Arthur Upfield - Death of a Swagman

“She didn’t tell you?”

“No. Didn’t I say she had promised not to, with her fingers crossed?”

Over the ugly face spread a grin.

“I can explain that easily enough,” young Jason said. “One day when I had to go up to repair the town mill I took Rose Marie with me. Most of the trouble with that mill is making new parts to fit because new parts for it can’t be bought. The part I took there that day when Rose Marie went with me wouldn’t fit properly and I sort of lost me temper and swore pretty crook, forgetting that the kid was close handy. Then, another time when I was forging a part in the garage, something went wrong and I let me tongue loose, and looked up and saw the kid in the doorway, and she said: ‘Why do you always say those nasty words about making windmill parts?’ And I told her Iwouldn’t never again if she promised not to talk about windmills and me, and she promised and I promised with our fingers crossed.”

“This subject of windmills did not concern a third party?”

“No, of course not. What has all this to do with Rose Marie being knocked about?”

“I don’t rightly know,” confessed Bony. “I was hoping that you might be able to help me. Do you know of anyone in Merino who is a little cranky on windmills, say cranky on inventing improvements?”

“No. I’m the only cranky bloke on windmills hereabout. I hate ’em. If I had my way I’d blow ’emall up. They’re always giving trouble. A motor engine is something what’s got feelings and what a man can do something toto make ’emrun smooth and well. But windmills!”

Bony permitted himself to smile saying:

“There is something in what you say about motors and windmills. A perfectly running motor engine sings a song of its own, doesn’t it? I suppose you can tell merely by listening to a running engine whether it has developed a fault or not?”

“I can. I can tell long before the fault will bring a breakdown,” replied the young man, pride in his voice, and even the evidence of affection for which he was probably being starved. “In fact I’ve stood outside big city garages and guessed correctly the make of a car from its running engine. Each of ’emhas a different voice.”

The momentaryenthusiasm for motor engines subsided, and there returned to the dark eyes and the pathetic face the customary surliness. Bony was not unsatisfied with this interview, but yet he was not fully satisfied with it. There still remained the fence erected between them by this young man who now made that fence even more impassable.

“Windmills and motor engines!” he scoffed. “What’s it all to do with Rose Marie? That’s what I want to know. You’ve got me here and have been pumping me with your fool questions, and presently you’ll be telling me that I took her away and bashed her.” His voice rose when, now on his feet, he stood glaring at Bony. “You think you know a lot, don’t you? You think you’re pretty clever, eh? You don’t know that I’ve had to be clever all me life, but I have. Everyone laughs or sneers at poor young Jason, but the kids don’t. They will, of course, when they grow up, but while they’re kids they don’t; in a sort of way they belong to me. And if I find out who bashed little Rose Marie-well, it is going to be just too bad.”

“You can leave him to the law,” Bony said.

“Leave him to the law!” snarled young Jason. “Leave him to the law! What then? For the law to give him six months, or find he’s not quite right in hishead, or to say that the poor feller isn’t a bad sort of bloke and can’t help himself. Murder and rapeain’t considered much in this country… whenit’s kids what are murdered. But if a bloke accidentally kills a bank manager when he’s robbing a bank, ah, that’s a different thing, and they swing him for sure.”

The rage subsided so quickly that Bony had the thought that the young man was acting. Had not the father been an actor? And that listening to running motor engines! Might not the man on the tank stand have been listening to the whirring of the mill fan wheel, a sound to be heard under the “clang… clang… clang” of the working pump rod? What, indeed, had Rose Marie, probably accidentally, learned about windmills in connexion with this young Jason?

“Well, we don’t appear to be getting anywhere,” Bony said, rising to his feet. “I am sorry that you will not co-operate. Good day!”

Young Jason stooped, snatched up his cap, and stood up. He reached the door, where he turned to regard Bony with that former flash of wistfulness in his eyes.

“Tell us how the kid’s getting on, Inspector,” he urged. “They won’t tell menothing up at the doctor’s place.”

“You don’t deserve any consideration,” Bony said. “But I’ll tell you what I do know about Rose Marie. The scalp at the back of the head was badly lacerated, and she was unconscious when found. As I told you, she regained partial consciousness when in the car, but she has again been unconscious since then. Dr Scott thinks she will recover, but she will require careful nursing. You wouldn’t like to tell me, I suppose, who your dog was in the habit of following?”

“No, ’cosI don’t know. That hound would follow anybody. Anything else?”

“Not for the moment.”

Young Jason lurched out through the doorway to the passage. Bony heard him open the front door, heard the door slammed. He was writing notes when Marshall returned from relieving Gleeson.

“Well?” Bony asked him, browsraised.

“Florence? Oh, there’s no change yet. She’s still unconscious. Scott was back when I left.”

“I’ve had young Jason in here. Unbalanced fellow, and most unhelpful. He was interested in hearing about his dog being poisoned. That was about all. Like to be present when we overhaul the Rev. James?”

“Very much,” replied Marshall grimly.

Bony lifted the telephone and asked to be connected with the parsonage. Then he heard the soft voice of Mrs James.

“Good afternoon, Mrs James,” he said in his best manner. “I am Detective Inspector Napoleon Bonaparte. We have met, you know. My name then was Robert Burns… with apologies to all Scotchmen.”

“Yes, Inspector. My husband was telling me at lunch how my Mr Burns was actually a detective officer,” she cried. “You must forgive me, but I came to call youmy Mr Burns after you so kindly cut the wood. I hope you will come and see me soon so that I can thank you properly. I have only just come back from making a call on Dr Scott about poor little Rose Marie.”

“Yes, it is all very dreadful, Mrs James, and we can only hope, for the child is in excellent hands: Er -what I rang up for was to speak to your husband. I shall certainly accept your invitation to call on you. Thank you very much. Is Mr James at home?”

“He is, but is taking his afternoon rest. Poor man, he feels that he really must relax for a couple of hours after lunch.”

“Hum! I regret having to disturb him, but time, and all that, you know. Would you ask him to come to the phone?”

“All right… if you insist. It is important, I suppose?”

Bony laughed, and during the chuckling told her that he was an important person, and that he never did anything unimportantly. He was kept waiting fully three minutes before he heard the nasal whine.

“The Rev. Mr James. You called for me?”

“Ah, yes! Good afternoon, Padre,” purred Bony. “I am wondering if you would find it convenient to come along to the station office. I think that you may be able to give me a little assistance in this matter on which I am engaged.”

Mr James did not sound in good temper.

“Well, I suppose I could if it is really essential. But I am seldom fit for anything after lunch, you know. My heart disciplines me. Would not this evening do?”