact alignment with the centre of his forehead no matter his movements. The situation was ordinary because of the entire absence of melodrama in Malone’s voice and facial expression. His threats were horrifying only through their implication. They were spoken in the calm, cold manner of the doctor stating that the patient would die of starvation if he would not eat. There was in Malone’s threats just that degree of certainty, and it angered Bony because of its affront to his dignity.
He was at last dressed in the clothes he had worn at dinner and when on his visit to Joe Peace. It was Dave Marshall who handed to him his wristlet watch, who packed his toilet things into the smaller of his suit-cases, who glanced inside the wardrobe to see there Bony’s old fishing togs and shoes. It was Malone who continued to m
enace him with the pistol, who did the ordering, who now said:
“Sit down at the table and write a letter I’ll dictate. There’s your writing tablet and pens and ink. Head the letter ‘Thursday night’.” Bony prepared himself to write, and Malone continued:
“ ‘DearMrs Steele. I have found it necessary to leave late this evening on very important business which I expect will keep me away for several days. Don’t worry about the account. A man in my position can’t bilk’ ”-Bony shuddered-“ ‘anyone. Please tell Jack Wilton of my absence, and ask him to hold himself in readiness for my return. Yours faithfully.’ Sign it properly. Good! Now put the letter into an envelope and address it to Mrs Steele, Bermagui Hotel.”
Bony complied with the order, and was then told to stand and face about. Malone now came to stand beside him, to slip his left hand round Bony’s right arm, to cross his right arm over his chest and press the barrel of the pistol against Bony’s right side.
“We’re going for a walk like this,” Malone said, without emotion. “We’re going to tread very lightly so’s not to wake anybody up. If you don’t tread softly enough to please me, or if you shout or play the fool, you’ll be dead afore you know it. Ready, Dave?”
Marshall was standing by the door and light switch, the large and heavy suit-case on the floor beside the small and lighter one at his feet. He nodded. The light went out and the door was opened, although Bony could not hear its movement.
Malone waited for three seconds, when Marshall flashed on a hand torch having its beam semi-masked by a handkerchief. In this subdued light Malone escorted Bony out of the room, along the corridor, down a short flight of steps, and so out into the yard. By keeping to the wall of the building they escaped treading on the yard gravel. They passed along the “drive-in”, Marshall following with the suit-cases and his torch switched off, and where the drive-in debouched on to the sidewalk of the street they were met by a third man who whispered to Malone that there was no one about, and that no sleepless guest was lounging on the hotel balcony.
Bony was conducted directly across the road to the open grassland separating the township from the inner beach, and there they walked parallel with the road, moving without sound on the grass, until they were out of the township. They were obliged to walk on the road when crossing the bridge of a narrow creek, and again when well beyond the jetty where they were obliged to cross the bridge over the Bermaguee River. After that they kept to the grass verge of the road for nearly a mile when they arrived at the junction of the Tilba and Cobargo roads well beyond the last house of the scattered settlement. There, in the deep shadow of the forest trees waited a car.
It was a new machine of an expensive make. Marshall placed the suit-cases in the luggage compartment and stepped into the rear seat. Malone and the third man squeezed Bony into the car to sit beside Marshall, and after him stepped Malone, the third man taking the wheel. Not until the machine was well away from the road junction did the driver switch on the headlamps.
With a calm he certainly did not feel, Bony said:
“Perhaps one of you has a cigarette?”
The request appeared to reduce the tension in the men either side of him, for Malone chuckled, saying:
“Give Mr Bonaparte a fag, Dave. He deserves one for being a good little nigger boy.”
“Your kindness charms me,” Bony said, cuttingly-after Marshall had held a match to the cigarette. “It would be too much, of course, to ask where we are going. As your accent betrays your origin, and your actions confirm your accent, I have authority to assume that you are, to use your own picturesque idiom, taking me for a ride.”
Again Malone chuckled, coldly and without humour.
“That’s the name for it, Mr Bonaparte, although in your case we don’t aim to stop the bus and take you for a little walk before bumping you off.”
“Ah! You have, then, another idea?”
“That’s telling,” Malone guardedly fenced. “We’re goin’ to take great and particular care of you, any’ow. Can’t have niggers like you snoopin’ around, drawin’ plans of the shipping and what not, and pinching paint-brushes when no-buddy’s around. People who stick their dirty noses into other people’s business git burnt sooner or later. Ain’t that so, Mr Tatter?”
“That is so, Captain Malone,” replied the driver in precise English.
The driver, then, was Rockaway’s butler, the fellow who often came to town on a motor-cycle for the mail and papers. Malone, however, appeared to be the leader of this party which might have no connection with the Rockaways, father and daughter. Bony hoped this was so, for he continued to feel a degree of warmth towards the man who had so hospitably welcomed him at Wapengo Inlet, who was so enthusiastically an angler, and so charmingly oblivious to the colour of his guest.
In less than half an hour of swift driving they passed through the end of a town, turning right to cross a bridge. The stars informed the alert detective that the general direction of travel was changed from west to south, and when they skirted a second town he observed that the general direction of travel was eastward. The farther they progressed the rougher became the roads until they left the made roads and followed a winding track through close-packed scrub trees.
The car had traversed this track for nearly two miles when into the radius of the head-lamps slid a large bungalow type house. The track could be seen to pass along the front of this house, and arriving at it the speed was reduced when passing it, reduced to a crawl to swing right and enter a large shed the doors of which were wide open.
The head-lamps illuminated the interior of the place, a large garage, for there was a truck, a light sports car, a motor-cycle, drums of petrol and of oil, a lathe and trade benches. The car engine was stopped, and Bony could hear the garage doors being closed. The interior electric lights came on and the car’s lamps were switched off.
“Come on, we git out here,” Malone ordered, himself first to leave the car. Bony dutifully followed-to see Rockaway leaning against the mudguard of the sports model and a lean man crossing from the double doors he had closed. Rockaway, said, conversationally:
“Well, Mr Bonaparte, we meet again in adverse circumstances. It is to be regretted, for my admiration is sincere for one who has captured a five-hundred-pound swordie.”
Bony bowed in his grand manner. Now that the situation seemed likely to develop melodramatically, he was feeling a little more at his ease. There was more warmth in Rockaway than in Malone, although Rockaway might prove to be equally deadly. Tatter went to the doors. The thin man stood beside Rockaway, and Malone took station a little to the front of Bonaparte. Marshall was lifting the suit-cases from the car.
“The circumstances controlling our first meeting, as well as this one, were not of my choosing, Mr Rockaway,” Bony said, to add grandiloquently: “You will, perhaps, gratify my curiosity concerning the reason for this remarkable conduct.”
“Certainly, Mr Bonaparte,” the big man readily assented.“A certain cause is having a series of effects. Thecause being your inquisitiveness and the effects so far being certain newspaper reports hinting that you are taking a busman’s holiday, examination of your papers proving that you have become deeply interested in the fate of theDo-me, and your abduction from your bed and escort to this place.”
“Ah! So someone did examine the papers in my brief-case,” Bony exclaimed. “It is strange, for although I could obtain absolutely no proof that the case has been tampered with, I yet was warned by a sixth sense I name intuition.”
“Yes. You see, Mr Bonaparte, during your absence from the hotel this evening, or rather last evening, Tatter, my butler, examined your personal effects, and in your brief-case saw those maps and plans and reports and statements you have compiled concerning the missingDo-me. Before your absence from the hotel presented him with the opportunity of looking over those papers he had no chance of receiving instructions from me, and so he replaced the brief-case exactly as he had found it. Having at one time been a most
successful burglar, for you to have discovered any article misplaced would have cast reflection on his reputation.”
“I can assure you that his reputation remains untarnished,” Bony said, slightly smiling.
“I am glad to know that. Of course, he did quite right to leave the brief-case in your suit-case, and as Marshall has brought both your suit-cases here we will go into your papers more fully. Get me the brief-case, Dave.”
Marshall opened the larger of Bony’s suit-cases and began to tumble out on the floor its contents. Bony, watchinghim, saw first bewilderment and then chagrin on his rat face.
“It’s-it’s not here,” he stuttered.
“Oh!” Mr Rockaway said slowly. “In which case did you place Mr Bonaparte’s brief-case, Tatter?”
“In the large one,” replied Tatter, from the doors.
“Well, it ain’t here,” Marshall said.
“That’s where I put it,” averred Tatter. “That’s where I found it in the first place. I remember the incident perfectly.”
“Well, well!” Rockaway said, in his voice for the first time a discordant note. “Surely, Malone, you realized the importance of Mr Bonaparte’s brief-case and checked up on Tatter’s statement? It would have taken only a second.”
“Tatter said he knew it was in the big suit-case,” Malone answered.
“Tatter said this and Tatter said that, you fool,” Rockaway exclaimed. “Unless I am with you to guide your every step you are lost. Now, Mr Bonaparte, please assist us. What became of your brief-case?”
“It was like this, Mr Rockaway,” Bony replied easily. “On my return to the hotel last evening I had occasion to refresh my mind on a point of my investigation into your strange activities, and my sixth sense informed me that that brief-case had been tampered with. In order to secure it against another invasion, I took it along to Constable Telfer for safe keeping.”
“That’s a lie,” Marshall burst out. “You never left the pub after you got back there. Wewas watching the place from eleven o’clock.”
The Mystery of Swordfish Reef b-7 Page 18