by Peter Corris
' … consequently a firm currency is an essential element of this policy. The basis of a firm currency is gold reserves, true?'
'Certainly.'
'I am here to investigate the possibility of investing in gold production in the colony of Victoria.'
You've missed the boat, my friend, Browne thought. But he could name several mining concerns that would welcome an infusion of capital. Whether that investment would ever pay dividends was another matter and not necessarily an honest broker's responsibility. 'There are certainly productive mines in operation, although the alluvial gold has long since given out.'
Perry waved this remark aside. 'It is long-term investment we are interested in, not overnight profits.'
'Very wise. Well, this firm does represent certain mining interests and I could make enquiries …'
'I understand that you have one Bracken among your number.'
'Mr Daniel Bracken, yes, indeed. A most valuable member of the firm, but his chief areas are shipping and insurance. Of course, he has some experience as an investment advisor as well. May I ask why you mention him specifically?'
In fact, Perry had been prompted to his approach by a paragraph in The Argus which mentioned that Gladehill & Browne were representing the Southern Imperial Mining Company in a legal action. The same newspaper had acquainted him with the state of affairs in Abyssinia. He smiled. 'A well-directed question, Mr Browne. Most acute. I have travelled around Victoria for a time, incognito as it were. I gather Mr Bracken is well acquainted with the various districts? That he does not just sit in Melbourne studying pieces of paper?'
Browne felt there was a veiled insult here, but the fish appeared to be well and truly hooked and it was his business to land it. 'Mr Bracken has had a roving commission. He knows the colony intimately.'
'Excellent. I should like to have a discussion with him. Would it be possible to do so now?'
Browne knew that it would be possible. As far as he could see, Daniel Bracken had been underoccupied in recent weeks, arriving late and leaving early. But an appearance of busyness and constant application was an essential part of client confidence. He picked up the gold-embossed card, and stood. 'I'll see. If you would care to wait for a moment.'
Perry nodded, rose to his feet and strode to the window. 'I shall examine the view. There may also be a question of acquiring some city property.'
William Browne almost hurried from the room.
Daniel Bracken was seated at his desk idly reading a contract for the hauling of grain from Melbourne to Liverpool. The shipping agents were insisting on unusual insurance clauses which other parties were resisting, but Bracken was finding it difficult to concentrate on the arguments. In his pocket he had a matchbox containing some of the gold dust that had resulted when Lincoln cut the nugget, as well as scrapings he had made and a piece of gold about the size of a fishing sinker. He had an appointment to meet Malcolm Hunter that night and he was nervous. The nervousness had caused him to drink more than his usual quota of wine at lunch and he was feeling drowsy. A pain shot through his head as William Browne knocked and entered and Bracken was forced to look up suddenly.
'You don't look at all well, Bracken.'
'A slight headache,' Bracken muttered. 'Is there something I can do for you, Mr Browne?'
Browne closed the door behind him and crossed the room to lean over Bracken's desk. 'Yes, there is. I've got a rather strange chap in my office. He wants to talk to you about gold. I say, Bracken! Are you all right?'
Bracken's face had turned ashen and he was visibly trembling. The insurance document fell from his fingers and he had to steady himself by placing both hands on the desk. His hands shook violently. 'No, I suddenly feel very ill. A touch of … What d'you mean, a strange sort of chap?'
'A darkie of some kind. African, I fancy, but not one of your savages. He wants to talk about gold mines, has funds to invest, government funds, he says. But, look here, if you're not up to it … '
Relief was flooding through Bracken. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his damp forehead. 'I'll be all right, I'm sure. Must have eaten something I shouldn't. Just give me a minute and I'll see him. What's his name?'
Browne dropped the card on Bracken's desk. 'Quite a charming chap in his way. I'll be interested to hear what you make of him.'
Perry was standing at the window with his hands clasped behind his back when Browne returned. He had taken up this position again after examining a photograph on the office wall. The group depicted was the entire complement of Gladehill & Browne, suitably captioned. He now had an accurate image of Daniel Bracken. As he looked out at the city, however, his thoughts were not of property investment nor of Fanshawe's gold, but of Sarah Braun.
'Extraordinary thing,' Browne said. 'You haven't met Mr Bracken before, have you?'
Perry turned slowly. 'No. why?'
'As soon as I mentioned your business he took a turn. I thought he was going to faint.'
'My business? My name, do you mean?'
'No, no, just the matter of your interest in gold. But apparently it was a gastric attack of some kind. He'll be free to see you in a few minutes.'
'Ah,' Perry said. 'Gold is a strange material. Just the word can have an odd effect on people.' He took out his handsome gold hunter and flipped it open. 'I'm afraid I'm running late. I'll have to delay my meeting with Mr Bracken until tomorrow. I'll call at ten in the morning. Perhaps you would be so good as to make the arrangements. Thank you, Mr Browne. You have been most kind.'
Before the lawyer could draw breath, Perry had gathered his gloves and stick and swept from the room. Browne stared at the door. 'Extraordinary chap.'
There was a buzz in the outer office where Perry's rapid exit had occasioned comment. 'I handed him his hat and he tipped me, Mr Browne,' the head clerk said. 'He tipped me! Who is he, if I may ask?'
'A prince, I believe.' Browne informed Bracken that his meeting with the Abyssinian was postponed. Bracken, who had been tidying his office and his person, was relieved. He confirmed his availability for the following morning and listened impatiently as Browne outlined the possible benefits to be derived from dealing with the Abyssinian. Browne attributed Bracken's inattention to illness. 'I think you should go home and rest, Bracken. You'll need to have your wits about you to deal with this fellow.'
Bracken nodded. 'Abyssinia, would that be in Baedecker d'you imagine? I must look it up.'
Perry reclaimed possession of his dogcart, bought a newspaper and waited near the edge of the Treasury Gardens where he could see the entrance to the building occupied by Gladehill & Browne. After approximately an hour, Bracken emerged and hailed a cab. Perry slapped the horse's rump with the reins and got the dogcart moving. He followed the cab to Flemington and watched Bracken enter a public house. Perry had taken the precaution of carrying a less fashionable hat and coat with him and he now put these on. He removed the pin from his tie and put his stick in the cart along with the hat and tailored coat. He drove the dogcart into the yard behind the inn and, as was the custom, paid the attendant half of his small fee. The remainder would be paid when horse and cart were collected.
As a sporting establishment, the pub was tolerant of the members of non-white races provided they had money. Perry found the bar half full of earnest drinkers who glanced at him curiously but nothing more. Daniel Bracken was not in evidence. The barman paid closer attention to the two crown pieces Perry spun on the polished surface than to his colour.
'A pint of Abbotsford,' Perry said, 'a bottle of claret, some beef and pickles and quiet place to scoff it.'
The barman drew the beer and passed the tankard across. 'Expecting anyone else?'
Perry knew what the question meant. A single well-behaved nigger was manageable, a party was a very different proposition. 'No,' he said.
The barman jerked his thumb at a curtained doorway. 'Out the back. The plate'll take a while, like.'
Perry left the coins on the bar, picked up his mug and went throu
gh the curtain into a saloon heated by a roaring fire. Three men were seated at a table in one corner of the room and two were deep in conversation at a table near the fire. Perry recognised Bracken immediately. He took a seat at a distance from the others, opened his newspaper and began to read and drink his pint. Bracken's companion wore a checked jacket and affected mutton-chop whiskers. The two were drinking brandy and water and smoking cigars. Perry could see Bracken's hand shake as he passed an object across the table. He fumbled the exchange and the two men became very agitated as something spilled on the table.
Bracken looked furtively around the room but Perry's broadsheet was obscuring his face. He had seen the golden glint on the table top. His food and the bottle of wine arrived and he ate and drank without looking at Bracken and the other man. The saloon slowly filled up and the noise and smoke fug mounted. Perry ignored a few inquisitive looks and derogatory remarks. He had laid down his knife and fork and was wiping his mouth with a none-too-clean napkin, when Bracken's companion suddenly stood and advanced towards him. Perry tensed and his hand moved towards the revolver in the pocket of his coat which was folded on the chair beside him.
'I say, aren't you John Perry?'
Perry swilled wine in his glass. 'No, I am not.'
'You bear a great resemblance.'
Perry shrugged. 'Who is he?'
'A prize-fighter. You're very much the same build.'
'I'm sorry, sir. I don't know him. I'm a pedestrian myself—the Black Flash. Perhaps you've heard of me?'
'No. Not my game. Well, there you are.'
The man walked back to where Bracken was rising from his table. The pair did not shake hands and appeared to be on uneasy terms. Bracken picked up his glass and drained it. The other man left first as Bracken pocketed his cigar case and shrugged on his coat. Perry poured wine which he had no intention of drinking. Bracken crossed to the fire and warmed his hands before pulling on his gloves. Perry waited until the curtain had stopped swinging before following him out of the room.
29
Perry had his dogcart in place by the time Bracken secured a cab and he had no difficulty in following. The driver was not hurrying and there were few other vehicles on the roads to offer obstruction. The evening was cold and Perry drew his coat tightly around him and wished he had brought a scarf. The cab moved towards the river and followed it east into a part of the city with which Perry was not familiar. It was a prosperous area which was a mixed blessing—Bracken was not likely to be on his guard but his own presence among such well-heeled bourgeois was somewhat chancy. There were few people about on foot and the streets were poorly lit. Perry pulled his hat down over his eyes and concentrated on keeping the cab in sight.
It stopped outside a three-storey building. Perry drew up fifty yards behind, tied the reins to a fence rail and, bent low, scurried across the road. He moved quickly along as Bracken paid off his driver. The lawyer opened a gate in a low iron fence and began to plod slowly up a tree-lined walk to the front of the house. Perry, although encumbered by his coat, recrossed the road and vaulted the fence. He strode across the lawn, getting ahead of Bracken and waited in the shrubbery at the foot of the steps up to the porch. Bracken's steps were slow and uncertain, suggesting that he had had a good deal to drink in the short time he'd been in the pub. He was fumbling for his key when Perry stepped from cover and put his revolver into the lawyer's ear.
'Don't be too alarmed, Mr Bracken. I don't want to blow your brains out.'
'Jesus god!' Bracken dropped his cane and his keys, on the end of a long chain, rattled as they swung free.
Perry bent easily and retrieved the stick, still keeping his revolver pressed against Bracken's ear. 'Select your key, sir and let's go inside.'
'If it's money you want …'
'Not exactly. Do as I say!'
The instruction was accompanied by a sharp jab with the pistol muzzle. Bracken fumbled for the key and took a step forward. Perry allowed him to see the revolver and then withdrew it.
'It's aimed at your spine now. What floor are you on?'
'Th … the first. Please don't … '
'The first floor—excellent. You won't be hurt if you do as I say. Up we go, open the door and we'll soon be comfortable.'
Bracken moved falteringly forward with Perry's hand on his shoulder. He scrabbled at the lock, eventually inserted the key and opened the door. Another hesitant fumbling and he opened the door immediately inside and to the right.
'Good,' Perry said. He had closed the first door carefully; he shut the second casually with his foot. 'Now if you just light a jet or two … quietly now.'
Bracken dropped his briefcase to the floor and put a match to the gas lamps on either side of the door. His pallor, which Perry had already noticed, was ghastly in the flickering light. He gazed at Perry with a look of horror. His mouth opened but Perry tapped his front teeth with the pistol.
'I'm not a violent man, Mr Bracken. I don't want to hurt you.'
'What do you want, for god's sake. I've no money here to speak of.'
Perry was looking around the short entrance hall which led to a series of rooms. He motioned for Bracken to go further in. Bracken moved hesitantly and entered a small sitting room with a thick carpet and a number of bookshelves.
'Lights,' Perry said.
Bracken lit two lanterns and turned them up. The activity seemed to give him courage and he turned to face Perry with more resolution. 'Look here, a fellow like you. You could hang for this, you know.'
Perry laughed. 'Sit down, Mr Bracken. These chairs of yours look mighty comfortable. A fellow like me, you say. What about a fellow like you—one who uses information acquired in the course of his professional work to steal something extremely valuable?'
'I don't know what you mean?'
Perry rested the pistol on the arm of his chair. Bracken was sitting stiffly opposite him. Both men still wore their hats and Perry removed his and dropped it on the floor. Bracken followed suit and unfastened his coat.
'I mean the gold you took from land in the Mount Perfect district. A large nugget which you transported to a cave in the mountain range nearby and cut into several pieces.'
Bracken stared. 'My god, you're Lincoln's man.'
Perry inclined his head non-committaly. 'I'm my own man. But you're going to give that gold up to me, Mr Bracken.'
'You're mad,' Bracken blustered. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'We'll talk a little more, but not too much. I saw you hand a matchbox containing gold to a man in a public house tonight. No doubt arranging a transaction. I have a witness who overheard you conspiring about the matter in Wilding brothel. It's no use, Bracken. You're not going to derive any benefit from that theft. The question is, can you avoid losing your livelihood and, quite possibly, going to gaol?'
Having recovered from the initial shock, Bracken was still slightly emboldened by brandy and in a mood to bluff but the calm certainty of the dark man was unnerving him more than the casually displayed pistol. He looked closer. 'My god, you're the darkie in the pub. The one Hunter thought was this bruiser Perry.'
'Hunter's his name, is it? Useful. He was mistaken of course, but I don't imagine I'd have any trouble finding him and persuading him to talk to me about your business.
Bracken slumped in the chair. 'Damn you. I deny everything. Get out of my house!'
Perry had determined to play the interview by ear and now he thought he had hit on his strategy. 'I don't see why you should carry the whole blame for the affair. Although, of course, Wesley Lincoln sees things differently.'
Bracken gnawed at his lip but said nothing.
'Just for openers, if it was to become known how you'd found out about the gold and what your course of action was, leaving aside for a moment the culpability of others, your legal career would be well and truly over.'
'That bastard Lincoln. I should never have trusted him. Who the devil are you?'
'It doesn't matter who I am. Where'
s the gold?'
Bracken sat mute and defiant. He desperately wanted a drink but he calculated that he was not in immediate physical danger. The threat to his professional standing was a serious one but it could possibly be dealt with. In any case, Australia was a big country and with money a man could set up somewhere else. To surrender his fortune now to a nigger was unthinkable. 'I am saying nothing. If you know what's good for you, you'll leave now and tell Wesley Lincoln that he'll have to be content … '
'Mr Bracken?'
'I have nothing more to say.'
'You are mistaken. Let me tell you something about myself. I hail from Barbados, an island in the West Indies. Perhaps you have heard of it? You think of me as a nigger and you are partly right. On my mother's side I am descended from Africans brought to the islands as slaves. On my father's side, however, I have English gentlemen as my forebears. Do you understand me?'
Bracken shook his head.
'You should, Mr Bracken, you should. Slavery is the cruellest condition one set of humankind can impose on another. Those who have endured it or who have heard stories of it are not inclined to be merciful themselves. Rather the reverse. My mother's people rose up against their masters from time to time and became somewhat expert in removing the skin from living persons.'
Bracken felt his bowels loosen. He shuddered but summoned the nerve to speak. 'I can't see what this has to do … '
Perry interrupted him. 'Then, take the other part of my heritage—the English colonial gentleman. Surely, Mr Bracken, you have some idea of what English gentlemen have done to Irish peasants over the ages? In the time of the famine, say, did they show a lot of mercy to their starving tenants?'
Tales of the famine were engraved on Bracken's memory. The fishing communities such as the one in which he was born were not as subject to the intolerable hardships as those dependent entirely on their crops, but it had been bad enough. As a child Bracken had heard many stories of peasant families starving to death while their landlords gorged on meat, pastries and wine.