Arthur Upfield - Battling Prophet

It was a quarter to seven when Bony turned in. It was four minutes after two when he woke. Like the cellar, the house above was still.

Bony lit the oil-lamp. He put on his several spare pairs of socks and a large blanket dressing-gown belonging to old Luton, and started the primus.

About three o’clock he heard, very faintly, the dogs barking, and a moment later, the distant thud of Mr. Luton’s feet on his bedroom floor. The thudding eventually changed to the padding of comfortable slippers.

When someone knocked on the front door, Bony climbed the steps of brandy cases to sit on the topmost, when his head touched the perforated flooring. He could hear his host crossing the sitting-room, heard the door open, and Senior Constable Gibley say:

“Day-ee! What! You on the booze again?”

“Do I look like it?” snapped Mr. Luton.

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m not, Senior, and I’d take it kindly if you minded your own business. I had a bad night, as you seem to be interested, and if a man of my age can’t sleep when he likes and get up when he likes, then it’s time the atom bomb blew up the likes of you. What is it?”

“Now, now, no sparks, Luton. Keep your hair on. I only called for a chinwag, anyway. Yougoin ’ to ask me in?”

“Don’t see why. Still, if you want to waste the taxpayers’ money.

…”

They moved back into the kitchen and the door was closed. Bony descended from his brandy steps and mounted the gin steps which brought him beneath the kitchen dresser. He was in time to hear Mr. Luton following his instructions.

“Cup of coffee or tea? I’m going to light the stove.”

“Whatever’s handiest,” accepted Gibley. “Anyone beenaround this morning?”

“How in hell should I know? You woke me. Lumbago kept me up all night and I didn’t get off to sleep till after daybreak.”

“All right! All right! Of course the dogs would warn you if anyone had come around. They make enough noise.”

“They wouldof woke me, I suppose,” admitted Mr. Luton. The sound of case wood crackling in the stove reached Bony. Gibley said:

“How long do you intend living on here now old Wickham’s dead?”

“Just as long as it suits, Gibley. Anyone putting up an argument?”

“You’re a source of worry, that’s all. I don’t like old blokes living alone. It’s not safe. Anything could happen and they’d perish before anyone woke up to them being ill. That goes for Knocker Harris, too, although he’s a different case. If he caught himself alight or fell into the river there wouldn’t be much to it. You got any relations or anything?”

“You know, Gibley, up in the back ofNoo South, in my time, there were towns called ‘police-controlled’. The police in ’emcould do pretty well what they liked, especially with swagmen and old pensioners camped on the river near-by. Would you like to know something?”

“I like learning, Luton. Make that tea strong.”

“It’ll be strong enough to twitch your appendix. What you don’t know and what the quackdon’t know is that this house and the land along the river right to the highway belongs to me. You can tell Maltby that. And you can tell him, as well as yourself, that I’m the boss of this bit of country. Ben being murdereddon’t leave me defenceless.”

“Well now, you don’t say!” Gibley said slowly.“How come? They haven’t found Ben’s will yet, have they?”

“Nobody don’t need to. So neither you nor Maltby can shift me. Like to learn some more?”

“Yair. I’m in the mood. Where’s the sugar?”

“When I came here to live I’d sold a fairish bit of property up inNoo South when the price of land and stock was going up on the wool boom. So I got a lot of money to spend on advertising and such like, and I got a friend or two who knows how to do it. If you or Maltby interferes with Knocker, I’ll give you and the quack sucha advertising that your ears will burn right off your skulls.”

“I’m not saying I was going to interfere with Knocker or you,” countered Gibley. “All I’m saying is that you both give me a lot of worry, both living alone, and with no one living close to give a hand if needed.”

“Very thoughtful of you, Gibley,” Luton came back. “Pity you talk so much to the quack. He’s not good for you.”

“To hell with Dr. Maltby!” exploded the policeman. “I was only thinking of your welfare and my responsibility if anything happened to you. Wouldn’t be so bad if you lived together. Why don’t you put Knocker up here? He’d be happy to doss in with the chooks.”

“Soyou been talking to Knocker, eh?”

“I have not-not on this subject. How did you come to know Inspector Bonaparte?”

“He told you.”

“I know, but I’ve forgotten.”

“You come out from town, but you didn’t think to pick up my bread from the baker, did you?”

“I did. It’s in the car. When did you say you met Bonaparte in the old days?”

“Up on my place out from Wilcannia. He was making for Bourke and stayed the night. That was the first time I met him. When don’t matter, and how often don’t matter, either.”

“Seems to be a smart sort of caste, by all accounts. They wanted him back in Brisbane in a mighty hurry. What did he think of your cranky idea of Ben Wickham being murdered when he had the jim-jams?”

“Said he’d think about it.”

“Didn’t take to the idea, eh?”

“I don’t think he did,” answered the old man, and Bony congratulated him silently on his astuteness. “Blast it! What’s the matter with them dogs? Someone else must be coming. Don’t I ever have any peace?”

“Let ’emcome, Luton. I’ll have another cup of that appendix-twitcher.”

Without going to his porch auger-holes, Bony could hear the car approaching and stop at the wicket gate. The dogs maintained their warning right until someone knocked on the front door.

“I’ll see who it is,” decided Gibley.

Bony heard the door being opened.

“Why! Hullo, Sergeant.”

“The wife told us you were making out this way, Gibley. We’re wanting a few words with Mr. Luton. May we come in?” Two men crossed the threshold.“Good-day, Mr. Luton. This is Superintendent Boase down from Adelaide. What, you drinking tea, Gibley?”

Mr. Luton acknowledged the introduction to Boase, and gave to Bony that he already knew Sergeant Maskell, stationed at Mount Gambier. Mr. Luton suggested that someone bring extra chairs from the lounge, and that he’d made a fresh pot of tea. The Mount Gambier sergeant told Gibley he could get along, and Mr. Luton reminded him to leave the bread.

The talk was thin until after Gibley drove away. Superintendent Boase expressed the wish to have a home like this, beside a river like this, and the Mount Gambier policeman asked how the fish were biting, and did Mr. Luton think that Knocker Harris had a fish he could take back to his poor wife and starving children. Mr. Luton said he had about five pounds of kingfish he could have and welcome. After that, Superintendent Boase got to work.

According toThe Book?

NOman rises to the position of chief of a criminal investigation branch of a State Police Department merely for the manner in which he combs his hair. Superintendent Boase had well earned his promotion. Adept in dealing with the criminal mind, as well as minds not so tabulated, he was now at some disadvantage by never having met a Mr. Luton. He began correctly, continued easily, never suspecting that Bony was right under his feet.

“I’ve come down from Adelaide, Mr. Luton, about a matter you could say is no damn business of mine,” he said. “I’m referring to the recent visit of Inspector Bonaparte, who has been a personal friend of mine for several years.”