A Dangerous Language

by Sulari Gentill

  “You or some equally imaginary but hypothetical wife?”

  “The latter.”

  “I’d ask him to explain himself, I expect.”

  “And if he also had a picture of Milton’s wife and Clyde’s?”

  “I don’t know… the notion’s somewhat bizarre.”

  “Would you be angry?”

  “Very possibly.”

  “I do wonder if Mr. Kelly was sent those photographs in the hope that the husbands of the women in them would take offence.” She tapped his arm excitedly as a thought occurred. “Perhaps their husbands are Communists.”

  “I’m not sure I follow, Ed.”

  “Perhaps the intention here was to make Mr. Kelly’s fellow Communists distrust him.”

  Rowland nodded slowly. It was plausible. “But how would they know he had the photos?”

  Edna’s shoulders slumped. “They wouldn’t, of course. Darn, I thought I was on to something.”

  Rowland smiled at the open disappointment on her face. He tried to help. “What if Kelly was enticed to do something with the photographs that alerted the husbands? If they were Communists, it’s quite possible Kelly knew them.”

  Edna sighed. “Maybe it doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the point is that it looks as though someone was attempting to at least discredit Mr. Kelly, and possibly place in him in danger of retribution by a husband who thinks he’s been cuckolded. But perhaps it didn’t work.” Edna’s shoulders straightened again. “Perhaps whoever sent the photographs decided to take more direct action.”

  “As convoluted as that is, it does make a strange sort of sense.” Rowland turned over the Airflow’s engine. “I wonder what Major Jones would make of Sunshine Studios.”

  “You’re going to tell him?”

  “Yes.” He glanced at Edna. “I’m going to have to leave for Melbourne soon, Ed. Though with Milt in hospital—”

  “Don’t be silly, Rowly. Clyde and I can take care of Milt. You go collect your aeroplane and fetch Egon back to Melbourne.”

  He reached over and took her hand as he spoke. “I want you to be careful… please. I hate leaving when I know you could all be in danger. As soon as Milt is able to travel get him back to Woodlands.”

  Edna smiled. “Major Jones has two men stationed at the hospital and that matron is pretty formidable. We won’t let anything happen to him.”

  “I’m not only worried about Milt. You and Clyde need to watch your backs too.”

  For a moment Edna looked defiant and then her eyes softened. “We’ll be careful, but promise you will be too.”

  Rowland laughed. “Me—”

  “This new plane, Rowly, is it safe? How can you be sure it’ll make it to Fremantle in one piece?”

  “I’ll only be able to take the Grosvenor House if it makes it to Melbourne from London. Melbourne to Fremantle will, by comparison, be child’s play.” Enthusiasm crept into his voice. “The Comet is the fastest plane in the world, Ed.”

  “But you’ve never flown a Comet, Rowly.”

  “I can’t imagine it’ll be all that different to flying any other twin engine… just faster with any luck.”

  Edna shook her head. There was no point trying to reason with Rowland about modern vehicles of any sort. Despite nearly dying in the Mercedes, he seemed to believe a steering wheel made him invulnerable. She said as much and he pointed out that aeroplanes did not have steering wheels.

  Bertram Middleton was waiting for Edna at the hospital. He leapt out of the visitors’ lounge in a manner so sudden and unexpected that Rowland reacted instinctively to protect the sculptress. He had the man by the collar before he realised his mistake.

  “Middleton!” He lowered his fist. “For pity’s sake…”

  Ignoring Rowland, the journalist straightened his attire and embraced Edna. “I just heard what happened. Why didn’t you let me know?” He brushed aside her hair to inspect the bruise on her brow. “Oh my darling, are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m perfectly well, Bertie. It was poor Milt they ran down.”

  “Thank goodness for that!”

  “I beg your pardon!”

  Rowland left them to it. He spoke to the matron who reassured him that Milton was sleeping peacefully, and then he popped his head into the room to see that Clyde too was dozing in the armchair by the bed.

  He stood in line to use the public telephone. The two people before him were brief and as there was no one lined up behind him he was able to make his calls in relative privacy. He called through to Arthur Howells first.

  “Rowland? What’s wrong? Has Milton taken a turn for the worse?”

  “No, Bluey. He seems much stronger today, in fact. I’m calling about something else entirely.” He told Howells about Edna’s theory that the photographs they’d found in Kelly’s bag had been sent to cause trouble with their subjects’ husbands, who might or might not be Communists.

  “What are their names?” Howells seemed to realise what he was asking.

  “Dwyer and Burton.”

  “Yes. They are members of the Queanbeyan branch. Quite active in the Trades and Labour Council. Kelly had photographs of their wives?”

  “Yes. But I doubt the poor chap had ever met the ladies. Otherwise I presume he would have recognised them as the wives of his comrades.”

  “I’ll get in touch with Dwyer and Burton. See what they have to say.”

  Rowland made a second call then to Detective Delaney. Luck was with him again and he was put through immediately. He updated Delaney on what had happened.

  “Bloody hell! Is Milt all right?”

  “He will be, we’re told.”

  “Have they tracked down the car? The driver?”

  “No, neither. The Canberra Police are treating it as a hit and run.”

  “I see.” Delaney sighed. “Look, Rowly, they’re sending me to Canberra for the duke’s visit—to represent the CIB or some such nonsense. In the meantime, I’ll make some enquiries.”

  “Can’t ask fairer than that, Col.”

  “Give Milt my best and the rest of you watch yourselves. God only knows what you’ve stumbled into this time.”

  Finally Rowland telephoned Major Harold Jones. The crisp, vaguely bored voice informed him that the director was not available.

  When Rowland returned to Milton’s hospital room, he found Edna, Clyde and the injured poet deep in conversation. They were poring over a newspaper.

  “Where’s Middleton?”

  “I sent him to buy Milton some fruit.” Edna handed Rowland the newspaper. “Page three, top left-hand corner.”

  Rowland opened the broadsheet. An article about Black Magic, the de Havilland Comet to be flown by Jim and Amy Mollinson. “Wrong plane,” he said smiling. “I’m waiting on the Grosvenor House. There are three Comets in the MacRobertson.”

  “We know,” Clyde said. “They only started testing the Comets a couple of weeks ago…”

  “The Grosvenor House will have to get here before I take her, Clyde. Presumably that won’t happen unless her engines are in good order.”

  Clyde snorted. “You’ve flown with Kingsford Smith, Rowly—you know those blokes will tie the wings back on with their neckties to limp a plane home. There are no guarantees. If something goes wrong while you’re up there alone—”

  “You’re not suggesting I pull out?” Rowland’s tone made it clear that was not an option.

  “No, but I should go with you.”

  “You want to fly the plane?”

  “No, you can do that,” Clyde replied. “But I understand engines, and I’ll be a second set of hands. If something goes wrong that’ll be useful, I imagine.”

  “Possibly, but we can’t both leave Milt—”

  “I’m not in any danger, Rowly,” Milton said firmly. “The mongrels in the Tudor were set on removing a Communist from the vicinity of Parliament House. That’s been achieved, for the moment at lea
st. Nobody’s going to come after me now.”

  “They cut Kelly’s throat, Milt.”

  “At Parliament House. And we should also bear in mind that the blokes who ran me down probably thought I was you. Someone needs to watch your back.”

  “When’s Egon due in Fremantle?” Edna asked.

  “The sixth of November.”

  “And how long will the Comet take to get there?”

  “About six hours, I believe.”

  “So you’ll want to leave for Fremantle by—but probably not earlier than—the third.” Edna counted the days on her fingers. “A day to get there, a day to rest and a day just in case.”

  “That sounds about right.”

  “Well, in that case, Clyde will have plenty of time to meet you in Melbourne. Milt will be back on his feet, or at least on crutches, and we’ll be home in Sydney before the end of the month.”

  Rowland groaned. Somehow everything had become very messy.

  “Tell me, comrade,” Milton propped himself up on his elbows, biting his lip as he did so. “When do you need to head to Melbourne to claim the Grosvenor House?”

  “The race doesn’t even start till the twentieth, so I have a few days.”

  Despite his current condition, Milton’s dark eyes glinted. “Well, let’s use that time to figure out who killed Kelly and then tried to do me in.”

  Clyde sighed. “We can blame this,” he said, picking up the volume of Christie’s Murder in Three Acts that Ethel Bruce had brought in that morning. “We really shouldn’t let him read anything but the Bible.”

  Rowland grimaced. The Bible was probably uncalled for.

  “For an artist you have very little imagination.” Milton reached out to snatch back his book.

  “We might as well try to find out what we can,” Rowland said, smiling. “At the very least it might motivate Jones to treat this as something more than a traffic accident.” He told them what he and Edna had discovered at Sunshine Studios and his subsequent conversation with Arthur Howells.

  “I wonder what Mr. Kelly was really doing here,” Edna murmured. “Parliament’s been in recess. What on earth could he have been doing for the past month?”

  Clyde sighed, deciding to let Edna and Rowland in on what he and Milton already knew. “Howells says Kelly was trying to recruit members.”

  “In Canberra?”

  “In the House. Kelly thought if he could bring a few staff members over to the cause, well then, we might learn a darn sight more than we would in the public gallery.”

  Rowland flinched. “Was he successful? Actually, forget I asked that. I really don’t want to know.”

  Milton smiled. “Of the hundreds of people who clean, and cater, and maintain the Federal House, surely you’d expect one or two of them to be amenable to the workers’ cause.”

  “Mr. Ley seems to believe the gentlemen of the Labor Party are all Communists,” Edna added, thinking briefly of the erstwhile politician’s discourses on the topic at dinner.

  “He said that?”

  “It’s a favourite subject of his.”

  “If they were Communists,” Milton muttered, “perhaps Jim Kelly’s death might be treated as more than an unfortunate deposit of litter on the steps of democracy.”

  18

  POLICE FORCE

  Leaving for Canberra

  DUKE’S VISIT

  SYDNEY, Tuesday

  Fifty uniformed men will leave Sydney on October 22, as part of the police force to be present when the Duke of Gloucester arrives at Canberra.

  It was announced that the following members of the CIB will go to Canberra for the Royal visits: Detective-Sergeants Kennedy, Lawrence, Delaney, and Baker, and Detectives Buckley, Crampton, Wilson, and Bodol.

  The Maitland Daily Mercury, 16 October 1934

  Although parliament had not yet resumed, the Federal House was gradually filling. Newly elected members and senators had arrived and were orienting themselves with the building in which they would conduct the important business of government. Reelected representatives renewed acquaintances with colleagues and briefed journalists. Ministers settled into offices and the remainder worked from their respective Party rooms.

  “I wonder who’s policing the rest of Canberra,” Clyde said quietly as they walked in through the main entrance.

  Rowland nodded. There did indeed seem to be a large number of peace officers patrolling the House. Members of the New South Wales Police Force were also present in number. “Probably something to do with the impending arrival of the Duke of Gloucester,” he murmured.

  “Of course.” Clyde sighed. “A murder or two might upset His Majesty’s delicate sensibilities.”

  They took particular note of the copper piping of the Lamson tubes, visible at various points.

  “Where are the sending stations?” Clyde asked.

  “We’ll ask, shall we?” Rowland spotted the long-limbed Usher of the Blackrod as he strode out of the Senate chamber. “Mr. Broinowski, might we have a moment, sir?”

  Broinowski turned stiffly on his heel. “Oh, yes, Mr. Sinclair the younger, and Mr. Watson Jones.”

  Rowland was more than a little impressed that Broinowski recalled their names after such a brief introduction. He shook the public servant’s hand.

  “We assume you’re here about Mr. Sinclair’s roses.” Broinowski’s manner was as upright and direct as his appearance.

  “Wil’s roses?”

  “Yes, for the Parliamentary Rose Gardens. We were hoping that Mr. Sinclair could see his way clear to donating four varieties of red, two white cultivars and a yellow floribunda.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Rowland replied smoothly. Wilfred’s enthusiasm for roses bordered on the obsessive. Oaklea’s rose beds were extensive and lovingly tended. If Broinowski wanted bushes, they would no doubt be found. “But to be honest, Mr. Broinowski, Clyde and I were just curious about the Lamson tubes.”

  The Usher of the Blackrod’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And what is your interest in the Lamson tube system, gentlemen?”

  Rowland decided on honesty. “We were wondering from where the razor sent to the prime minister’s office might have been sent.”

  Broinowski’s eyes darted anxiously as he beckoned for them to follow him. “The unfortunate incidents of the past days are not something we would wish to cast a shadow over the wonderful occasion of His Majesty’s visit,” he said brusquely, motioning them into the hallway.

  “A friend of ours found the body. And then someone ran him down in front of the House a couple of days ago.”

  “Yes, I am aware of the accident—”

  “With respect, Mr. Broinowski, it was not an accident.”

  Broinowski stared at them for a moment. “There are five possible locations from which the weapon might have been sent. Only one is in an area open to the public.” He pointed them towards the Parliamentary Library. “Items may be despatched from the Parliamentary Post Office behind King’s Hall.”

  “So the razor must have been sent from within the House?”

  “That is correct.”

  “So you think the weapon was sent from the Parliamentary Post Office?”

  “That, gentlemen, is a matter for the police.”

  “Blackrod! Why hello, old man! How tremendous to see you.”

  Rowland saw the slight widening of Broinowski’s eyes before he turned. Thomas Ley approached with his hand extended.

  “Good Lord, Sinclair!” Ley glanced at Clyde. “Mr… forgive me…”

  “Watson Jones,” Clyde said.

  “Mr. Watson Jones!” Ley clapped Clyde exuberantly on the back.

  “Mr. Ley,” Broinowski’s tone was measured. “I had heard you were back.”

  Ley grinned and winked broadly. “Can’t get anything past Blackrod here. Nothing happens in this place without his say so.”

  On this Broinowski did not comment. “Can I help you, Mr. Ley?”

  “No thank you, Blackrod
. I’m just reacquainting myself with the House and calling in on old colleagues. I’ve missed this place!”

  Broinowski nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I must get on.”

  “Capital fellow that Blackrod,” Ley murmured as they watched him continue on his way. “Now, Sinclair, Jones, what brings you gentlemen here, and where is the lovely Miss Higgins? I’ve told young Middleton that he better marry her quick smart before some other young buck beats him to it!”

  “We were curious about the Lamson tubes,” Rowland said, leaving everything else aside.

  “The tubes! Why would you be interested in the tubes?”

  “Just curious about how they worked,” Clyde said. “Rowly was thinking about having some installed at Woodlands so he can send instructions to the servants.”

  “Oh, I see.” Ley seemed to miss both the look on Rowland’s face and the jest in Clyde’s voice. “It is an efficient system when things don’t get stuck. You wouldn’t believe what people try to send through the tubes. I have heard of the odd bottle of stagger juice being so despatched.”

  “An act of kindness, no doubt,” Rowland said.

  “I trust you don’t mean that, Mr. Sinclair. It would be a sorry state of affairs if we couldn’t rely on sober government.”

  Ley began a passionate monologue on the benefits of temperance. He may have detained them in this conversation for some time had Stanley Melbourne Bruce not appeared with a gentleman Rowland recognised as Robert Menzies. The Honourable Thomas Ley tipped his hat curtly to the newcomers and, with a hasty farewell, was on his way.

  With his mind still on Ley’s noticeably awkward exit, Rowland introduced The Honourable Robert Menzies to Clyde Watson Jones. Menzies’ history with the Sinclairs was long, though Rowland had first met him only the previous year when he’d still been Deputy Premier of Victoria. Wilfred Sinclair, on the other hand, had known the newly elected Member for Kooyong since 1920, when they had both vied for the hand of a Miss Patty Leckie.

  Rowland congratulated Menzies on his election and his subsequent appointment as the Federal Attorney-General. “Why thank you, Mr. Sinclair. I am looking forward to the challenge of the federal stage.”

  “Actually, Rowland, may I have a private word?” Bruce asked pleasantly. “It won’t take a moment.”