Arthur Upfield - Death of a Swagman

“I am not sure, but I fancy that I am displeased by your apparent disrespect to a minister,” he saidbrittlely. “Let me see now. Your name is…”

“Burns-Robert Burns,” Bony announced.

“Ah, yes… Burns. I remember you. I did speak to Mr Leylan about you. He said he would consider giving you a job. Should he do so, I trust you will work hard and honestly, and not make a mock of my recommendation.”

“I will do my best,” he was assured gravely.

“ ‘Adversityis useful to us if we profit by it,’ ” Mr James went on, his voice betraying the quotation. Bony could not resist the temptation, and so he also quoted:

“ ‘Ifall were prosperity, we all would be without character.’ ”

“Ah, yes… yes… to be sure.”

Mr James noted the brown hand dive into a trousers pocket, and he saw the hand withdrawn with tobacco and cigarette papers.

“I ask you not to smoke here,” he said sternly. “I approve of neither tobacco nor drink. Remember that this is the parsonage. I will speak again to Mr Leylan about you, as he is a great friend of mine. I will also have a word with Sergeant Marshall before you are finally freed. Is there anything else?”

“Yes, Padre. I’d like to come to church tomorrow evening. The sergeant says I may.”

“You will be welcome. The service begins at seven,” Mr James said, although there was neither interest nor welcome in his voice. “You must leave me now. I have work to do. Good day!”

Bony rose languidly, and when he gained the path he turned round to say “Gooddayee, Padre!” and to see the minister standing foursquare on his feet at the top of the steps. He felt the light blue eyes boring into his back as he walked down the driveway to the street.

Bony Goes to Church

AT HALF PAST SIX O’CLOCK that same Saturday, Marshall entered Bony’s cell to find the detective brushing his black, sleek hair.

“I am not going to do any more painting,” announced Bony, continuing to regard himself in the mirror. “You promised to pay me my two bobper diem not later than five-thirty to give me a chance to spend it over at the pub before closing time.”

Marshall could notforbear a grin. He said:

“I’ve been out to Wattle Creek Station on your official business.”

“That doesn’t quench my thirst with a nice cold pot of beer. Slaving for you all day, too. You never take me anywhere, you beast. I’ve a good mind to go home to Mother.”

“Darling!” breathed the sergeant. “I’ve got a couple of bottles over in the office.”

Bony sniffed, turned, and held out his hand.

“My wages, please.”

“Bit of a snorter, aren’t you, for a prisoner?” Marshall said, chuckling. “Two bottleswaiting, and now wants two shillings. Here, take it. You’re mining that child of mine.”

“Sezyou. Now for that drink. Let’s go.”

On entering the station office, Bony closed the door and the sergeant poured the drinks. From a nearby room came the sound of exercises being played on a piano by not too facile fingers.

“Luck!” murmured Marshall.

“Luck! How did you get on?”

“I had a word or two with Perkins, the book-keeper,” began the sergeant.“Drew a blank. He was busy all that day the swagman was camped at the woolshed, and so he left the mailbox clearance a bit late. The mail car arrived before he had cleared and it was then a matter of grabbing the letters out of the box and bundling them with the office stuff, chucking the lot into a mailbag, sealing and handing to the driver.”

“Oh! A pity.”

“Yes. Anyway, Perkins didn’t leave his office all that day excepting to go to lunch, and during the time he was in the office the swagman didn’t post a letter in the station box, which was in his plain view.

“Had afternoon tea with theLeylans,” Marshall went on.“Met a guest by the name of Lawton-Stanley. He’s engaged to Miss Leylan. Good fellow all which ways. He’s a bush evangelist and the real Mackie. Afterwards I asked Leylan point-blank where he was the night the swagman was done in, and he said he was up at Ivanhoe, slept at the hotel there, and didn’t leave next day till after nine.”

“Good work, even if the results are apparently poor,” Bony said. “Now I want you to ring up Wattle Creek Station and contact that Lawton-Stanley. When you get him, just give me the telephone. Say nothing to the book-keeper or to the evangelist that I want to speak.”

Marshall contacted Perkins, and a few minutes elapsed before Lawton-Stanley reached the telephone.

“Are you alone?” Bony asked, deepening his voice.

“I am,” came to his ear in the finely modulated voice of the man known to many hundreds ofbushmen as a friend. “Who is speaking?”

“I am the dark man whom the fortune-teller told you would have a great influence in your life,” replied Bony.

“What are you saying? Who are you? What do you want of me?” inquired Lawton-Stanley.

“Please do not repeat my name. Go back into the dreadful past, and see there a home at Banyo, and Charles, my son, whose ambition it is to become a medico-missionary.”

Lawton-Stanley broke into a roar of laughter.

“You villain!” he chortled. “Fancy you being down here. Where are you speaking from?”

“I am in Merino,” replied Bony. “I understand that your fiancee and you are coming along to church tomorrow evening. Correct?”

“Yes. It is our intention.”

“I shall be at church too,” Bony said. “I shall be accompanied by a lady who is anxious to meet you. You will be charmed by her. My name is Robert Burns, nicknamed Bony, and you will remember that we last met on a Queensland cattle station. Clear?”

“Quite. You are always clear, most clear.”

“I want you to be especially nice to my lady friend, and after service Mrs Marshall will ask Miss Leylan and yourself home for supper. You will accept-without fail. Clear?”

“As a foggy night. Righto, Bobby! Gang your ain gait. Did you get over that drubbing I gave you before breakfast atQuinquarrie?”

“Without losing a breath. How did your black eye get along?”

“Nicely, thank you. How are you keeping?”

“Fine. I’ve fallen in love again.”

“What, again!”

“Again. You’ll meet her tomorrow evening. My lady friend’s name is Rose Marie. Miss Leylan knows her quite well. Now good night, Padre, and all the best.”

When Bony hung up he turned to Marshall, saying:

“Finest man in the back country. Fights like a threshing machine. Isn’t really happy unless he puts on the gloves before breakfast. You any good?”

“Not according to Queensberry,” replied Marshall.

“Won’t do. Must be Queensberry. Lawton-Stanley bars knees and boots at his pre-breakfast exercises. Now we shall have to be especially nice to your wife, for as yet she knows nothing of her invitation to Lawton-Stanley and Miss Leylan. How will your wife take it, do you think?”

“Pretty crook, probably,” replied Marshall. “You’ll be doing the talking. Come on. Dinner’s ready.”

“Oh, there you are!” exclaimed Mrs Marshall when they entered the living room. “Dinner’s waiting. I’ll call Rose Marie.”

“Er-one moment,” Bony interposed blandly. “I have a confession to make… a moment of weakness. A great friend of mine is staying at Wattle Creek Station. He is the Rev. Lawton-Stanley, a bush evangelist known far and wide.”

Mrs Marshall’s eyes grew big.

“I have seen him, but I’ve never actually met him,” she said. “He’s engaged to Edith Leylan, so I’m told.”

“Yes, that is so. Er -as a matter of fact, they are both coming to church tomorrow evening, and I told him a moment ago on the phone that, after service, you would invite them both home to supper.”