Arthur Upfield: Battling Prophet

He had recognised Constable Gibley from the description given by the men, and this was backed by the conversation between the policeman and the young womanwhich he had overheard from near-by bushes. The presence of the young woman did not affect his determination to stay in Australia. Yes, he would have pulled the trigger if…

He ate the meal prepared by Alice when still sitting on the floor. The door was shut and bolted. Without, the world was calm, quiet, and the dogs, unseen, were lazily lying on the outside mat.

This evening the moon was at full. After dinner Bony stood in the dark sitting-room, gazing beyond the window at the trees beyond the wicket fence and the sheen of the river beyond them. The risen moon was tinting the topmost leaves of the trees withsilverfrost. In the outer room the clatter of plates and cooking utensils spoke of the washing-up being done by Alice and Mr. Luton.

At this hour Mr. Luton was supposed to be tied up and the doors open.

Into the clearing, to the left, appeared a shape. The shadows prevented Bony from nailing its identity. It came across the clearing towards the cottage and remained mysterious until it reached the car track opposite the gate, where it resolved itself into two men, one following closely the other.

The first man raised the gate-latch. The dogs met them, obviously doubtful. The first man was Knocker Harris. The second man Bony did not know. In the same order they advanced along the cinder path, and Bony slipped to the door and whipped back the bolt.

He could hear thedogs whingeing a welcome. He heard the scrape of boots groping for the veranda steps. He stood braced on his toes, the automatic in his right hand, the door-knob in his left. The two men crossed the veranda. Someone pounded on the door. Then Knocker Harris shouted:

“Don’t open the door, John! Keep her locked! Keep her…”

Bony snapped the door inward. Knocker Harris was sinking to his knees, writhing in contortion, his mouth wide to scream or shout another warning. He slumped, and as he went down, Bony saw the gleam of steel in the hand of the other man racing for the wicket gate, and slashing at the charging dogs.

He said, in a low whisper:

“Halt! Police here!”

Then fired once.

The second man dived at the gateway and lay still. Bony stooped over Knocker Harris, partly lifted him, dragged him into the house, re-bolted the door and flashed down the blind. The light went up. Over the prone figure of Knocker Harris, Bony saw the startled Alice McGorr with Mr. Luton behind her.

It was obvious that Mr. Luton’s neighbour wasin extremis. His breathing was difficult. Perspiration soaked his face and hands. The wound was bleeding inwardly from the point of contact above the left kidney.

“What happened?” gently asked Bony.

“Sort of… sort of baled up, like. Wascomin ’ along… see… if John wanted any more from town. Didn’t see him. Came behind me… prodded with knife… told me keep going. Said tell John open up, like. I wouldn’t…”

“Well?” softly urged Bony.

“I…”

“Please, Knocker.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘Open up’. Told John not… notopen up.”

Harris drifted into unconsciousness, and Bony drew aside to permit Mr. Luton to pour a little more brandy between the partly open lips.

“Did you fire that shot?” Alice asked.

“Yes. Harris was brought to the gate and marched to the door by another man. When Harris’s warning was cut off, I opened the door, to see him falling, and the other running to the fence gate. I called out: ‘Stop! Police here!’ He did not stop, so I fired. Er… I hope you heard me order him to stop?”

“Of course, Bony. I hear everything you say. Didn’t you know?” A moment later she whispered: “He can’t last.”

Mr. Luton heard her and looked up. His mouth was slack. His eyes dimmed. He stood helplessly.

“I… We must fetch the quack,” he said dully.

Bony slowly shook his head.

Knocker Harris attempted to sit up, and Alice held him.

His glazing eyes passed from Mr. Luton, upward to Alice, round to Bony. The voice was almost a gurgle:

“John was me only friend. Got to… explain… like,” he managed. And Bony nodded and knew that Knocker Harris died knowing that no explanation was necessary.

Leave ItTo Alice

THErising moon was concentrating the shadows. It was touching the points of the picket fence, deepening the shadow beneath as though to delay shedding its light on the form lying in the cindered gateway.

That body was a development threatening to deprive Bony of the initiative. He had planned to go-get a mountain, and the mountain had moved to stand over the gateway. He had sent for Alice McGorr that he might gain greater freedom of action and less responsibility for Mr. Luton, and the little man had come to herald swift enemy counter-action.

From behind the edge of the blind in the sitting-room, Bony watched the front, wondering if the slayer of Knocker Harris was one of those men who had brought Tolnic from Adelaide. The Queensland heeler appeared crossing from the river-bank, and he came on till within a yard of the dead man, where he sat, and lifted his jowl and howled.

“What’s going on up your street?” asked Mr. Luton from his guard point at his bedroom window.

“Your heeler has found the dead man at the gate,” replied Bony, and then Mr. Luton saw the dog’s mate, which, wounded, had run for the kitchen door and died on the way.

“That’s what he’s crying about,” he said, and added: “I feel like crying myself.”

“Now you look up cheerful,” Alice advised, and the old man’s counter didn’t register with Bony, because the dog had ceased to cry and was staring along the track to the bridge, stiffly erect, the moonlight gleaming on his fangs.

Bony cautiously opened the front door, no light behind him, the veranda shaded from the moon by its iron roof. Sure that no one stood either side the door, he opened it still wider. Now he could hear the dog’s throaty growl, the animal low to ground, legs braced. Some distance away a car engine raced, but this could not be the cause of the dog’s attitude.

The picket fence ended at a wire fence keeping the scrub back, and at this point something moved, just beyond the white pickets. It was stalking the dog. Bony heard it say:

“Here, Towse! Lie down, old fellow. Good Towse!”

But Towse wasn’t taking it. His spring reminded Bony of Alice going into action off the floor. There was a spurt of dull fire, the metallic crack of a small-bore pistol. Then man and animal appeared for a moment atop the fence, then beyond it on the dusty track.

Unable to leave the door unguarded, Bony called for Alice.

“I’m here,” she said within two seconds.

“Wait.”

The car he heard had turned off the highway and was coming at speed towards the cottage. The uproar beyond the fence was certainly raised by a man being savaged by a dog, and they seemed like two crocodiles wrestling in a pool of silver. When the headlights of the car found them, Bony pushed back into the cottage and locked the door.

The car was stopped while its headlights still held the combatants. Men erupted from it. They counted seven, and among them were Boase and Sergeant Maskell.

“South Australian police,” Bony said sharply to Alice. “Now listen, because this gives you a ticklish job. They’ll demand admittance. Remember, you are Mr. Luton’s niece come to protect a sick old man from being hounded by violent strangers. Demand the search warrant. They’ll have it, more than likely. Rile them for always arriving after a murder, never before. Keep it going. I’ll prepare Mr. Luton.”

Bony snapped on the bedroom light, saying: