Wings Above the Diamantina

by Arthur W. Upfield

  “Ted Sharp! What are you doing? Put that pistol away!”

  Bony ventured a half-turn to observe the man who had jabbed the barrel of a weapon rather smartly into his back.

  “I should have been annoyed had you shot me,” he said, chuckling. “You are, I presume, Mr Edward Sharp.”

  This is Inspector Bonaparte, Ted,” Elizabeth explained a little breathlessly.

  “Oh! New rabbit inspector?”

  His levity appeared to annoy Elizabeth, for she snapped out:

  “No, of course not. Mr Bonaparte is a detective-inspector just arrived from Brisbane.”

  “You don’t say!” Ted Sharp’s eyes grew big, and over his mahogany-tinted face spread a rueful smile. “Now, if I had plugged you—”

  “As I said, I should have been annoyed,” Bony interjected smilingly. “And then there is the carpet.”

  Elizabeth wanted to laugh but she remembered his colour. It was irritating, too, to find Ted so easily familiar with the man.

  “I thought you were up to no good, backing along like you did,” explained the boss stockman, frankly examining the detective.

  “With Miss Nettlefold’s assistance, I was carrying out a little experiment,” Bony informed him lightly. “I was determining if it were possible for a man to leave the sickroom and reach this hall, which is nearer than that giving exit to the east veranda, before Miss Nettlefold could reach the bedroom door and look out into the corridor.”

  “Apparently he could,” suggested Sharp.

  “Yes, he could. In fact, he did!”

  “But why this experiment, Mr Bonaparte?” asked Elizabeth.

  “Until we made the experiment we could not be sure that that man did come along to this hall after leaving the room.”

  “I don’t think I understand,” she told Bony, frowning.

  “Pardon! The man you saw, you thought at the time to be Dr Knowles,” Bony explained. Then he smiled, saying, “I merely wished to demonstrate to myself that it really was not the doctor.”

  “Oh!” Elizabeth exclaimed, with rising indignation.

  “And now that I am reasonably sure that a man who was not a stranger to this house, did visit the sick-room and tamper with the brandy, I can permit my liking and admiration for Dr Knowles full sway. Dear me, what a man! I notice that the sickroom has two pairs of french windows. Were they opened on the night that the brandy was poisoned?”

  The girl’s indignation subsided before the warm magnetism of Bony’s personality. For the first time she forgot his colour. For the first time her hostility was forgotten, too.

  “Why, yes!” she replied. “One pair was kept open all that night. However, the curtains were drawn before both pairs of windows.”

  “Then, without doubt, the intruder watched you from outside the open window. He accepted the opportunity you gave him when you retired to the dressing-room. Having reached the bed-side table, knowing the plan of the house, he went out through the door because that was to him the nearest exit. Had he known nothing of the interior of the building he would have retreated by the way he had come. You did not notice if he wore a mask?”

  Elizabeth shook her head.

  “I saw him with his back to me. When I looked again he was outside the door and closing it,” she said.

  “Hum! Well, the matter turning out as it did, it was as well you did not confront him.”

  The aboriginal maid appeared to make an anxious sign to her mistress. Elizabeth suggested dinner, and Ted Sharp volunteered to call the doctor and Nettlefold.

  “This house, I observe, has two halls. That is unusual,” Bony remarked, when Ted Sharp was standing just within the study door.

  “Well, you see, this west part of the house was built long after the eastern portion,” Elizabeth explained. “Originally the house faced to the east. Then when the addition was built on the centre passage was continued back here, and this hall was planned. As you see, it opens on to the south veranda, which is always comparatively cool and shaded. Now the kitchen and domestic quarters are in a detached building to the north, and connected by a covered passage.”

  “Ah! Thank you. And, of course, the hall door was not locked that night?”

  “It was never locked, Mr Bonaparte.”

  The men joined them, and the doctor took Elizabeth in. Nettlefold occupied the seat at the head of the table, with Elizabeth on his left and Bony on his right. Ted Sharp sat next to the detective, and the doctor sat beside their hostess;

  “I understand that in an army mess it is considered bad form to discuss army matters,” Bony said to them all, after the soup. “But here and now I am compelled to err by the urgency of this business which has brought me here. On the map you marked for me, Mr Nettlefold, you showed the position of a hut beside a bore called Faraway Bore. How far is that from Emu Lake?”

  “Roughly eight miles,” replied the cattleman. “It is north of the main station track off which one turns along the Emu Lake paddock fence. From here it would be sixty-four miles.”

  “Thank you! Ned Hamlin and two blacks, Shuteye and Bill Sikes are living there at present?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are there any spare hacks and gear at this Faraway Bore hut?”

  “Plenty of horses. We keep extra saddles here.”

  “It would make rather a good headquarters,” said Bony. “Would you lend me a horse and gear, and the services of those two blacks?”

  “Why, yes, with pleasure.”

  Bony glanced across at his hostess.

  “Pardon my persistence in talking shop, Miss Nettlefold, but I have decided to ask your father a great favour.” To the manager he went on: “This continued calm weather indicates a severe disturbance. It might come at any hour, and it is of grave importance that certain work be done out there before it does. The favour I ask of you is to take me to Faraway Bore to-night.”

  “To-night? Well—certainly, if you wish it.”

  “Surely you have done enough travelling for one day, Mr—er—Bony!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her former hostility now forgotten.

  “Yes—a hundred and ten miles by car after leaving the train, and then a hundred and four miles by plane,” added Knowles. “Dash it, man! It is sixty-four miles over a rough track—fifteen of them like a switchback railway over the river channels.”

  “Notwithstanding, if Mr Nettlefold will...”

  “Oh, I’ll take you; the manager agreed. “I can make the return journey comfortably before midnight. You will be staying, Doctor, of course.”

  “Thank you! I want to keep the patient under observation,” Knowles replied.

  “Then, Bony, we will get away after dinner. Ted will be on guard with his two dogs.”

  “Ah! By the way, Miss Nettlefold,” Bony said, regarding her across the damask, “how did the homestead dogs behave that night you saw the intruder?”

  “One barked half-heartedly all night through.”

  “That strengthens the theory that the intruder was well acquainted with the interior plan of this house. The dog knew the poisoner; had he been a stranger the dog’s bark would have been more than half-hearted, and it would, without doubt, have been joined by the others. It seems probable that the man works here, or is a visitor. No, I cannot suspect you now, Doctor.”

  “Did you suspect me?” Knowles asked blandly.

  Bony smiled.

  “I did, my dear Doctor, I did! Quite without reason, too. Sergeant Cox informs me that the population of his district numbers on the average about two hundred. I regard all these people—including those present—as fish in my net. Among these fish is a stingray—probably two stingrays. To discover the stingrays, it is essential to examine all the fish. You will admit, Doctor, that it was quite possible for you to enter the sick-room, having waited beyond the window curtains for the opportunity presented by Miss Nettlefold’s temporary absence in her dressing-room. Miss Nettlefold and I carried out a little experiment just to prove that the intruder could have reached the neare
r end of the corridor before she looked out from the room. It is a fact which, although it does not wholly exonerate you, does at least support your innocence. I am made happy by it after the cool manner you coaxed your choked engine to life with about thirty seconds to spare.”

  “Oh! That’s the first time we have heard about a failing engine,” Nettlefold said.

  “It was only a piece of fluff or grit in the petrol system,” the doctor explained, faintly annoyed. “Happened over dense mulga timber. It would, of course!”

  “I do not intend flattery, Doctor, when I say that I cannot but admire coolness in the face of death,” Bony said distinctly. “I am glad to say that I shall not suspect you again.”

  Knowles laughed.

  “Whom do you suspect, then? Tell us, now, have you formed any theories about this case?”

  “Several,” Bony admitted. “There are obvious facts supporting some of them. The unfortunate young woman is not known in this district. I incline to the thought that she was not in the district when the aeroplane was stolen, and that it was stolen with the express purpose of bringing about her destruction. It is reasonable to assume that the person who did steal the machine is one having intimate knowledge of the district, and that having the person of the young woman on his hands outside the district, he stole the machine, flew it to where she was, took her up in it out to Emu Lake paddock, which he knew was resting, and, therefore, was not likely to be visited by stockmen, and there jumped by parachute, leaving the victim in the machine to crash and hoping that the crash would fire the machine. In the resultant debris would be found the charred remains of the supposed thief.”

  Bony ceased to speak while the maid cleared away the dessert and served coffee. Elizabeth provided cigarettes, and announced her intention of remaining at table. The afterglow of the departed sun poured into the room.

  “Go on, please,” she urged, when the maid withdrew.

  “Well, from information received, as the constable says in court, the young woman was discovered in the abandoned aeroplane at twenty minutes to two in the afternoon,” Bony proceeded. “By extraordinary chance the machine made a perfect landing on Emu Lake. Captain Loveacre states than this monoplane was easy to fly, and could conceivably remain in the air for a period without control. As it came to rest on the middle of the lake, the pilot had either shut off the ignition or the fuel supply ran out almost immediately after he had jumped from it.

  “Then, you, Mr and Miss Nettlefold, leave the machine with the helpless young woman at about two-thirty, and you arrive here at about five minutes to six, having called nowhere and seen no one en route. At six o’clock Mr Nettlefold rings up Sergeant Cox. At four o’clock the following morning a serious attempt is made to poison the patient’s medicinal brandy.

  “Now, Coolibah Station is not a town or even a large city to be crossed and re-crossed in an hour or so. And yet swift action follows the failure to crash the machine and kill the young woman. The telephone system I will have to discuss with you later, Mr Nettlefold. There may be a leakage in it somewhere. On the other hand, you may have been observed removing the victim of the conspiracy from the aeroplane—which is why I am so anxious to look at the country out there before a rainstorm or a windstorm obliterates valuable evidence. You, Miss Nettlefold, told Sergeant Cox that on the night the brandy was poisoned you did not hear the sound of a car, near or distant, so that the intruder arrived on foot and departed on foot—unless he was then at Coolibah!”

  Bony leaned forward across the table.

  “We shall have done a great deal when we have identified the unfortunate victim of this terrible outrage,” he said.

  “A description of her has been circulated throughout Australia. Her initials are double M, and she is employed in an office as a typist, or at her home doing typewriting work.”

  “How do you know that?” was the chorus.

  “By the fact that the balls of both forefingers and the outer edges of both thumbs are distinctly flattened by the keys of a typewriter.”

  Chapter Nine

  Examining The Fish

  WHEN THE LITTLE PARTY at Coolibah rose from dinner, Nettlefold passed out to see to his car preparatory to the long journey to the hut at Faraway Bore; Dr Knowles and Elizabeth went out through the french windows and made for the patient’s bedroom.

  Bony was in a happy mood. Adroitly he shepherded the boss stockman into a corner of the dining-room where there were two chairs flanking a small occasional table of Queensland oak.

  “I understand, Mr Sharp, that you have been on Coolibah for eleven years,” began the detective when they were seated. “Without doubt your position here enables you to have a clearer insight into the characters of the men than Mr Nettlefold could have. You are closer to them than he is, although some of them have been here longer than you. Is there one among them who possibly could have entered the sick-room and poisoned the brandy?”

  Ted Sharp was looking steadily at the toes of his shoes, and for some seconds he offered no reply. His physical attitude remained flexible, but yet Bony sensed a mental tautness suddenly created by his question. It was as though the man at last realized why he had been manoeuvred into that corner of the room.

  “Sergeant Cox asked me that,” he said, without looking up. “I can’t think that any man here would do such a thing. They are all good fellows. They may be a bit wild, you know, when they’re in town, but at heart they’re all right. Of course, it is hard to say what a man will do if the price is high enough.”

  “You mean if he is offered enough money?”

  Sharp nodded.

  “Well, is there a man here who would poison a helpless woman’s medicinal brandy if he were offered a thousand pounds?”

  “No.” The answer came with a prolonged exhalation of breath. “No, I don’t think so. Poisoning is a filthy thing to do.”

  “Yes, I agree. It is far worse than killing with a gun. I am told that on the night the aeroplane was destroyed by fire you were out at Faraway Bore with Ned Hamlin and the two blacks, Bill Sikes and Shuteye. How far would that hut be from Emu Lake, as the crow is alleged to fly?”

  “About eight miles. A little under, if anything.”

  The boss stockman had lost interest in his shoes, and now was regarding the detective between narrowed eyelids. Suavely Bony went on with the inquisition.

  “And then north of Faraway Bore, on the main Golden Dawn-St Albans road, there is a wayside hotel known as Gurner’s Hotel. As the crow flies, what is the distance between those two points?”

  “I should say about sixteen miles.”

  “Ah! The hotel being in Tintanoo country, how far north of the bore is the boundary fence between the two stations?”

  “Four miles.”

  “Thank you, Mr Sharp.” The boss stockman moved as though to get up, but Bony waved him back into his chair. “Tell me, is there a track from the bore to Gurner’s Hotel?”

  “Yes. But it’s rough and seldom used. There is no gate in the boundary fence where that track passes through to Tintanoo. We unhook and re-hitch the wires.”

  Bony lit another cigarette. He was, apparently, watching the maid clearing the table when he put his next question.

  “Now, that night—the night Captain Loveacre’s monoplane was destroyed—you were at Faraway Bore. Where did you sleep?”

  “At Faraway Bore, of course,” Sharp answered with a trace of impatience.

  “Yes, yes! But did you sleep inside or outside the hut?”

  “Outside. It was a fairly quiet night and warm.”

  “Pardon my seeming persistence, but just where did you sleep?”

  “Oh—this side of the hut. There was a soft nor’-east wind that night.”

  “On the side farthest from Emu Lake?”

  Sharp nodded. “That’s so.”

  “Hum! Well, well! And yet you heard no explosion? I should imagine that the explosion of the aeroplane’s petrol tanks would make a fairly loud concussion.”

/>   “No. We heard nothing. It was eight miles away, remember.”

  “Still, it was possible for you to have heard the explosion, and had you done so we might have been able to establish the time. The man, Hamlin, and the blacks—where did they sleep?”

  “Ned slept inside the hut, and the two blacks camped in a tent close by.”

  “Are you a heavy sleeper?” Bony asked next. The question caused the boss stockman to chuckle.

  “No. I have been too much with cattle on the track to be anything but a light sleeper. You want to realize that eight miles is eight miles.”

  “Oh, I realize that all right. Bear with me, Mr Sharp. Now, tell me about the people at Gurner’s Hotel. What kind of a man is Gurner?”

  “Gurner’s all right—in his way,” Sharp replied more easily. “He considers himself a cut above us working-men. It has been said of him that he’s not above taking more from a man’s cheque than he has legal right to do, but I wouldn’t like you to think I believed it. I’ve never handed a cheque over his bar with instructions to be told when it was cut out. Many of the men prefer the hotel at Golden Dawn, but there are no police near Gurner’s, you understand.”

  “Of course,” assented the detective-inspector. “That would be an important advantage.”

  Bony fell silent. Sharp moved impatiently in his chair. After a long pause Bony went on:

  “Have you seen the young woman found in the plane?”

  “Yes, I looked in on her to see if I knew her or not.”

  “She’s in a bad state, Mr Sharp. I have never been in charge of an investigation where my sympathy for the victim has been stronger than in this case. Believe me, I am thankful for your co-operation. People, you know, are invariably reserved when in the presence of a detective, especially if he is engaged in a murder case. It is so difficult to understand the horror in the mind of the average citizen at the very thought of being publicly connected with such a crime as a witness. Where were you the night before the aeroplane was destroyed, the night it was stolen?”

  “I was at Faraway Bore—or rather, I was there part of the time. What’s the idea of putting all these questions to me? Do you suspect me of having stolen or destroyed the aeroplane?”