Arthur Upfield - Man of Two Tribes

Having pocketed his ‘scroll’, he rose to his feet and crossed the chamber to become a spectator of the game. Riddell looked up, his small eyes illumined by triumph. The doctor continued to study the board, made once as though to move a man, hesitated, then did move it. Whereupon, Riddell countered, placing the doctor in a position from which there was no escape.

“Congratulations, Joe,” Havant said, sliding his long body off the ledge. “Well, Inspector, how have you been getting along with Maddoch?”

“I’ve now a mental picture of these caverns and connecting passages, Doctor. The problem of who killed Mitski is similar to draughts, and a game I shall win. Meanwhile, there is the disposal of Mitski’s body to be attended to.”

“Agreed. What do you suggest?”

“I assume burial is out of the question.”

“In earth, yes. There is only the one place for the body, and that is down the crack where Fiddler fell. Shall I have it taken there?”

“Yes, and thank you, Doctor.”

Havant regarded Riddell. He called for Jenks, and Jenks came from the alcove which served as the kitchen. In the same calm and formal manner, Dr. Havant said:

“I want you two fellows to take the body of our departed friend to Fiddler’s Leap, and inter it.”

Riddell’s wide mouth tightened. Jenks’ square face registered no emotion, but he said:

“Remember what Mitski told us happened when Art Fiddler fell down there?”

“Yes, Ted, I remember what he said about it,” replied the doctor. “Subsequently there was the noise of a drain partially choked. Perhaps you could bring your majestic brain to bear on this matter, and suggest an alternative… cemetery.”

The majestic brain tried to oblige, and failed.

“All right, then. Come on, Joe,” assented Jenks.

“You might assist them, Mark, and you, Clifford, with lights,” urged Dr. Havant.

Brennan went to the kitchen for the lamps, and they heard Myra Thomas say:

“What we call dinner, Mark, will be ready in half an hour. If you men want me to go on with the cooking, you’ll be back for it.”

“Okay, Myra,” Brennan said. “If we ever get out of here, you won’t have to do any more cooking.”

“So you told me before, Mark.” The voice was clear but low-pitched. They heard the soft laugh, the gentle tinkle of a pan. “Get going, Mark. The watch dogs are not far away.”

The breath hissed from Riddell. Jenks chuckled. Maddoch said: “That’s what I meant, Inspector.”

The gorilla flashed about and punched the little man’s chest, and Maddoch was spun and sent staggering, fighting for air. The voices and the words had triggered Riddell. It was as though a spark had jumped from the kitchen stove to a pan of gunpowder, and that when Riddell blew up, the explosion also ignited Jenks.

Jenks slid backwards to the wall to start his run, and Riddell, oblivious of Dr. Havant’s shouted order, sprang towards Bony. Jenks didn’t make his run. Havant did not repeat his order. Mark Brennan stood in the entrance to the annexe and little Maddoch fought to conquer his laboured breathing. They saw Bony side-step the charging gorilla, saw Bony flash in behind and slide his arms up under the big man’s arm-pits, his hands lock behind Riddell’s neck.

The indirect light from above fell upon Riddell’s contorted face, and they saw the expression of Riddell’s eyes change from fury to agony. They watched Riddell’s wide mouth open to scream, and knew that he was too paralysed to scream. Uninhibited, accustomed to violence, yet Riddell’s face revealed that he was enduring indescribable pain indefinitely prolonged. They watched Bony’s thumbs working about the base of Riddell’s skull, and even they were shocked.

Myra Thomas came to join them, and on seeing Riddell’s face, her violet eyes opened wide, and her mouth curved into a smile as she said:

“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself, Joe.”

Bony stood back from the huge body, and like a tree, wrenched from its roots by a gale, Riddell fell stiffly sideways to the floor, where he lay on his back, his mouth opening and closing until relief came and he was able to scream.

The scream faded into sobs of anguish, and the girl’s soft laughter.

“Go to your kitchen,” Bony said.

Myra Thomas would have defied him had she not been caught by blue-ice eyes which grew and grew until she could see nothing else. She had resisted Havant’s hypnotic eyes, but these were different, terrifying, magnetic and challenging. When she was freed, she ran to obey.

“Riddell! Get up!” commanded Bony, and Riddell groaned, turned over, humped and lurched to his feet. With legs splayed wide, he swayed drunkenly, eyes bloodshot, mouth but a sagging travesty.

“That is an aborigine hold, and many persons would pay much to learn its secret. I don’t like applying it, Riddell, and I don’t want to apply it to you again. And you others, pay attention. I command here. I hope to escort you from this place to civilisation, and therefore, you are not going to behave like wild animals. You will obey without question, and you will perform the tasks I set you. Convey that body to the place named and dispose of it.”

Their shuffling faded into the tunnel-like passage. Maddoch crawled to Bony’s camel gear and retched. Havant went to him. Bony entered the kitchen.

“Mrs. Thomas,” he began softly. “I have had to deal with women exactly like you before. Doctor Havant will have a scientific term for your behaviour. You have a single-track ambition, but not here. Under normal conditions female coquetry is socially accepted. These are not normal circumstances, as you are fully aware. You will thus conduct yourself with rigid discretion.”

Her dark eyes held only admiration as he reprimanded her. Her expression was subdued but her eyes defeated him. Her voice came softly on a note of seriousness.

“I can be the soul of discretion, Inspector. Anything I can do to help, just tell me. And I hope you will loosen up and call me ‘Myra’.”

“Where were you when Igor Mitski cried out?”

“Here, attending to the breakfast coffee. When I heard him, I knew he was in trouble, and I ran along the passage and found the others already there.”

“The others… Was Brennan there?”

“I think so, but I could be wrong. You see, I was upset by seeing Mitski lying in a pool of blood.”

“You were playing him against the others?”

“What do you mean?”

“I repeat,” Bony said icily. “Were you playing Mitski against the others?”

“I still don’t understand what you mean, Inspector.”

“I believe you do, but I’ll put it another way. Were you arousing the men by encouraging Mitski, as you roused the others by play-acting with Mark Brennan here in this kitchen?”

The girl’s eyes flamed scornfully.

“Do you actually believe I would encourage advances from murderers?”

“Yes. They are men.” He indicated an empty box for her to be seated. “I shall keep to Igor Mitski, as you will, even if we do so for an hour, a day and a night. Mitski was a pointer, as Mark Brennan just now was a pointer, to your ambition, your attitude towards men, your reactions to this position in which you now find yourself. You are not unintelligent, and must know that in all hell there is no more violent loathing than that in the heart of a man made to appear a fool to himself. Did you permit Igor Mitski any intimacy, or just play-act with him?”

“To me Mitski was a musician, a singer, that’s all,” she declared, her voice now low and vibrant. “When I was tossed into this warren, it was like being one hen in a yard of roosters. You wouldn’t know about that, but I haven’t lost any feathers yet. I was brought up the hard way, and I got somewhere only by using the gifts I was born with. You men, you make me tired. Clever thinkers, protectors! I use my brain, and I have plenty to spare if you need it.”