The New Shoe

by Arthur W. Upfield

  “What about your wife?”

  “The old woman! Oh, she’ll bide quiet till I come back.” Bony said:

  “You may be away for ten years. Much too long for you to be away from Mrs Penwarden. Like me, you are not normally a fool. Don’t be a fool again, even although a fool is sometimes wise. I think it likely that my superiors will overlook you in their determination to catch up with Eldred Wessex. We will hope that he has left the country, or that he went to sea and was drowned. My work here is finalized. I found out who the dead man in the Lighthouse was, and who killed him. It is for the Victorian police to find Eldred Wessex. Aided by science and wonderful organization, I am confident that they will find him, perhaps in Adelaide, perhaps in London ... anyway, far distant from Split Point.”

  He slipped off the bench and Penwarden stood, saying:

  “It would be grand, Mr Rawlings, sir, if Eldred did get himself drowned, or something happened so’s his folk would never know what he did here.”

  “I agree,” Bony said. “Now I must be off. I’ll accompany you as far as your house. Don’t worry about yourself, for it’s unlikely you will be bothered by the police. Do we understand each other?”

  A nobbly hand gripped Bony’s forearm. A gleam of happiness sprang into the blue eyes, and Penwarden said, earnestly:

  “Seems like we’ve allus understood each other, Mr Rawlings, sir.”

  They passed outside and Bony waited for the old man to lock up his workshop. Without haste, they walked towards the ancient’s neat little house, the one upright and lithe, the other slightly stooped yet still sturdy on his feet.

  “You’ll not go back on acceptin’ of the coffin, I hope,” said the coffin maker.

  “Certainly not. I’ll write giving my home address and nearest railway station ... after you have written me what you think of the bloodwood logs. Police Headquarters, Brisbane, will always find me. And when I come again to Melbourne, I’ll try to run down for a little gassing.”

  They shook hands. Bony smiled, his old beaming smile. Penwarden gave his deep-throated chuckle and they stopped outside his garden gate.

  “Remember to take a shaving or two from the neck rest,” Bony said. “I showed you just where the rest is a trifle uncomfortable.”

  He walked on, and Mr Penwarden tarried at the gate to watch him until he reached the main road.