A Few Right Thinking Men

by Sulari Gentill

  “That’s my dog…Lenin.”

  Delaney patted the dog, carefully. “Sure is ugly.”

  “Afraid so,” Rowland replied, “but he grows on you.”

  “Unlike the real Lenin,” Delaney wagged his finger at Milton. Rowland was startled—he’d not known that Delaney was acquainted with the poet. “Have you met…?”

  “Oh, Mr. Isaacs is well known to the Force.” The detective smiled quite congenially at Milton. “Haven’t seen you in a while, though.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  Rowland decided to leave it. “Right, Delaney, you might need to sit down….” He unloaded all the details of his trip to Berrima, to Clark’s property, and what he had learned of the New Guard’s audacious plans. He described the old Berrima Gaol and how it could be fortified with men and guns to make it a very defendable prison.

  He ran his hand through his hair, almost embarrassed by his own tale. “Look, Delaney, I know all this sounds ridiculous, but I rather think they’re serious.”

  Delaney tapped his fingers on the arm of the couch as he thought. “It fits. We know Campbell has called for the Guardsmen to be ready for mobilisation within the month. He’s issued instructions for street fighting and told his men to pack a day’s provisions when they’re called.”

  Milton swore. He was taking this latest plan of the New Guard very personally.

  “Do they have any idea that you’re not really one of them?” Delaney asked Rowland.

  “I doubt it. They wouldn’t have told me…”

  Delaney nodded. “True. Perhaps this is the time for you to call it quits. The stakes are getting much higher now.”

  Rowland shook his head. “No…not yet. Not till I find out if it was these traitorous idiots who killed my uncle.”

  Delaney didn’t look surprised. “Fair enough. I’ll take your information to the Superintendent.”

  “That’s all you’re going to do?” Milton was unable to keep quiet any longer. “Someone’s got to stop those morons, and if you won’t…”

  “Rest assured, Mr. Isaacs, they will be stopped—but we’ve got to tread carefully.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Milton glanced at Rowland.

  “There are rather a lot of Guardsmen,” Delaney tapped his fingers again. “We’re better sabotaging the plan, undermining it, rather than opposing it openly.”

  “And how will you do that?” Clyde asked.

  Delaney beamed. “MacKay’s infiltrated a few men into the Guard, and the intelligence Mr. Sinclair’s just given us will give us a good start. We’ll stop Campbell and make him think it’s his idea.”

  “They couldn’t really…they can’t just…” Edna sounded unnerved.

  “The New South Wales Government has many enemies, Miss Higgins—more than just Campbell and his cronies. To tell you the truth, anything could happen right now. We’re in uncharted territory. ”

  “What enemies…who else?”

  “The Commonwealth government, for one,” replied Delaney. “This latest wrangle over funds is getting bloody nasty. There are some who think that Canberra will move on Lang before Campbell does.”

  Depending on the publisher, the newspapers had either decried or applauded Lang’s repudiation of foreign loans, and the Commonwealth’s consequent attempts to garnishee the State Treasury in its determination that New South Wales would not damage the entire country’s financial position.

  “Move? How? With the military?”

  “Some say Canberra will use the Old Guard.”

  Rowland looked up sharply.

  Delaney raised his brows. So, Rowland Sinclair was aware of the Old Guard—the Detective Constable had thought as much. “Unfortunately, we don’t know a lot about them.” Delaney played his cards close to his chest. “They’re secretive, unlike Campbell’s show ponies, but we believe their numbers dwarf Campbell’s and that they, too, are amassing.”

  Rowland chewed his lower lip. So the Old Guard was mobilising; Wilfred had said nothing of this. He brought his mind back to the matters at hand. “Your turn, Delaney…have you heard anything from Dynon…about my uncle?”

  Delaney looked warily at Rowland’s houseguests, and nodded slightly. Rowland saw his hesitancy. “I’ve already told them,” he admitted. “You’ll have to trust them.”

  Delaney sighed, studied Milton for a moment and then continued. “All I’ve got so far is that Dynon wants to induct me into the Legion…it’s some kind of special force within the New Guard itself. He hasn’t told me much at this stage. I know the Legion’s entire membership is kept tight, under fifty, but I haven’t been to a meeting yet. I think this Legion might be the key to your ‘dark ghosts.’”

  “You’ll tell me if you find out anything?” Rowland looked for Delaney’s word.

  After a moment’s pause, the detective nodded. “Yes, I’ll tell you…but this particular arrangement stays between us, right?” He looked pointedly at Milton again. “I’ll be lining up for the Susso myself if MacKay ever finds out.”

  Rowland nodded. “Done. Thank you.”

  Delaney stood, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think you should come with me, Sinclair. MacKay may have some questions for you. What do you say?”

  “I can’t be seen wandering into Police Headquarters.”

  “I’ll take you in through the back—no one will see us. Anyway, if they did, there’s no reason at all why Clyde Watson Jones and Jack Harris shouldn’t be seen together.”

  Rowland stood. “Good enough.”

  Delaney turned to the others. “And you lot watch yourselves—someone’s bound to figure this out soon. As I said, the stakes are getting higher.”

  “You be careful, too, Detective Constable,” said Edna earnestly. Delaney smiled at the beautiful sculptress who thought to be concerned for his safety. Milton rolled his eyes. Rowland looked amused.

  “I’ll do that, Miss Higgins.”

  He and Rowland made their way out. Delaney paused outside the front door. “You know you’re being watched don’t you?”

  “By whom?” Rowland was genuinely surprised.

  “Them.” Delaney pointed his hat toward a black Oldsmobile parked across the road. “You haven’t noticed…? They’re not exactly subtle.”

  Rowland hadn’t noticed. “Who are they?”

  “Federal agents, I’d say—if they were us, I’d know.” He smiled, “They’re not dressed up as hoboes, so they can’t be Guardsmen.”

  Rowland squinted until he made out the men, all in suits, sitting in the Oldsmobile. “A swaggie might stand out in Woollahra,” he said dryly. “Should I be worried?”

  Delaney shrugged. “Depends what you’ve been up to.”

  Rowland’s mind flew back to the 50–50 Club. “Do you think they know about my links to the New Guard?” He kept his eyes on the surveillance vehicle.

  “You’re assuming it’s you they’re watching, Sinclair.”

  “Aren’t they?”

  “Maybe,” Delaney glanced over his shoulder back into the house. “But you keep some interesting company. The Feds are out watching Communists, Guardsmen, and a few lots in between at the moment. Got their hands pretty full.”

  Suddenly Rowland remembered the Oldsmobile that had been parked outside Oaklea. It was black, too. He had vague recollections of seeing black Oldsmobiles on several occasions since. Was it something to do with Wil? Could it be that the car was waiting in case his brother returned to Woodlands House? He said nothing.

  ***

  The young officer manning the desk outside MacKay’s office looked up in alarm as they passed. “Detective Delaney, the Superintendent is—”

  “Expecting me.” Delaney strode past and pushed MacKay’s door.

  Rowland came in behind him. The office was large and functional; no mementos, photographs, or personal tou
ches at all. Bill MacKay stood as they entered.

  “Delaney! What the blazes…?”

  Delaney stopped. Rowland heard him swear under his breath. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t realise…”

  MacKay was not alone. A second man, in one of the visitors’ chairs, sat with his legs stretched out halfway across the office. Rowland needed no introduction. The jutting lower jaw and the drooping moustache had been caricatured for years by countless cartoonists and poster artists.

  Delaney was mortified. “Premier Lang, I’m sorry to disturb you, sir.”

  “Not at all, Delaney…” Lang smiled. “You’re one of Bill’s men inside the New Guard, aren’t you?’

  MacKay was not so easily placated. Rowland could almost feel the rush of air as he roared, “Sinclair, what the hell are you doing here? Delaney, have you lost your mind, boy?”

  “Mr. Sinclair has some valuable information on the New Guard’s latest plot, sir. Very significant information,” Delaney replied. “But we can come back…”

  “Another plot!” Lang interrupted. “What on earth is Campbell up to now? I’ve only just hunted out the bloody Guardsman they had under my sister-in-law’s floorboards. I thought she had rats!” He slammed his hat down on the desk in frustration. “They’re more trouble than the flaming Communists!”

  An awkward silence followed as Delaney waited for MacKay’s direction.

  The Superintendent spat, “You heard the Premier—get on with it!”

  Delaney introduced Rowland Sinclair. Premier Lang stood and shook his hand. “You’re not a member of the force then, Sinclair?”

  “No, sir. I have my own reasons for looking into the New Guard’s activities.”

  It was Lang, not MacKay, who offered them both a seat. “So Mr. Sinclair, what cockeyed scheme has Eric concocted now?” MacKay’s face was thunderous.

  Rowland recounted his excursion to the Southern Highlands, the New Guard’s astonishing plans for Berrima Gaol. Again he felt like he was telling some ludicrous fairytale.

  When he’d finished, Lang sat back, his fist placed thoughtfully on his lips. Suddenly he laughed. “A swaggie, you say. I’ve seen the poor fool running for his life through the paddocks…capital bull that Ebenezer.” He held his hands about four feet apart, “Horns on him like that!” He laughed again.

  MacKay turned to Rowland. “Did Campbell send you to Berrima?”

  “Not exactly. Poynton filled me in…He said it was at Campbell’s request.”

  MacKay shook his head. “He’s set up this Poynton to take the fall…Campbell will claim to know nothing, should it come out.”

  “MacKay, I want this swaggie arrested for interfering with my bull,” Lang declared. “Exposure to an accountant could affect the yield this season.”

  “Premier, we can’t let them instigate the plan, however ridiculous it is,” MacKay looked up at Rowland. “Thank you for your information, Mr. Sinclair. We’ll take it from here. Delaney, escort Sinclair home.”

  Rowland stood, a little annoyed at being dismissed in so offhand a manner.

  Lang stood also, and stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sinclair. I could use a man like you.”

  Rowland smiled. If anything would make Wilfred shoot him…“It’s been a privilege, sir. I’ll leave you gentlemen to defend democracy.”

  “Well, if you’re ever looking for work…” the Premier replied, beaming beneath his famous moustache.

  MacKay cleared his throat and looked hard at Delaney, and with that, Rowland Sinclair and the detective departed.

  “So, what did you think of our beleaguered Premier?” Delaney asked as he drove Rowland back to Woodlands House.

  Rowland laughed. “Seems rather more fed up with the Communists than I expected,” he said, intrigued that the perceived champion of the Bolshevik cause, could be so.

  “Oh, he hates them,” Delaney replied. “Always ranting about Jock Garden.”

  ***

  Rowland found Milton pacing the floor. Clyde was sketching Edna onto a large sheet of drawing cartridge as she lay on the couch with Lenin.

  “Problem?” he asked, as Milton all but walked into him.

  “Call me difficult, Rowly, but I’m a little uneasy about leaving this situation in the hands of the police.”

  Rowland ran them through his meeting with MacKay and the Premier.

  Milton was in no way appeased. “Lang hasn’t been able to do a single thing about the New Guard to date.”

  “I did say I’d call Wil.” Rowland was now starting to doubt the wisdom of doing that.

  “Hold off, Rowly,” cautioned Clyde. “With due respect to your brother, his lot don’t sound a great deal more rational than the Boo Guard…They may even think kidnapping the Cabinet is a good idea, and then we’d just be giving Campbell more allies.”

  “Wil’s adamant that the Old Guard is purely defensive, but who the hell knows?” Rowland conceded.

  “I still think we should make the Party aware of Campbell’s plans,” said Milton. “We’ll need to be ready.”

  “No. Rowly’s right.” Clyde was firm. “That would only start a war—which is exactly what Campbell wants, I reckon. Let’s face it Milt, the Left is as organised as a traffic jam on Pitt Street—not like the Fascists. I’d never shirk a fight—you know that—but right now, we’d lose. It’d be pointless.”

  “Listen to him, Elias.” Edna’s voice was hard and low. It was not a request.

  Milton shot her a dark look. Edna didn’t often use his real name. He had been called Milton since he fashioned himself into a poet. “I won’t say a thing,” he sighed. “But, Rowly…”

  “If Delaney doesn’t pull it off, we’ll tell anybody who’ll listen,” Rowland said, anticipating his friend’s comment. “At the moment it’s just a plan.”

  Milton was sullen; persuaded but not entirely convinced. “I hope we’re doing the right thing.”

  “God, I do too.” Rowland was equally unsure.

  ***

  Rowland did phone Wilfred that day. The call was unsuccessful, but not entirely so. He had hoped to find out what the Old Guard was up to. Of course, he knew that Wilfred would tell him nothing, but he wanted to ask all the same. He spoke briefly to Kate who told him that the elder Sinclair was in Canberra.

  “What’s he doing there, Kate?” Rowland asked.

  “I’m not really sure, Rowly. Ernie…Shh!…Oh, all right, I’ll ask…Rowly, would you mind saying hello to Ernie?”

  “Sure, put him on.”

  “Uncle Rowly!” Ernest bellowed into the phone.

  “Hello, Ernie. No need to yell, mate. I can hear you.”

  “Daddy’s in camera.”

  “I heard.”

  “Daddy’s very important.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “He’s meeting the Pry Minster.”

  Suddenly, Kate was back on the line. “You mustn’t listen to Ernie.” She was obviously flustered. “He says the most nonsensical things.”

  “Don’t be cross with him, Kate,” said Rowland. “I won’t mention anything to Wil.”

  After hanging up, he walked to the window from where he could still see the black Oldsmobile parked on the other side of Woodlands’ wrought-iron gates. What business did Wilfred have with the Prime Minister, he wondered.

  Milton came into the drawing room and looked out the window with him. “Any luck?”

  Rowland shook his head. “He’s in Canberra. With the Prime Minister.”

  “Social visit?”

  Rowland smiled. “I don’t think so, but who knows? Every man’s got to have friends, I guess.”

  “Our friends are still out there, I see.” Milton tapped the window. “It’s quite flattering really…”

  “I wonder who they’re watching?”

  “Good que
stion. Why don’t we ask them?” Milton moved toward the drinks cabinet. “They’d be whisky men, don’t you think? Policemen always drink whisky…” He poured two quite generous glasses.

  “Milt you can’t…”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t think we’re supposed to know they’re watching us.”

  “You think they’ll be offended?”

  Rowland groaned. “Just don’t give them a reason to shoot you!”

  Milton put the glasses on a silver tray and Rowland watched from the window as he strode out of the house and leant against the car before passing in the whisky. After a few minutes, he came back in, with the silver tray under his arm.

  “Well?”

  “They swore a bit, but they liked the drinks.” The poet shook his head sadly. “It’s not me they’re watching. Damn luck…thought I’d be able to dine out on that. Don’t tell Clyde, but they had no idea who I was…”

  “Well, who…?”

  “They said they weren’t watching—told me to bugger off. They were kind of tetchy.”

  Rowland glanced out the window again. “They’re going.” He watched as the Oldsmobile pulled away.

  “You’re kidding!” Milton looked out himself. “Ungrateful bastards!”

  “What? You wanted to be watched?”

  “They’ve got your bloody glasses!”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Punishment for Default

  Commonwealth Move To Bring

  Mr. Lang To Heel

  CANBERRA, Wednesday

  Close secrecy is being observed concerning the details of an important bill to be introduced into the House of Representatives, the object of which is to enable the Commonwealth Ministry to compel the Lang Government to adhere in future to the provisions of the Financial Agreement.

  The Canberra Times, March 10, 1932

  Rowland stood on the flagstoned courtyard outside what had once been a tack shed at Woodlands House. It hadn’t been used as such for years, since the Sinclairs had moved to motorised transport.