“Hum! Very sad, Mr. Littlejohn,” murmured Bony. “Your wife, I suppose, assisted to prepare the little body for burial?”
“She did, young feller, she did,” Grandfer replied shortly-so shortly that Bony did not expect him to continue. However, after a space of five seconds, he went on: “Old man Borradale was very good to Ma Nelson. He provided the coffin and things, and the baby was buried up at the cemetery, old man Borradale reading the service, and crying over it, too. Yes, my wife, rest her soul, was Ma Nelson’s greatest friend, and when Ma came into that bit of money she wasn’t forgotten.”
“That was kind of Mrs. Nelson.”
“Too right!”Grandfer instantly agreed. “She gave my missus, rest her soul, a clear thousand pounds, although no onenever knew anything about it afterwards. I-I-”
The ancient ceasedspeaking, and Bony could see him peering down at him.
“I shouldn’t have told you that,” Grandfer said anxiously. “I promised Ma I never would. I never even told my son and his wife about it, nor anyone else. Itsorta slipped out, you see. Don’t you say a word about it to anyone, there’s a goodlad. ”
“We will both forget this talk, Mr. Littlejohn,” Bony suggested quickly. “If you say nothing of our conversation this evening, I’ll say nothing about that money. What doyou say to a pint of good beer?”
The ancient leapt to his feet.
“That beer what arrived the day aforeyestiddyoughta be well settled be now,” he said brightly, no longer living in the past. “Still, I can’t shout back, Joe. Me daughter-in-law don’t let my son slip memore’n two bob a weekterbacco money.”
“Then I will shout twice,” suggested the very pleased detective.
But Bony walked pensively to the hotel, with Grandfer Littlejohn hopping along beside him like a sprightly sparrow.
Chapter Twenty-one
Two Appeals
IF THE EVENING when Bony talked with Grandfer Littlejohn hinted at yet another wind-storm, the next morning most plainly predicted it. There was an entire absence of wind and not a leaf stirred among all the great river red-gums. A tenuous high-level haze produced in the sunlight a distinctly yellow tint, while the flies were far more sticky than usual, and the seeming lack of oxygen had a depressing effect on both men and animals.
When Bony entered the office a few minutes before noon, he found Martin at work at his writing-table.
“Hullo, Bony!” the squatter said wearily. “Sit down, will you. My book-keeper left yesterday, as probably you know, and I’m up to my eyes in office work.”
“Isn’t Dreyton due in?”
“Today or tomorrow,” was the reply, spoken irritably. “I do wish he would stop here for good. Dependable man, Dreyton. When he’s here, everything goes with a swing. Have you seen that couple who are camped at Catfish Hole?”
“No, but I have heard they are there.”
“Then you probably know that the man is about forty, and his wife slim and light-weight and only half his age. Lee tells me he has warned the fellow of what has happened along Nogga Creek, and what might happen to the woman if they persist in staying there. Then the man produced a miner’s right this morning and pointed out the corner pegs of a claim he intends working just below the water.”
“And that waterhole being on Crown land, no one can argue with the miner and his miner’s right,” Bony said calmly while rolling the inevitable cigarette.
“I am not so sure,” Borradale countered with a show of temper. “I’m not so sure that they can’t be moved away. I am the sitting Justice. Here are Lee and yourself, representatives of the law. We ought to be able to devise some action to remove them from what I think is still a grave danger.”
“Yes, it could be done, of course,” conceded Bony. “I could complain to Constable Lee of being assaulted by the man. Lee could arrest him, and you could remand him for the Divisional Magistrate to deal with. We three would have to stick together in the frame-up. If it came out-”
“What the devil are you driving at?”
“I am outlining one way we could adopt to move that couple from Nogga Creek,” Bony calmly answered. “There are, of course, other methods. You and I could kill a sheep this side of the boundary-fence and then swear we saw the miner killing it.”
“This has gone far enough,” Martin almost shouted, his eyes blazing with indignation. “If you think I am a liar and a perjurer you are-”
“I fervently hope not, Mr. Borradale,” interrupted the now smiling Bony. “I was merely suggesting ways and means-not that you would even consider them. I would, of course, never lend myself to anything so gross. The fact is that the man has legal right to be where he is, and we have no legal right to move him from where he is. He has been made conversant with the ugly history of Nogga Creek, and, if tragedy comes to his wife or himself, you and Lee and I can be held blameless.”
“But all that does not remove the very grave danger, to the woman especially. I am more or less responsible for this district, and every day since Simone arrested Barry Elson I am becoming more convinced that he has arrested the wrong man.” Martin vigorously banged a clenched fist down upon the table. “Is it not your duty to prevent a crime if possible?”
“It is, I believe, the duty of an ordinary policeman,” Bony gravely admitted. Then, although his face remained serious, his eyes began to twinkle. “I like crimes to be committed. A cleverly executed crime is ever a delight to a man having my brains to solve it.”
“Ye gods!”Martin cried despairingly.
“What on earth would I do for a living; how would I maintain my wife and children and keep the eldest at the university if people did not commit crimes? Oh, no… I certainly would never attempt to prevent a crime, especially a first-class murder.”
Borradale sighed with exasperation.
“Then it is a pity that Sergeant Simone arrested Elson and took him away to Broken Hill. He would have moved on those people.”
“Sergeant Simone is a man capable of doing anything, Mr. Borradale. On the other hand, he is very tiresome when his somewhat original personality begins to wear on one. Honestly, though, that miner cannot be moved against his will. I will see him this afternoon and try to persuade him to go somewhere else. I can at least paint a word picture which will keep the woman inside the tent after sundown.”
Martin swiftly became his normal self.
“If you would do that, it would be something,” he said. “We can’t do more than our best to move them away. By the look of the sky today we are in for another wind-storm. It will be a snorter, too, so late in the year as this. You understand the incidence of those crimes taking place during a wind-storm?”
“Yes. The fellow is clever enough to choose his time when his tracks are certain to be wiped out very shortly after he commits a murder. He has his wits to that extent.”
Martin fell to staring hard at the detective.
“Would it be too much to ask if you have any inkling of his identity?” he asked.
“By no means, Mr. Borradale. I have inmind at least three men, one of whom could be the Strangler. It has been a very difficult case and yet one profoundly interesting. Solving a crime mystery depends largely on the element of luck. I have read of no prolonged investigation which did not contain the element of luck to make it successful. It has become the fashion to sneer at coincidences, as though coincidence was never found mixing the destinies of men and women. This case has been exceptionally barren of coincidence, but my investigation has been attended with luck. However, the detective’s greatest asset is patience, and patience is my greatest gift. When investigating a crime I permit nothing to disturb me, not even this private letter from my revered chief, Colonel Spendor. Listen.”
Bony had produced a plain envelope, and from it he took a sheet of notepaper. He read:
You cannot expect to succeed every time. Should you think Mr. Borradale’s case will occupy you for very long, return atonce. You are urgently required at Roma. Perhaps at a later date
you could take up Mr. Borradale’s case again. Convey my warmest regards to him and to his sister. This is no time for you to go on a walkabout. Report at once.
“Here we have, Mr. Borradale, a very mild effusion pounded out on a typewriter by Colonel Spendor at his private home. It illustrates the dear old man’s inherent impatience. If I took the slightest notice of it, I would get nowhere. Still, I promised him in my letter, which left on the mail last night, that I would finalize this case within seven days. I think I can assure you that I shall keep to my timetable. I believe that this coming wind-storm will give me the Strangler.”
“You do? I am glad to hear it. The beast has cast a shadow over us ever since Alice Tindallfell a victim to him. You must have a lot of sway over Colonel Spendor. My dad used to tell me he was the greatest martinet in Australia.”
Bony chuckled, and now his blue eyes were beaming.
“Long ago,” he said, “I discovered the secret of managing Colonel Spendor. By the way, I have come up against another mystery. Do you know anything about Mrs. Nelson?”
“Quite a lot. What’s the mystery?”
“Do you know how she came to possess at least five thousand pounds early in 1910?”
“From an aunt, I think.”
“But Mrs. Nelson had only one aunt, and she died years before 1910, I am told. Your father took a great interest in the district, did he not?”
“He did.”
“And he helped several people over very bad stiles, I understand?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“I learnt that both he and your mother had deep sympathy for Mrs. Nelson in her affliction-John Nelson. I have been wondering if your father assisted her financially to take over the hotel.”
“I am sure he did not, Bony. My father was a very methodical man and he kept accurate records of all his transactions. After his death those records provided me with much interest. You know, he was thought to be a hard man, but the records prove his secret generosity.”
“Thank you. Knowing the first Mr. Westall, who was living in that year, 1910, do you think he might have advanced her the money?”
“It is quite possible,” agreed the squatter. “Those were the times andthose the men when generosity in the bush was a by-word. It was my father who set up the first Storrie on that selection, which was taken away from Wirragatta.”
“Thank you. It is rather puzzling and, therefore, interesting.” Bony rose to go. “Throughout my career I have always had to fight down the temptation to expend time and thought on a mystery having no connection with my investigation. I am like a young dogwho is always dashing off one scent to follow another. Ah! There is Hang-dog Jack smiting his triangle for lunch. What a case he would present to an anthropologist! Aurevoir, Mr. Borradale. I will certainly visit that couple camped at Catfish Hole.”
“Thanks. I hope you are successful. It would be a heavy burden off my mind if they were moved away.”
Bony having departed, Martin worked on till the homestead gong called him to lunch.
He was again at work at five o’clock, when Dreyton entered the office, and at sight of the tall and lean fence-rider he cried, “Hullo, Donald! I’m mighty glad to see you. Sit down.”
Dreyton’s sun-puckered eyes glanced at the empty book-keeper’s table and then at the book on which Borradale was employed.
“That chinless ass left for Broken Hill last night,” Martin said.
“What was his hurry?” asked Dreyton.
“Fright.”
“Fright!” echoed the fence-rider, his body jerked abruptly tense and his eyes as abruptly wide open. “What gave him the fright, Mr. Borradale?”
“A kookaburra’s laughter and a branch breaking from its parent trunk to crash to the ground.”
“But surely-”
“The evening before last my sister and Payne were playing tennis until quite late,” Martin explained. “Stella says that from one of the river trees there reached them a long chuckle of devilish laughter which made her shiver and caused Payne nearly to drop. Then a heavy branch snapped and crashed to the ground, and a few seconds later the same laughter reached them from somewhere down the river.”
“Strange!” Dreytonmurmured, his face muscles strained so that his mouth was nothing but a line.
“There is nothing strange about it,” objected Borradale. “At any time during these quiet summer days a gum branch is liable to snap off. They are the most dangerous trees in the country. Then, too, the kookaburras always laugh and chuckle a little after sunset. I got Joe Fisher to have a look at the ground along the river and search thoroughly about the fallen branch. He assures me that what Stella and Payne heard was a bird and that the branch snapped off because the sap, which the heat had driven down to the roots, had been prevented from as quickly returning to the branch by a growth.”
“Miss Borradale- does she now believe what Fisher says?”
“I am afraid not,” Martin replied. Then he was on his feet, his eyes blazing with passion. “Why the devil don’t you stay here with me? Can’t you see that I am almost worried to death by this Strangler business and the responsibility of running Wirragatta? On top of it all there is a miner and his wife camped at Catfish Hole, who won’t go away and who can’t be made to go because they have a miner’s right. I wouldn’t care a tinker’s curse if my sister didn’t own a half-interest in this place. I keep awake nearly all night debating if I will do this or that, and gripped by fear that whatever Ido I will make a mistake. With you here in the office my mind is relieved by half the responsibility. You’ll have to stay this time, Donald. You can ask what salary you like.”
He stood, young and good-looking and passionately earnest, glaring down at the seated fence-rider, who knew quite well just the measure of anxiety such a property as Wirragatta would lay on the mind of its owner.
“What I want is a long holiday. I should go to Europe for a trip,” Martin went on, the gust of anger having subsided. “I have never had a holiday since I came home after my father’s death. If I owned the place, I wouldn’t worry about making a bloomer now and then. In fact, I’d sell it and go to Sydney to live. But Stella won’t sell with me. Says we would be betraying our father by doing such a thing. Say you’ll come back to the office, Donald.”
The pleading in the young man’s grey eyes touched Dreyton as no argument had ever done or would ever do. Martin hurried on:
“Here is this problem of two thousand hoggets I have to decide before tomorrow. I’m offered twenty-four and threepence a head. The market is inclined to rise and I am not short of feed. But a good rain down in the Riverina will cause the market to fall. What shall I do-sell ’emor hold ’em?”
Dreyton rose to his feet and thrust a hand deep into a trouser-pocket. He spun the penny he took from it, neatly caught it and laid it on the back of his hand.
Looking up from the coin, he said, “Sell them, Mr. Borradale. Forgive me, but you are too prone to magnify problems which are often of no importance. I will start here in the morning, and if you give me more responsibility I may presently be able to manage the place while you go for that holiday.”
“Good man! That’s splendid. But you start tonight by dining with us. No, I shall accept no refusal. Bring across your gear now. I’ll slip over and tell Stella. Why, we might get in a game of tennis before dinner.”
They left the office arm in arm.
Chapter Twenty-two
Trap Setting
INSPECTOR NAPOLEON BONAPARTE certainly agreed with Martin Borradale’s verdict that the evidence he found concerning the broken branch and the devilish laughter, which had so frightened the tennis players, proved the causes to be perfectly natural. Now, while the squatter and Donald Dreytonwere talking in the office, he sought for and found Stella Borradale reclining under an orange-tree in the garden. The quick smile with which she greeted him but proved the strain still controlling her.
“Hullo, Bony! Have you come to talk to me?”
“Yes.
May I sit here on the ground at your feet?”
“Why not bring a chair from the veranda? It would be much more comfortable.”
“I like comfort, Miss Borradale, but it is good for a man not to indulge in it too much. I wanted to assure you again that your uneasiness the other evening really had no foundation.”
“Oh!” she breathed, the corners of her expressive eyes become tight.
“I climbed the tree this morning and thoroughly examined the branch again, as well as making a careful examination of the ground. What I saw confirms my opinion of yesterday, and that was based on a superficial knowledge of the action of tree sap at certain seasons and in certain temperatures. Excessive heat drives the sap out of the branches, down the trunk and into the roots. Permit me to give an illustration. You know, of course, what is colloquially called a needlewood-tree. If a surface root is laid bare and broken off, and then fire is set to the foliage, the sap will be driven down the trunk to the roots, so that should a billy-can or other receptacle be placed under the broken root it will collect quite drinkable water. Over about three parts of Australia there is no need for anyone to perish if means are to hand to make fire.
“Well, then. What happened to the gum-tree branch was that the heat of the day had driven the sap down towards the roots, and when evening came the sap began its journey up into the branches. At the junction of the branch which snapped off from the parent trunk there was growing what I believe is called a tree cancer. The sap from the branch had taken a long time to pass round this cancer to the trunk, but it was not allowed to get back again quickly enough, and the first of the cool evening breeze was too much for the limb to resist. The laughter you assumed had human origin was, of course, made by a kookaburra. As you know, Miss Borradale, at times even the crows make a noise not unlike a man being choked.”
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