Arthur Upfield - Death of a Swagman

“I regret that this evening I shall be busy elsewhere. I will not keep you long.”

“But couldn’t you call on me here?” argued Mr James. “I am not fully dressed.”

“I have only just promised your wife to make a social call in the immediate future,” Bony said with ice in his voice. “Although I do regret disturbing you, I must urge you to call on me here as quickly as possible. I could, of course, get Sergeant Marshall to drive in his car to fetch you.”

“Oh no! Oh no! That’s not necessary,” Mr James said hastily. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Padre. I shall be waiting.”

Bony sighed as he replaced the instrument. He gazed over the desk to Marshall, and the sergeant exploded.

“Bit hoity-toity, eh?”

“Just a little,” admitted Bony, and then passed the top of his tongue from one side of his upper lip to the other. “If you are going to stay, we’ll want another chair. When the reverend gentleman arrives let him see you seated at Gleeson’s table.”

Mr James did not arrive till fifteen minutes had passed. Bony did not get up to greet him. He smiled and waved to the chair opposite him, and Mr James sat himself down without a word.

“Well, now, Padre,” Bony began, “as you must be aware, I have been investigating several crimes that have taken place in this district, the latest being the abduction and attempted murder of Rose Marie. You have been in Merino for several years, and without doubt you know everyone, their habits and failings, and the rest. You being one of the leaders, if not the actual leader, of this small community, I was wondering if you could offer a suggestion or two which might prove of assistance to us. You own a horse, I understand.”

“I do,” answered Mr James.

“You keep it in the stables belonging to Mr Fanning, do you not?”

“That is so.”

The light blue eyes were hardening.

“When did you ride it last?”

“The day before yesterday. I rode over to visit Mrs Sutherland.”

“You have a car. Why did you not drive over?”

“For two reasons. The track is rough in places, and I wanted a little gentle exercise. I find that riding a horse at a walk is beneficial to my health.”

“Ah, yes, to be sure,” murmured Bony.“Quite so! Quite so! Have you had the horse long?”

“A couple of years. I purchased it-”

“No matter, Padre. Rather a pity you are unable to enjoy a good old gallop now and then.” Bony smiled reminiscently, and Sergeant Marshall, who was sitting behind the minister and thus could observe Bony’s face, began to feel disappointment. The kid gloves were on, but within them was a horseshoe or two.

“Nothing like a good hard gallop,” Bony went on.“Most especially on a frosty morning. How many times, on average, do you ride in a week?”

“Oh, I should think about three times. I ride mostly to visit my parishioners. The district is very large, as doubtless you know.”

“Of course! Of course! You were out riding on December fifth. Where did you ride to that day-last Thursday?”

“Last Thursday? Er -let me think.”

“It was that day the man was found hanged at Sandy Flat, you remember?”

Sergeant Marshall was now feeling a little better. The Rev. Mr James leaned well back in his chair and took firm hold with both hands of the handle of his walking stick. The nasal whine was a little more emphatic when he said slowly:

“You know, Inspector, I think I am beginning to dislike the trend of your questioning. What on earth can my horse riding have to do with these dreadful murders? I am a minister of the Church.”

“Of that I haven’t the slightest doubt, Padre,” Bony assured him. “But just visualize my difficulties. We investigating officers have to put into position many pieces of a puzzle. It is quite often that persons who haven’t the remotest connexion with the crime being investigated sometimes are able to show the officer where a particular piece of the puzzle belongs.”

Mr James relaxed. Bony lit another cigarette. What he had remembered was the rebuke he had received when he had thought to smoke on the parsonage veranda. With seeming inadvertence, the smoke of this cigarette travelled to and about Mr James’s head.

“You were out riding on December fifth, that day the body of the hanged man was found,” he proceeded. “Did you happen to come across anything unusual that day?”

“No. I cannot say that I did.”

“You remember now where you rode that day?”

“Er-yes. I remember now. It was over the Walls of China and beyond them.”

The pale blue eyes failed to hide the gleam of annoyance at having slipped into this little trap. Calmly, even conversationally, Bony went on:

“You tell me that you ride a horse only at walking pace because of your weak heart, Padre,” he said. “What caused you to ride your horse so furiously on the morning of December fifth that you winded it? I shall be obliged if you will kindly inform me of the reason for endangering your weak heart.”

The Rev. James stood up. The large and flaccid face began to work with barely controlled anger.

“I shall not oblige you,” he almost shouted. “I find your questions impertinent and your attitude insulting. I resent yourprobings into my private affairs.”

“Now, now!” murmured Bony. “Don’t let us cross swords. I am sure you will forgive me when I recall to your mind that my work is to locate a criminal. I am equally sure that, as a minister, you would be only too ready to assist me. Pray sit down.”

“I shall not. I am going to leave at once.”

Mr James turned towards the door, saw Sergeant Marshall, and exclaimed:

“Ah! I call on you, Sergeant Marshall, to bear witness to what this extraordinary person has been saying to me.”

“That’s all right, sir,” responded Marshall cheerfully. “I’ve been taking it all down in writing.”

“You have what? Oh!”

“By the way,” interrupted the suave Bony. “What is the title of the latest novel you are reading?”

Mr James swung about and glared at the questioner. Conversationally Bony continued:

“I hope you enjoyed the one entitledA Flirt in Florence. I have been informed that it is quite a juicy romance and was once a best seller. Haven’t read it myself, because I am always so busy on cleaner murder mysteries. Do you think the members of your congregation would admire your taste in literature? Won’t you sit down again?”

“I read the book for a purpose, for the purpose of being able to preach a sermon on the salacious muck being imported into this country,” asserted Mr James, who punctuated his vowels by vigorous thumping of the floor with his stick.

“Indeed! Oh, that explains a lot,” commented Bony, adding: “Still you will admit that very many lewd minds would not accept that explanation. Do sit down.”

Mr James sat down, and Bony went on remorselessly:

“You were riding eastward of the Walls of China on the morning of December fifth. What time did you leave town?”

“Oh, I should say it was about ten o’clock,” replied Mr James resignedly.

“You winded your horse by hard galloping and were met by Miss Leylan a little after one o’clock. Where did you obtain the piece of hessian sacking with which you wiped down the animal?”

“I picked it up. It was lying near where I dismounted.”

“Indeed!”

“I tell you that I picked it up. Anything more before I go?”

“Oh yes. Where did you ride to last night?”

“Last night?” echoed Mr James. “I wasn’t out last night. My wife can vouch for that.”

“What time did you go to bed?”

“About eleven-thirty. We attended Lawton-Stanley’s meeting.”