The unease and doubt fled from Inspector Walters before the brilliance of this facet of Napoleon Bonaparte.
“Think you can do it, Sawtell?” he asked.
“Give it a try, anyway,” replied the sergeant. “When do you want it, Bony?”
“I’d like to have it by four this afternoon. And remember that the children will be about. Don’t let them see their mother as the model for an iron collar.”
Sawtell, as Bony was aware, did not need the forge and anvil to make the collar. He shut himself into the trade shop and began to work on a piece of galvanised sheet-iron. At one o’clock he was due home for dinner, and on his return he brought a large brown-paper parcel which he opened on Bony’s table. Within half an hour, Bony had mastered the mechanism of the flashlight attachment, to which the sergeant had added a long cord shutter-release.
Meanwhile, Keith Walters had been despatched to Mrs. Sayers with a note and a cylindrical-shaped parcel. He had received clear instructions on the way he was to take to Mrs. Sayers, and the way he was to return. Bony questioned him on his return, to be assured that the boy had carried out the instructions.
“You’re a good scout, Keith,” Bony complimented him. “Now, don’t be curious and ask questions. And don’t talk about that little job.”
The boy promised, and Bony spent two hours writing in his “office”. He was called for afternoon tea at four o’clock by Mrs. Walters, whose eyes were bright with controlled excitement, and on being taken to the lounge, he found Walters and the sergeant already there. Displayed on a small table was the iron collar.
“Fit it on, Esther,” requested Walters.
“It’s a little too big for me, and so I’m sure it’ll do,” she said.
Sawtell had actually painted the thing with a fast-drying enamel, achieving a near flesh-colour which was a credit to him. At the top and bottom edges he had drilled holes and through them laced a thick strand from a dressing-gown girdle. He had fashioned the collar in two pieces, hinged at the back and fastened at the front with strong clips. Without much trouble, Mrs. Walters placed the collar about her neck and stood back for examination. She had to hold her chin high, but the chin maintained the collar down upon the collar bone.
“Excellent!” cried Bony. “Congratulations, my dear Sawtell. Why, even the most fastidious woman could not object to wearing the ornament. Permit me, Mrs. Walters.”
Placing his hands about Mrs. Walters’ protected neck, he was instantly satisfied that the iron collar was a hundred per cent efficient. Mrs. Walters was thrilled. Sawtell was proud of his work, and Walters was relieved of one of his gnawing worries. To him Bony proffered a foolscap-size envelope, saying:
“I have recorded in detail my fishing strategy. I would like you to study it with Sawtell, and adhere rigidly to the parts I have set out for you and Sawtell and the two constables. I do not expect the shark to take the bait tonight, but we must all be prepared and waiting. You will find how much I have stressed the vital necessity for caution that the shark will not become suspicious and sheer off.”
“We’ll be with you all the way,” declared Walters.
A few minutes later, Bony left the police station. He carried Sawtell’s camera and iron collar parcelled in brown paper. Other oddments were stuffed into his pockets, spoiling the “set” of his pin-striped dark-grey suit. He walked with the slow tread of the locals, and first passed through a section of Chinatown, where he met Mr. Dickenson and spent ten minutes instructing him. Eventually, he approached Mrs. Sayers’ house from a side street, keeping beneath the roadside trees until he reached her front gate. It was five o’clock when Mrs. Sayers welcomed him.
“It seems hours that I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, her face slightly flushed beneath the make-up. “There was no need to send the domestic home early as she always goes home at two on Sundays ... and I’m just dying to know what’s in that parcel young Keith Walters brought.”
“You would never guess,” he told her, smilingly. “Or what’s in this one. Now, with your permission, shall we have Briggs in? There are proposals to be accepted and things to do before nightfall.”
“He may not be awake.... He sat up all last night, and the night before.” An expression strange to Bony lit the brown eyes. “You see, Briggs is devoted to me, and he’s been a little bit difficult.”
“Anxious, and inclined not to obey orders, eh?”
“That’s it. This morning he rebelled when he heard about the nightie being stolen. Did you see him, the thief I mean?”
“I saw him, but I could not identify him. If you don’t mind, I’ll rouse Briggs. He’ll be less rebellious when he knows the details of a little plan I want to put into operation.” Bony smiled again. “I am taking it for granted that you will not rebel.”
“Only if you leave me out of it.”
“My dear Mrs. Sayers, you are the keystone of the arch, the kernel of the nut, the very sun of the universe, the irresistible lure. Without you I am lost. Ah! This might be Briggs.”
Footsteps in the passage beyond the lounge door. Then Briggs stood in the entrance, the chewing switched on. The small black eyes were not friendly.
“Briggs, come in,” commanded Mrs. Sayers. “Mr. Knapp wants to talk to us.”
Bony unwrapped his parcel, the woman and her manservant-friend standing with him. Neither spoke when the camera was disclosed, and Briggs remained silent when Bony removed the wrapping about the iron collar.
“Whatever is that?” asked Mrs. Sayers, and Bony turned to her, the collar held forward.
“I am going to call it ‘Lady-May-Venture’,” he replied. “Sawtell and I plan to mass-produce. It’ll be all the rage. Bound to be. Permit me.”
Bony swung the collar open like a bracelet and gently “wrapped” it about Mrs. Sayers’s neck, fastening it.
“Chin up, please. Ah! An excellent fit.” Bony stepped back, and Mrs. Sayers worked her chin up and down. “Briggs, try to strangle Mrs. Sayers.”
Briggs, who had stopped chewing, said:
“Stone the crows!”
Mrs. Sayers giggled. Briggs clamped his hands about her neck and squeezed. Briggs exerted himself. Mrs. Sayers giggled again. Then swiftly she was serious, and when Briggs drew back, she said:
“Are you sure I’ll be attacked?”
“Yes,” answered Bony. “Now let me show you how to remove that thing, and then we’ll talk. Satisfied, Briggs?”
“Yes, up to a point.”
“What I am going to propose,” Bony prefaced his explanation, “is nothing less than arresting the killer of these Broome women in the act of attempting to kill you, Mrs. Sayers. He is both ruthless and cunning, and he’s the type having the instincts of the brute and the brain of the human thinker. This one has succeeded so well that we haven’t sufficient evidence to ask for a warrant to search his home.
“Having stolen your nightgown, he has begun the plan which he has successfully executed thrice. If he meets with opposition anywhere along the line of this fourth progress of his plan, he will retire until he feels sure he can strike down another victim. He may wait a month, six months, a year, and for obvious reasons we can neither give up hunting for him nor permit him to formulate an entirely different plan.
“Having stolen your nightgown, it will be his intention to gain entrance to this house for the purpose of destroying you. I want him to make the attempt. I want him to enter this house, to find you in your room, to attempt to kill you. I want to take a picture of him in the very act. I want to be with you, even in your room, waiting for him.
“Without that collar, I wouldn’t think to expose you to such terrible risk. Wearing it, you will not be exposed to physical risk, but you will require courage and the ability to withstand great nervous tension. There are two reasons for believing he won’t harm you. One, that you will be waiting for him, as you waited for Briggs, and two, I shall be with you.”
“Why, Mr. Knapp, I wouldn’t have believed that Broome could stage
such an adventure.”
“We may have to wait all night in the dark for two or three, or even five nights.”
“In my bedroom?”
“In your bedroom. You will be lying on your bed, and I shall be seated on a chair in a corner of the room. I do hope you will not be acutely embarrassed.”
“I bet not as much as you,” Mrs. Sayers said with conviction. She broke into low laughter. “Oh, what a man! You tell me I’m to go to bed and that you’ll sit by my bed all night, and then you express very politely the hope that I shall not be embarrassed. And what makes it so funny is that you’re quite sincere about it.”
“Sincerity, Mrs. Sayers, is one of my virtues,” he said stiffly.
“I believe that,” she hastened to assure him. “It’s just the situation that’s so funny when I think of what the social lights of this town will think when they hear about it. Where will Briggs be waiting?”
“In his room,” replied Bony. “I cannot stress too much the importance of both Briggs and you continuing your normal routine. On one point only do I ask for sacrifice, and that is you will neither entertain at night nor accept invitations to spend the evenings away from home. I would like to stay here, to sleep in a spare room during the day, concealed from your domestic. No one must even suspect I’m in the house, and no one must think either of you is alarmed or suspects trouble. That is my plan.”
Mrs. Sayers, who had again become grave, looked at Briggs. Briggs, who had forgotten to switch on his chewing, nodded his head slowly and with deliberation.
“Seems all correct at first look,” he conceded. “Goes a bit deeper, I suppose?”
“Yes, there are further details, Briggs. What d’you think about it, Mrs. Sayers?”
“I like it, Mr. Knapp. The more I remember Mabel Overton the better I like it. It’s a perfect plan, and I’m already worked up to get my hands on that strangling beast. I’ll give him what he’s been begging for.”
Bony smiled bleakly.
“Accept my grateful thanks,” he said. “How long have you been closing the storm shutters at night?”
“Ever since the Eltham woman was murdered,” answered Briggs.
“When the shutters are fastened, is it possible to see into the house?”
“Don’t know. Might be at the sides.”
“Can anyone see down through the ventilators along the top of the shutters?”
“No. I’m sure about that.”
“Well, then, after dark tonight, ascertain if it’s possible to see into the house from outside. And at the same time, test the blinds or curtains of the remaining rooms. There’s a job I want you to do now. It’s probable that the murderer will have seen the alarm bell wire passing from the house to your room, and will cut it. Without taking down the wire, do you think you could rearrange the alarm system?”
“So that if he cuts the present wire it won’t make no difference, yes.”
“I brought wire in case you haven’t any. You were at sea for several years, were you not?”
“For about twelve years.”
“Do you know anything about firing rockets?”
“All there is. Why?”
“That other parcel contains six rockets. They are an important part of our plan. Now you get along with that wiring. Take it underground so that it cannot be cut outside the house. As I said, leave the present wiring crossing the yard. He’s almost certain to cut that, as well as the telephone wires. Meanwhile, Mrs. Sayers, I would like to ramble about your house.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Fish Rises
MRS. SAYERS’ house was one of the largest in Broome, having five bedrooms in addition to the usual living-rooms. Like that occupied by the late Mrs. Overton, her house faced the west. The front door gave access to the exceptionally deep veranda, which was wholly protected by storm shutters. A second door gave entry to the house, the dividing passage running straight to the kitchen at the rear.
The room across the passage from the lounge was Mrs. Sayers’ bedroom. It was large, and the french windows opened to the veranda. There was a tall-boy in the corner almost opposite the door, and Bony had placed a chair between the tall-boy and the windows so that by gently moving the edge of the curtain he could see anyone standing at the electric meter and light switch. Having focused the lens to cover the room between the bed and door, he had screwed the camera to the tall-boy, and had brought the wiring from the alarm bell in Briggs’ room to a press-button attached to the edge of the chair.
The first night, the shark did not rise to the bait-fish as represented by Mrs. Sayers, who lay on her bed, a satin nightgown over shorts and blousette and the iron collar about her neck. She suffered no inconvenience from Sawtell’s invention and from two a.m. she slept until Briggs woke her with morning tea. Bony was then sleeping in the next bedroom, to which he had retired shortly after daybreak.
The one difficulty to his presence in the house was the domestic. He could have left at dawn for his bed at the police station and returned to the house after dark, but the coming and going even at these hours might be noted by a man who excelled in cautiousness.
It was a few minutes after five in the afternoon when Bony awoke, and it was not till seven twenty-five that Mrs. Sayers called him to a meal she had prepared. He insisted on washing the utensils whilst Mrs. Sayers cleared the table, and then he spent half an hour again going over the drill with her and Briggs, placing emphasis on the importance of the ban of silence imposed between them on the one hand and himself on the other. By neither word nor gesture were they to betray his presence. The same ban was imposed on Mr. Dickenson, who was living in Briggs’ room.
When Briggs left for the hotel at nine o’clock, Mrs. Sayers, dressed again in shorts, occupied herself with a book in the lounge, and Bony sat on a chair just within the doorway of the room he had occupied all day. The back door was closed and the kitchen light switched off, as was Briggs’ custom when departing. The veranda lights were on and the house door to the veranda was open, it being seldom closed.
Outside, it was quite dark. An easterly wind had sprung up at sunset, and it sibilantly rustled the branches of the twin palm trees and played on the taut telephone wires affixed to the house on the outside of Mrs. Sayers’ bedroom. An excellent fishing night.
By Bony’s luminous wrist-watch it was nine-thirty when there was a ring at the veranda door bell. A moment later, Mrs. Sayers appeared in the passage to answer the summons. Then Bony heard the veranda door being opened and Mrs. Sayers speaking:
“Why, Mr. Willis! How nice of you to call. Do come in.”
The man’s voice Bony did not recognise, nor did he know him when he followed Mrs. Sayers into the lounge.
“I won’t detain you long, Mrs. Sayers,” he said. “I’ve called on behalf of several of our fellow townsmen who have come together to discuss a project which we think would succeed if you will consent to join us.”
It was proposed to erect a building combining under the same roof a library, a museum, and a hall to be used for the exhibition of educational pictures and for lectures by prominent visitors. The money was to be raised by public subscription and controlled by a trust headed, it was hoped, by the philanthropic Mrs. Sayers.
Mrs. Sayers was offering encouragement to Mr. Willis when Bony felt a sudden alteration of air pressure. Another alteration occurred immediately afterwards, and there was no doubt that someone had opened and closed the kitchen door.
Knowing that, to anyone in the kitchen, he would be silhouetted against the indirect veranda lighting, Bony edged his face round the bedroom door-frame and viewed the passage with one eye. It could not be Briggs who had opened the kitchen door, for Briggs would have switched on the kitchen light.
The illumination from the veranda lights dwindled into a void half-way along the passage, and within the void was the entrance to the kitchen. It certainly hadn’t been Briggs who had entered, and Mr. Dickenson had received clear instructions to lie snug until signalled in
to action by the bell under Briggs’ pillow.
Mrs. Sayers was intimating to her visitor that she would consider his proposition, when Bony saw movement at the end of the passage. At first indefinite, it resolved into the figure of a man. He was coming from the kitchen, but before he could be identified, he stopped before the door of a bedroom which Bony was aware was unfurnished, and went in.
There was no resultant light in the unoccupied room, and Bony could not be sure if the man had closed the door after him. He had made no sound when opening it.
As he had often watched the fin of a swordfish knifing the surface of the turbulent ocean to approach the trolled bait, so did he sit on the chair moved to permit him to watch that dark passage. This time he had seen no swordfish fin, clean of line and direct in progress. This fin was the fin of a shark, the fin of a mako shark ... the biggest and most ferocious human shark ever to rise to Bony’s trolled bait: and the hair at the nape of his neck became stiff, the point of an icicle moved up and down his spine, and every nerve tingled and whined with tautness like the telephone wires without.
Mrs. Sayers conducted her visitor to the door and bade him good-night. If she noticed Bony, she said nothing as she passed back into the lounge, and Bony did not remove his gaze from that hypothetical shark’s fin.
Eventually Briggs came in by the kitchen door, switched on the light and then the hot point to prepare coffee. The kitchen light completed the illumination of the passage, and Bony, watching Briggs approach, drew back a little. Briggs, who must have seen him, completely ignored him, and entered the lounge to receive final instructions.
“Anything you want, Mavis, ’fore I lock up?”
“Yes, Briggs. I would like a pot of coffee and some sandwiches brought to my room. I’m going to bed. I’ve a nasty headache.”
“All right! You better take a couple of tablets. Got any?”
The Widows of Broome Page 19