Arthur Upfield - Man of Two Tribes

Mrs. Weatherby’s dark eyes searched Bony’s face.

“Did I hear you say that Igor Mitski is dead, Inspector?”

“Yes. He was killed by a falling rock, Mrs. Weatherby.”

“I’m very glad, Inspector. You know, of course, that he murdered my little girl?” Bony nodded. “He hit her with his fist. Then he picked her up by the feet and swung her round and dashed her head against the door-post. Do you approve of that kind of thing?”

“I do not, Mrs. Weatherby. But I think you are wrong on the details. Isn’t that so, Mark?”

“Not much, Inspector. The lady’s always right an’ all that.”

“Not then quite as you related it, Brennan.”

“That is what he did to my little Mayflower, Inspector,” the woman continued, her voice soft, but her eyes hardening, and her slim nostrils beginning to flare. Her sister pleaded:

“Jean! You had better come away from the Inspector. He’ll let us go and lie down till this is all over. Please, Inspector.”

“Yes, do,” Bony agreed. Abruptly, Mrs. Edgar Weatherby stood, and words built into shrilled sentences as the emotional dam broke.

“No!” she shouted. “No, I stay. It was my idea in the beginning and I take all the responsibility. I am the mother of the murdered. I persuaded my husband to join me in executing justice. I organised all those others who sought justice for their murdered. Now listen, all of you, because after tonight I shall never open my mouth again about this matter; my husband won’t, and my sister and her husband won’t.”

Bony witnessed the effort to regain control, the facial muscles working, the mouth firming above the square chin of this now dominant woman.

“It’s like carrying coals to Newcastle, Inspector, to tell you what has been going on in this country, and especially in those States long controlled by the lower orders. We all know that in Australia there is a growing section of the people who are indifferent to crime, and a certain sectionwho are definitely sympathetic towards murderers. Proof! When that Thomas woman was acquitted, she was greeted outside the court by a huge crowd of cheering people.

“Our aim is for justice on behalf of the murdered. We have to accept the verdict pronounced by a judge in court, but justice is stamped in the mud when a gang of politicians flout the sentence of the judge and release the murderer years before he has served his sentence; flouting justice to make themselves popular.

“They pander to men and women who have the lust to murder in their hearts, but lack the courage to strike. They pander to people who resent laws, hate the police, hate any restraint placed on their vile emotions.

“Hanging was too drastic for the murderer of my little girl; too cruel for the murderer of that young bridal couple; too heathenish for the killer of the farmer who objected to his animals being ill-treated; unthinkable for the wife slayer; too unkind for the abortionist! Twelve years they gave the murderer of my child. Then the vote catchers stepped in and freed him after eleven years. Mark Brennan-never to be released, but he was. Maddoch and the others, released years before they served the sentence imposed by a competent judge. Yesterday-death. Today-a few years in prison. Tomorrow-a few months’ detention.”

“Today-a Fellowship,” drawled Mark Brennan.

Mrs. Weatherby turned to stare at Brennan. She frowned, wiped him off like a gnat.

“The world has fallen into decay, its standards are rotten because it’s ruled by men crazed by power,” she went on. “Myman, my men relatives, sit back and moan and do nothing. So I had to, Inspector. I simply had to obey the voices and give peace to the murdered. I’m not naming my assistants; you will never find proof. We found helpers even in the Departments of Justice who told us when a murderer was to be released. So we were able to waylay him and take him to those caverns. That is all I have to say. It is all I shall ever say.”

The room became silent. The woman with the square chin and haunted eyes continued to face Bony, who looked at this moment like Ned Kelly himself. Bony said:

“How long did you intend keeping the men in those caverns?”

“Till they died.”

As she rose and was about to turn to her sister, there stepped into the room a young lady superbly arrayed in white linen.

“Now I am ready to eat,” Myra Thomas announced.

The Weatherby women passed her on their way to the door. To them Myra Thomas was something unmentionable.

Really Merited

JENKSexclaimed:

“Caw! Look at Lady MyraMuckhead!”

“Seems I’ve missed something,” the girl said, speaking to Bony. “Ask someone to bring me something to eat and drink. I’m starving.”

“Plenty of eats in the kitchen,” rumbled Riddell.“Ruddy well go and stuff out there, Myra. Gents only in here.”

“Isthat transceiver open to Kalgoorlie?” she asked Bony, and he nodded. “Has the Press come through?”

“No. Go and find yourself supper. I’d like more coffee, too.”

“What a nerve, Inspector! I’m not a servant.” The almost purple eyes glowed with anger, but the carefully creamed and powdered face was restrained from showing emotion.

“Bring more coffee all round, Myra,” he said. “We have a long wait before us. You might make sure that those two ladies have retired to their rooms. Try to be helpful for once.”

“And bring a snifter for this nig,” Jenks ordered. “He’s coming out of dreamland. Lazy old coot.” The aborigine groaned, and Jenks said: “Hey, Inspector! What abouttakin ’ these ropes off me? I’ll be quiet. Give you me word.”

The girl brought the coffee. Bony assisted the head stockman to sit up and take notice of it. He made a cigarette for Jenks, saying that if he dropped it from his mouth he could retrieve it from the floor with his mouth. From thence onward, he and they sat and waited.

Riddell and Brennan were asleep, the elder Weatherby appeared to be asleep, the girl was engrossed by magazines when the speaker said:

“Superintendent Wyeth is leaving now, Inspector Bonaparte, and will land at daybreak. I am to say that you can expect Constable Easter at around fouro’clock, and Sergeant Lush from Rawlinna an hour later. Over.”

“Thank you, Kalgoorlie. All quiet here.”

It was twenty minutes to four when they heard the jeep, and a few moments later Constable Easter entered by thefrench windows. Bony rose to meet him, and Easter took five seconds to recognise him.

“Constable Easter!” exclaimed Myra Thomas.“How nice to meet you. I’m Myra Thomas. Could I bring you some coffee and a sandwich?”

Easter was rocked, but he took it like a real man.

“I’d be glad if you would, Mrs. Thomas.” He surveyed the others, pondered on the recumbent forms of the aborigine and Jenks, looked into Bony’s eyes for a full second, and sat down. “I know only that you had arrived here, Inspector, and needed assistance.”

Bony related his adventures following their parting outside the wicket fence. He introduced with grave politeness those he had brought from the caverns, and sketched the story Mrs. Edgar Weatherby had given them. Easter was further rocked, and took it like a real policeman. Bony could have been telling a fairy tale.

“Before we took over here, Easter,” he went on, “we found with no difficulty an open cave where the helicopter is kept, then we intruded on the head stockman and brought him in with us. How Mr. Weatherby obtained the machine, and how he brought it here unobserved, can be cleared up later. Possibly he was a pilot during the war. Two other matters we can clear up now, or when you have eaten something. As Sergeant Lush will arrive soon, perhaps you would like to eat whilst we clear these up.”