Arthur Upfield - Man of Two Tribes

“Oh, yes. Doctor Havant does nothing to stop them. He says the steam must escape through a safety valve; that the bursts of violence are the valve. These oppressive caverns have subjugated what virility we had; they do not exactly encourage theupshoot of the sexual urge. We are sane enough to realise that the first to attack the woman could be killed by the others.

“Igor Mitski died because of her. He was never any more than polite and friendly, but she teased him, and the others knew it. I’ve seen her encourage Mark, and even Riddell’s ape-like advances. She invites murder-not her own, of course. I think she aims to have us kill one another until the best man wins. Meanwhile, she believes she has full control of us all, including you.”

“What has she said about her own case?” asked Bony, and Maddoch’s face expressed disgust.

“Said she killed her husband because she was sick of him and his lies, yet boasts how she put it over the jury, the press and the public; boasts how good an actress she is. You don’t believe, really believe, I killed Mitski, do you?”

Bony turned to gaze steadily at Clifford Maddoch. To become the manager of a branch of an important wool firm is not an executive height to which a weak character can climb, and he tried to see Maddoch as he must have been before the final straw was laid upon his back. Mentally he would have been dynamic. He would have been expert on the many classes of wool, a man whose judgment was sound, and whose decisions were quick and accurate.

Once he had arrived at the moment of decision that no longer could he suffer his wife’s nagging voice, he would immediately begin to plan how to remove it. And now -the once important executive, pleading to be believed he hadn’t killed again. The yellow light revealed the large eyes, the colourless complexion, the trembling mouth of a man shocked by mental torture, racked by disgrace and punishment, and exposed to human violence and depravity. Execution would have been merciful.

“I shall answer that question if you promise not even to hint of it to the others.” he said, and was troubled by the eagerness with which Maddoch assented. “Unless you have made a pair of stilts, Clifford, you couldn’t have killed Igor Mitski.”

Maddoch sighed audibly. “Thank you indeed, Inspector.”

“Then let us be allies, Maddoch. I need an ally. You will understand that my position isn’t, shall we say, normal, in relation to all of you. I need support, discreetly given, in things I must do and say; a secret ally who would keep me up to date on an intrigue hostile to me. How does this appeal to you?”

“You may count on me.”

“Then I shall rely on you. Tell me, whatd’you think of Doctor Havant?”

“A brilliant mind somewhere or other out of gear. I say that because I don’t think he is unbalanced, just kind of out of gear. Maybe that applies to us all, yourself excepted. Life here is unnatural, and especially so for the doctor. Prison, Inspector, by comparison was heaven.”

“I can believe that, Maddoch.”

“Down here we are unable to get away from each other. And worse, we are unable to get away from ourselves, excepting those precious times when Doctor Havant becomes our story-teller. Accustomed to mental distractions such as books, the stage and the cinema, the newspapers, modern man quickly degenerates if deprived of such escapism. That is a threat to us all.”

“Yes, that is true,” conceded Bony, and stood.

“Hullo, that dog has run off again. Busy, isn’t she? Now you see her; now you don’t.”

Lucy was being petted when they entered the ‘hall’. A cloud masked the sun and the interior light was dim, the domed ceiling invisible. Doctor Havant and Riddell were sitting on the rock ledge, separated by something about three feet wide, and were moving lumps of rock. On Bony crossing to them, he found that the lumps were pieces and the game was draughts, the board being marked on the rock base by scoring with a knife point.

Both players being gravely intent, Bony moved to sit with Mark Brennan who, a little too casually, slipped a roughly square shaving of rock under his right thigh. He had been doing something to the piece of rock with a table-knife which at Bony’s approach he employed to chip tobacco. Bony sat beside him, his back to the rock wall.

“You remember Jim Ord, Inspector?” asked Brennan.

“Yes, I do. Why?”

“He was in Goulburn with me. Used to tell us he’d have got away withmurderin ’ a Swede up near Milparinka if you hadn’ttook a hand.”

“Ord was clever, Mark. He made only two mistakes. Did he tell you what he said after I had him arrested?”

“Yes; just like him, too. He told you he wasn’t whingeing about it. Said that when a bloke breaks the law, he is gambling against the cops, and it’s a fair go. He was proud of what you said, too. It was, ‘Ord, you really extended me.’ ”

“I remember,” Bony admitted. “He was a good sportsman, yet knocking a man down with a loaded bottle and then kicking him to death isn’t sporting.”

“Well, look at what Stassan did to Ord’s little girl. I don’t hold with that sort of thing. Stassan got it just where he deserved it most.”

“D’youreally think, Mark, that the best way to get even is to kill?” asked Bony.

“With a bloke like Stassan, too right I do. And so do most of the other blokes in Goulburn. Queers and pimps and rapists ought to be hanged automatically, and when Ord booted Stassan to hell, heoughtagot a knighthood. Thank Kelly we haven’t a Stassan here with us. He wouldn’t last long.”

“Would you place Igor Mitski in that class?”

“No, Inspector. He just slapped the kid down a bit too hard, that’s all. You know, sometimes you got to give a bit of licence. There’s Mitski king-hit and belted around Europe. He’s a musician and a top singer, and what happens when he comes to Australia? Stuck away out west, teaching a stupid brat brought up to the idea that she’s the squatter’s daughter, and the rest of the world is scum. I don’t blame Mitski forslappin ’ her down. It was just his bad luck helarrupped her too hard. What’s to do about him now?”

“The circumstances being what they are, the body will have to be disposed of without the usual legal formalities.”

“Any ideawho crashed him?”

“Not yet, but I shall, Mark.”

“I know. We all know that when you start you keep on your feet. One of us killed Mitski, and he must know you will get him, sooner or later. His only hope is to do you in before you cotton on to him.” Brennan smiled, and that he could smile was a revelation. “If he bumped you before we got out of here, before we got back to home and glory, I’d be really vicious for him.”

“Have you any ideas on who killed Mitski?”

Brennan shook his head.

“Have you any ideas on why he was killed?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“Against Institute rules to help the cops.”

“Institute rules?”

“Yes, Institute rules, Inspector. The Institute of Released Murderers. You know, your Fellowship, remember? Here, this is your certificate.”

From beneath his leg Mark Brennan produced the thin slab oflimestock rock. He had scored plainly with the knife:

D. I. N. Bonaparte,

From the stone Bony’s eyes rose to meet those of the man who murdered twice within thirty seconds.

“Thanks, Mark, I shall treasure this unique scroll.”

The Female Jonah

THEcloud passed from the westering sun, and swiftly the hall was transmuted to a place of warm colour. This effect was notable, even on Dr. Havant’s chalky face, and strengthened Bony’s first impression of him. He was sitting easily on the rock ledge, studying the draught board, and Bony could not make up his mind whether the doctor was intentionally encouraging Riddell, or was actually placed in a quandary by a man of greatly inferior intellect.