Arthur Upfield - Death of a Swagman

He was climbing through the fence when he heard a horse shake itself inside the enclosure. He found that horse, felt it with his hands all hot and sweat-grimed. It had but recently been freed from saddle and bridle. The blaze on its forehead proved that it was the horse owned by the Rev. Llewellyn James.

Lawton-Stanley Talks

THE REVEREND LAWTON-STANLEY was a great man as well as fine Christian. He was a lover of all men and women, and he appeared to be utterly blind to their faults. His popularity among outback folk rested entirely upon his ready sympathy and his remarkable simplicity.

There was no “side” about Lawton-Stanley, and no narrowness of outlook. He composed love letters for young men and letters of conciliation to the wives of older men separated from them. Never did he leave a homestead without taking the mail for lonely stockmen stationed on the track ahead. He could talk horses with the best, and he could talk on any cultural subject to the many hungry for culture. When a man swore in his presence he smiled and fined the culprit a shilling, which went towards the fund for the purchase of Bibles. A lot of money passed into that fund, too.

Day was breaking when Bony slapped the side of the canvas hood covering the evangelist’s truck and softly called for the “padre”. The padre was sound asleep in blankets laid upon a straw mattress that in turn was laid on the floor of the truck, and when he awoke to recognize Bony’s voice he directed his visitor how to enter his house on wheels and switched on the tiny bedside electric light.

“A little early,” hesaid, faint surprise in his voice.“Anything wrong?”

“Nothing serious,” replied Bony, sitting down on a petrol case and producing tobacco and papers. “Just a little problem which I find I must discuss with you. Sorry to wake you so early. Mind if I start up that primus stove and make a pot of tea?”

“Do. Pump ’erup. Water in that drum with the tap. Spirit in the bottle over there. Make plenty. I like three cups.”

“Bad for the wind-so much tea before breakfast,” Bony asserted smilingly, and began work on the stove.

“Not nearlyso bad as those terrific cigarettes you smoke. It’s a marvel that you have any wind at all.”

“The wind I have got is a marvel even tomyself,” admitted Bony. “I can sprint a bit even at my age. Hope this thing won’t explode.”

“You sprint!” scoffed Lawton-Stanley. “Why, I could give you fifty yards in a hundred right now.”

“You could give me ninety yards in a hundred right now, Padre, but I am not taking them. No, not this morning, or even tomorrow morning. I have hada guts full of sprinting quite recently. By the way, is ‘guts’ a swear word?”

“No. Possibly a little more forceful than elegant. Get to work again on that stove.”

A few minutes later the tea was made and set before the padre, who remained in bed, and who noted with interest that his visitor drank two cups of the scalding-hot beverage in quick succession.

“Ah!”sighed Bony. “That’s better. Now for a smoke and then my little problem. You ever smoked?”

“Never.”

“Don’t ever. Smoking costs a lot of money-when your eldest son is loafing about a university and also smokes. I’d give a fiver to any of your numerous funds if only I could see the Rev. James smoking a clay pipe.”

“Is he still occupying your mind?”

“Now and then,” admitted Bony, draining his third cup of tea and pouring himself the fourth. “He is my current problem. You will remember that, when we spent the evening with the sergeant and his wife, I referred Mr Llewellyn James to you. As the subject appeared a little distasteful to you, I didn’t press it, but I am going to now in order to avoid what might be a bad mistake.”

“Oh! Enlighten me further. If you want help, professionally, you will get it.”

“Thanks. Well, now. Doubtless you areau fait with the series of crimes committed recently in this district. I am here to find the sting-ray, and the sting-ray is one of approximately twenty-eight men living in this district.”

“And you think that friend James is the sting-ray?”

“I am as uncertain about him as I am about a dozen others,” Bony answered. “I have to work on the assumption that all men are guilty until proved to be innocent… the reversal of British justice. Among the killers I have brought to book there is, at date, not one minister of religion. Still, one never knows what the future will bring to my gallery. Parsons have committed murders, you know. Tell me all you know of our friend’s history.”

Lawton-Stanley regarded the strong face of the half-caste whom he knew was his mental equal. Beyond the canvas walls of his “home” the roosters were crowing and the magpies were chortling. The wind irritated the canvas curtain, shutting off the truck’s cabin. It was becoming light outside.

“It’s going to be rather difficult,” said the evangelist, “and I think that I would decline to discuss James with a lesser man than you. Even you, I fear, may not understand my difficulty!”

Bony smiled, saying:

“I shall understand. I am the most understanding man in all your wide circle of friends.”

“I agree with you that that is probable. Well, here goes. Eight years back, James and his wife and I were in the same theological college, Mrs James then intending to become a church deaconess. Let me think, now, about ages. I would be twenty-seven, James was twenty-four, and Lucy Meredith would then be twenty-three.

“Here is a fact which is distasteful to me to talk about to a layman. The majority of men who enter a theological college with the ambition of becoming ordained are men having in their hearts a love for the work in which they want to engage. But there is a minority who enter college and seek ordination because they desire a respectable, secure, and, they think, an easy life’s work. They have no more aptitude for the work than I have for your work. James belonged to the minority in our college.

“His father is a minister, and a fine one, too. The son is one of those fortunate beings able to ‘swot’ well, but he seemed always too tired to ‘swot’ enough to pass his examinations with distinction. I don’t think anyone really liked him.”

“Did he then have that nasal whine?” Bony inquired.

“He adopted it during his second year. Our principal frowned upon that kind of thing, but James persisted. As I have said, no one really liked him-that is, none of the men. A real Christian will speak straight out from his heart, not down through his adenoids.

“James made no friendships, and of course, in a place like that, no enemies. And then during our fourth year that extraordinary attraction of opposites became manifested.

“Lucy Meredith was, and still is, one of the loveliest women, spiritually, who ever lived.” The speaker paused and sighed. “I am unable to talk to you, Bony, as I could if you were not such a wretched pagan.”

Bony smiled, saying softly:

“A pagan can recognize, and appreciate, a lovely personality in a woman. I’ve seen in Mrs James all that you have. Proceed, please.”

“I have thought it probable that Lucy Meredith first became attracted to James because of his self-sought isolation. The fellow has a brain and he might have played upon her unbounded sympathy. Anyhow, she married him. They were married the day following the passing-out ceremony, and there was not a joyful heart among those who were present.”

“And he was appointed to a church?”

“Yes, to a church in a Melbourne suburb. They were married so that he could accept the call.”

“Ah! A round peg in a square hole, eh?” remarked Bony. “When he was at that church, his first, did his wife prepare all his service?”