Wings above the Diamantina b-3

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Wings above the Diamantina b-3 Page 22

by Arthur W. Upfield


  “Passenger? I’ve seen no passenger!”

  With the assistance of Mr Gurner, Captain Loveacre had looked for but had failed to find Illawalli. The storm was intense. Gurner was anxious to reach St Albans before the heavy rain sank far into the ground and produced bogs on the road, and the captain was really too ill to be much concerned about the disappearance of the old chief. He fainted once before the car was reached, thereafter suffering periods of unconsciousness while being taken to the bush nurse stationed at St Albans. Not only was St Albans Gurner’s destination: it was nearer to the scene of the crash than Coolibah and Dr Knowles.

  Gurner stated that he had left his hotel two miles behind when the biplane flew over him. He did not actually see it land, but, having passed through the Tintanoo boundary, he saw the tail showing above a line of tobacco bush right off the road. Gurner had crossed to the disabled machine to find Captain Loveacre hanging head downward from his seat. He had not seen a second man. The storm broke while he was getting the unconscious airman clear of the machine, and only after a considerable time had he been successful in bringing Loveacre to his senses.

  Gurner and the St Albans constable had been met by Bony the next morning at the scene of the unfortunate landing. The detective had with him both Shuteye and Bill Sikes. The storm had obliterated all possibility of tracking Illawalli, and no signs of him had been found then or subsequently. Havinglearned who the passenger was, the constable offered what Bony had to accept as a sound theory. The flight and the crash had so frightened Illawalli that he had run away, and, doubtless, even now was making his way back to his own country.

  All night through Bony had crouched over a little camp fire, now and then pushing together the ends of four or five sticks in order to maintain a low flame. Near by stood the utility, and beside it slept the two blacks. He had spared neither them nor himself. Tintanoo, theMartells and Coolibah had contributed horsemen to muster miles of surrounding country for Illawalli. All effort had been without result.

  It was supremely urgent to finalize this case, to secureone, if not more, vital links of the chain he was forging. The evening before he had learned from Dr Knowles that Muriel Markham now was rapidly sinking. Dr Stanisforth had arrived to join forces in the fight to prolong her life. It was the physical condition of Muriel Markham that placed the detective in a dreadful quandary. Should he order the arrest of John Kane without having the proof that Kane was at the head of the conspiracy?

  If he ordered the arrest of John Kane, and despite luck and bluff failed to obtain a confession of complicity, his fine reputation would be blasted. People like John Kane cannot be arrested on flimsy evidence. Morally certain that Kane had been behind the whole matter of the stolen aeroplane, Bony toyed with an idea this early morning-an idea that was nothing less than conscripting his two aboriginal companions, kidnapping the squatter and taking him deep into the bush where means might be found to force a confession from him.

  It was, however, only an idea-an idea he knew to be beyond possibility of being put into practice. It was not that the execution of such an idea would ruin him, but rather that it might prove to be fruitless. Without proof he could not move against the squatter.

  The sun slipped above the horizon, and still Bony crouched and pondered what his next move was to be. Shuteye awoke and called Bill Sikes, and presently they crossed to the fire, their coming arousing Bony to the reality of the new day and the desire for food.

  “You bin sit hereorl night, eh?” Shuteye exclaimed with wide eyes. “Now, you buck up, Bony. All thing goodo bimeby.”

  His brain aching, Bony looked up into the big, round, jovial, black face, and then at the other, ugly and scarred, that came into his vision beside the fat one. When he did not speak, Shuteye did.

  “Me, I don’t reckon ole Illawalli run off back home at all. Suppose he was frightened blackfeller when aeroplane came downsmasho! At first he run and run, and then bimeby he remember good feller Bony and he stoprunnin ’. Hesay: ‘Bony, he fix me up goodo. Hegimme plenty tucker andtobaccer.’ Then ole Illawalli, him come look-see ole Bony. P’haps hesee homestead, and he tell people he look-see Bony and they telephone.”

  “Well, he has not returned, nor has he got any station people to communicate with us,” Bony pointed out, adding: “And this is the beginning of the third day since he vanished.”

  “P’haps he notrun away any time,” Bill Sikes put in. “P’haps he’s hid up somewhere. That Jack Johnsonlook like he know something. When we were there I talked to him about Illawalli and hekeeplookin ’ on the ground. Jack Johnson no good feller. He’s crook.”

  “You mean the yardman at Gurner’s Hotel?”

  “Too right! I bet that that Jack Johnsonknow where ole Illawalli is.”

  “We go find out, eh?” suggested Shuteye. “P’haps Jack Johnson he pretty fine feller and know nothing, but we grab ’imand take ’imaway into bush and make him talk, eh?”

  Black eyes no longer reflected a humorous soul.

  “Hum! There lies a possibility I have not considered. You should have spoken like this the day before yesterday,” Bony said slowly. Gradually his lack-lustre eyes regained their old keen brightness. He expelled his breath, breathed deeply. He felt as though he was emerging from a dark cavern into brilliant sunlight.

  Self! He had thought only of himself, of his career, of his unblemished reputation. What was all that weighed in the balance against that young woman’s life? It was as air. The fact was that he was becoming old, too cautious, too prone to follow the civil service gutter marked out by red tape. Red tape had never been any assistance to him. Daring and the contempt of established authority, on the other hand, had more than once enabled him to bring to a brilliant close a difficult investigation.

  Still crouched over the fire, he offered no assistance to his companions, who now were preparing the breakfast ofjohnny -cakes and grilled kangaroo steak. The depression that had enchained his mind was giving way to the growing strength of a clear resolution.

  Bluff! That was it, bluff! He had to bluff! Bluff offered a chance to dig from the ground of obscurity a nugget of fact. Time was on the side of the opposing force, and this was the first of his cases in which it had been. Formerly time had been on his side. Patience had been the chief factor of his success. Patience! He had been too patient!

  The investigation was like a machine he was laboriously building-a machine that would never work until he possessed all the component parts. Well, he would heave a crowbar into the machine, smash it, and then see what parts he had with which to begin again. He would order the arrest of Owen Oliver on suspicion of having destroyed Captain Loveacre’s aeroplane. Oliver might talk, and, if he did not, then he would have to be made to talk. In addition to this move he would search Gurner’s Hotel for Illawalli without the formality of a search warrant. Bluff! It would be a gigantic bluff. He would either smash his career or discover the person who drugged Miss Double M. Into his world of thought entered the pleasing voice of Shuteye.

  “What you do now, Bony?” he asked softly.

  “Throw a seven if you don’t eat your breakfast, Bony, that’s what you’ll be doing,” warned Bill Sikes. “You smoke and smoke and not eat. That no good.”

  Bony looked at them. They were squatting over the small fire eating ajohnny -cake held in one hand and a wedge of grilled steak held in the other. His meat and johnnycake they had placed on a plate together with a knife and fork, and into a tin pannikin had been poured strong tea.

  “You are a pair of good lads,” he told them smilingly, and at once their faces brightened. “This day will determine whether I go back to Brisbane as a senior police officer, or I wire to Marie, my wife, to join me and go bush for ever. First we will go to Gurner’s Hotel. Then we will call in at Tintanoo.”

  It was a few minutes after six when they set off for the main road and Gurner’s Hotel. They were bogged four times before getting off the little-used track beside which they had made camp, and it was, therefore,
nearly eleven when Bony pulled up outside the wayside hostelry.

  “You two come with me,” directed Bony. “I want you to do just what I tell you, and do it without asking questions.”

  Within the bar they found Gurner alone. He was seated behind the counter, engaged by a newspaper.

  “Hullo, Inspector! Found that nig yet?” Gurner demanded with sarcasm in his throaty voice.

  “Not yet, Mr Gurner. I wish to use your telephone. May I?”

  Mr Gurner slipped off his high-legged chair to raise a counter flap, permitting Bony to reach the wall telephone at that end of the bar.

  “Serve each of my friends with a bottle of lemonade, and draw me a glass of beer,” Bony ordered.

  “It’s against the law to serve aborigines here. Still-lemonade’s all right, I suppose.”

  “I am not respecting the law to-day,” said Bony. “It may be that after to-day you may not be troubled to serve aborigines with anything, Mr Gurner.”

  “What’s that?”

  “One moment, please.” Bony rang, and Miss Saunders’s cool voice replied.

  “Kindly put me through to the police-station,” requested the detective, watching Gurner attending to the drinks. Then, with a palm pressed against the mouthpiece, he said to Bill Sikes: “Go out and bring Jack Johnson here.”

  Wordlessly the aboriginal obeyed. Mr Gurner stared at Bony. Miss Saunders said: “Here you are,” and then Mrs Cox spoke.

  “He is up the street somewhere,” she said in reply to Bony’s inquiry after her husband. “Is it important? Who is speaking?”

  Bony informed her and stressed his wish to speak with the sergeant, whereupon Mrs Cox volunteered to go after him.

  Replacing the telephone receiver, the detective passed to the front of the counter and picked up the glass of beer after pushing lemonade towards Shuteye. Mr Gurner pretended to be interested in his paper-until Bill Sikes returned pushing a reluctant blackfellow before him.

  “You Jack Johnson?” sharply demanded Bony.

  “Toori ’!” assented the yardman. Bony went on:

  “I wanted to tell you a little story, Jack Johnson. There was, not far way, a station homestead where the cat always was having a rough time. It appeared that when the missus nagged the boss he roared at the boss stockman, and the boss stockman snarled at the stockmen, and the stockmen kicked their dogs, and the dogs chased the unfortunate cat. As there was a drought, the cat could not stalk the birds; and take it out of them. Now, Jack Johnson, you are the cat. You are going to get all the kicks and no ha’-pence. I am going to arrest you and take you off to jail.”

  “Whaffor! Whaffor, Bony, boss, Mister Bonaparte? Me donenuthin ’. Whafforme go jail?”

  “Because you are a bad-feller blackfeller,” Bony said mercilessly. “You are the cat, remember. In jail all blackfeller get one big walloping. Do you want me to arrest you and take you to jail?”

  “No, no! Me no wantum!” cried poor Jack Johnson.

  “All right, then. Now you tell me where that blackfeller chief, Illawalli, is.”

  “How in hell does he know that?” interposed Mr Gurner.

  “You are one of the dogs that chased the cat,” Bony told him. “Kindly be silent. Now, Jack Johnson!”

  “He doesn’t know where-”

  “Yes, I do Mister Bony Bonaparte,” yelled Jack Johnson. “I no go jail. I tell you. Ole Illawalli, him down in store cellar.”

  The telephone bell rang sharply.

  “He-he’slying,” shouted Gurner, pointing at the quaking yardman. “The missing nigger isn’t on my premises, I tell you. If he is, then that black devil sneaked him into my cellar.”

  “Quiet, Mr Gurner. One moment, please,” entreated the detective. “Ah! That you, Sergeant? You know who is speaking? Right! The time has come to act. I want you to go along to the post office and request Mr Watts immediately to relieve Miss Saunders from duty. I understand that Mrs Watts was at one time a telephone operator, so she may be prevailed to take over from Miss Saunders. Please do that. I want Miss Saunders out of that post office in ten minutes. Ring me when she has been relieved.”

  Turning away from the instrument, Bony regarded Gurner with gleaming eyes peering beneath knit brows. Gurner looked most uncomfortable. It was evident that he had no idea why Bony was demanding the removal of the telephone operator at Golden Dawn. Then Bony said softly:

  “You, Bill Sikes, take Shuteye and make Jack Johnson show you where Illawalli is. Bring him here.”

  “I won’t have it,” shouted Mr Gurner violently. “Where’s your warrant?”

  “Permit me to remind you, Mr Gurner, that your premises are open to the police at any time. Permit me also to remind you that your best future policy is to confess all you know about the kidnapping of Illawalli, and of several other matters about which I intend to ask you.”

  The discovery of Illawalli now spurred Bony to the edge of recklessness. In the bar Gurner’s breathing was the only sound. The publican was watching Bony with his little eyes. The detective could see the man’s brain working at high pressure. To them presently came the sound of shuffling feet approaching the bar along the house passage, and then into the bar came Shuteye and Bill Sikes carrying by feet and shoulders the inert figure of an ancient, white-haired aboriginal, who still wore on his head an airman’s flying helmet.

  It was Illawalli.

  “Is he dead?” inquired Bony with icy calm.

  Shuteye laughed. “Ole Illawalli, him drunk.”

  “He was down there in the booze cellar all free to drink what he liked,” supplemented Bill Sikes. “And he liked, too right!”

  “I know nothing about him!” shouted Gurner, springing off his chair to peer over the counter at the figure now lying on the bar-room floor.

  “Jack Johnson, he says Gurner and Mr Kane took old Illawalli down into the cellar,” Sikes explained. “Jack Johnsonsay Mr Kane brought Illawalli in his car. They took Illawalli down the cellar, and Mr Kane himselfsay to drink up and stay there before Bony come for him.”

  “Lies! All lies!” cried Gurner violently. “If itain’t lies-if Mr Kane did put him down my cellar-then he’ll pay for all the grog that nig has swamped! I didn’t know he was down there. Iain’t been there for a week.”

  “Jack Johnson says you and Mr Kane took tucker down to ole Illawalli, andlas ’ night when ole Illawalli wanted to come up you took him a few Pink-eye gins to keep him drunk,” Bill Sikes continued. “Ain’tthat all correct, Jack Johnson?”

  The yardman admitted it with surprising cheerfulness.

  Again the telephone bell rang shrilly.

  “Cox here, Bony. Mr Watts wants to speak.”

  “Very well.”

  “Ah, Mr Bonaparte! W-what’s all this regarding Miss Saunders?” stuttered the postmaster. “Sergeant Cox asks me to suspend from duty the telephone exchange operator, Miss Saunders, but he gives me no grounds for such action. I don’t understand it. Without grounds for action I could not do that. Miss Saunders has always given me satisfaction.”

  “Mr Watts,” Bony said calmly, “I thought it better to ask you to suspend Miss Saunders from duty than to instruct Sergeant Cox to arrest her. You see, the local lock-up has only two cells. One of them is already occupied, and I want to fill the other with another person. However, if you decline to suspend her from duty-”

  “Good God!” Watts exclaimed in a lowered voice.“All right. I’ll do it. I can send for my wife to take overpro tem. All the same, I fear there will be departmental trouble.”

  “In which case you will receive promotion and a transfer to a more pleasant locality,” Bony reminded him, chuckling. “Please ask Sergeant Cox to speak.”

  When Cox spoke Bony asked him if Miss Saunders had left the exchange.

  “Yes, she is just passing out through the post office door,” Cox stated grimly, “What’s she done?”

  Bony looked at Gurner, and Gurner was staring blankly at him.

  “As Miss Saunders has been suspende
d from duty, Sergeant, get a warrant and arrest Owen Oliver on a charge of having destroyed an aeroplane, the property of Captain Loveacre.”

  Cox wanted to bark a dozen questions, but all he said was.“Very well.”

  “And, Sergeant, use care in this matter,” Bony urged.“Better go prepared for violence. Now, please put me through to Coolibah.”

  In two minutes he was in touch with John Nettlefold.

  “Tell me, Mr Nettlefold, which is the better track to Coolibah from Gurner’s Hotel-that via Tintanoo, or that via Faraway Bore?”

  “Via Tintanoo, Bony. The track from Faraway Bore is impassable between the river and the Rockies. Have you had any success?”

  “I am leaving at once for Coolibah. Aurevoir.”

  Sikes was ordered to go out to the utility and arrange the gear so that Illawalli might be placed on it for the journey to Coolibah. Insensible though he was, the patriarch’s face was a noble one. The incongruous airman’s helmet was removed, and Shuteye was sent with it to the car, Bony knowing how that helmet would be prized in the days to come. When his assistants returned the detective was taking a statement from Gurner, who now had decided to tell all he knew. Which, outside the kidnapping of Illawalli, was not much.

  Illawalli was removed to the utility. Gurner was requested to sign the statement and to initial every page of it, Then Bony asked for a screw-driver. He took the telephone instrument bodily from the wall and carried it out to the car.

  “Just so that you can’t ring up Mr Kane and talk about the weather,” he told Gurner.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  CoolibahsInWater

  THE DAY TURNED out to be brilliantly fine. Small and fluffy clouds hung suspended against the turquoise sky while a light southerly wind tempered the sun’s heat. Bony, with Bill Sikes beside him and Shuteye looking after Illawalli in the truck body of thecar, drove towards Tintanoo at a steady thirty miles an hour. Eventually they saw the red-roofed buildings marching to meet them from out the sparse scrub.

  The main road passed five hundred yards south of the homestead. For traffic destined to call at Tintanoo there was a branch turn-off from the main road on both sides before coming opposite the homestead, and when Bony and his companions reached the western turn-off, a blue-coloured single-seater shot out of the eastern turn-off and on the main road, and in a moment had disappeared over the lip of the incline leading down to the river channels. For just one instant they had been able to see the driver. It was John Kane, driving his Bentley in his usual reckless manner. Bony felt sure that he was heading for either Golden Dawn or Coolibah.

 

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