Arthur Upfield: Battling Prophet

“Prior to these events, there have been strange happenings in this part of the State of South Australia; unlawful activities by several persons. One: the office of the late Benjamin Wickham was broken into and ransacked, this crime not being reported, as far as we know. Two: men came here and employed threats and menaces for the purpose of pumping Knocker Harris for information concerning the late Mr. Wickham’s work and papers and, three: a Miss Jessica Lawrence was waylaid when she left this house late one night. The car used by these persons was destroyed and reported to the local officer as an accident. Also, a Dr. Carl Linke was removed by persons purporting to be police officers. And I had been enjoying two or three days of peaceful fishing when someone in Cowdry reported to someone to have me recalled to Brisbane, according to what Senior Constable Gibley inferred one pleasant afternoon.

“There, Superintendent Boase, you have sufficient material on which to base your investigations. The foreign gentleman present will no doubt supply valuable information. The dead man at the gate is obviously his accomplice, and the third man with whom he came from Adelaide is the person attacked by the dog he failed to shoot. There are other matters we can discuss at your leisure.”

“Now is the time, Inspector Bonaparte,” Superintendent Boase decided, and the left eyelid just barely flickered. “I arrest you on a charge of manslaughter.”

“But you can’t do that, Super,” interjected theC.I. S. man. “I have already a warrant for his arrest, and power to conduct him to any lock-up in the country. You know that.”

Boase stretched, yawned, grinned without mirth.

“This is my territory,” he said stonily. “Bonaparte is my prisoner.”

“But you can’t…”

“Don’t be a blasted fool. Killings are my job.”

“Yes, and get to hell out of it!” shrilled Alice, appearing among them. “My uncle wants peace and quiet and something to eat. Nowdefongerate. This isn’t an opium den. Go on! Imshi!”

The Blackmailer

SENIORCONSTABLEGIBLEYarrived with reinforcements, and thus enabled Sergeant Maskell to relieve Boase of the routine work.

“Bring in that dog-fighting fellow,” Bony said curtly, and Boase found himself repeating the order.

The dog-fighter appeared decidedly ill-used. His overcoat and trousers were ripped. He might lose at least one ear, and his hands were lacerated.

“This one of the men you accompanied from Adelaide?” Bony asked Tolnic, and, after hesitation, the little man nodded.

“Very early on Wednesday morning the dog-fighter there was here with another man; not that man found dead in the gateway. They walked into this house, bashed Mr. Luton, lashed him to a chair and kicked his knees. They demanded to know where Wickham kept his papers, and referred to an important notebook. When Mr. Luton declined to say anything, this dog-fighting thug produced a hypodermic and prepared to inject a drug to force the information from Mr. Luton. It was unfortunate for him and his accomplice that I arrived back from Adelaide in time to prevent a most serious crime.”

“They came this time for what?” asked the would-be arrester.

“You ask Tolnic. That’s your job,” Bony replied coldly, his blue eyes blazing, and reminding Gibley of an uncomfortable moment.

The Commonwealth Investigation man asked. He asked twice, and Tolnic was dumb. From the next room Mr. Luton roared:

“Leave him to Alice. She’ll make him talk.”

“You be quiet, Uncle,” shrilled Alice. To those either side of the dog-fighter she commanded: “Take that stinking thing away.” When the command had been obeyed, to Bony’s amusement, she turned to the little man.“Now you, Tolnic. Speak up. Remember me? Every time your wife is dissatisfied you will remember me. I’m telling you something. You’re in the soup, d’youunderstand? You’ll lose your job and you’ll be locked up, but this is a good country, and ordinary people like you and me, and these policemen, don’t go in for torture. They won’t stand for your wife and kids being badly treated. You just tell the policemen what’s what. Inspector Bonaparte’s already told them what you told us, but I think there’s a bit more. Now, about being stuck up on the street and told to take this job ‘or else!’… is that true?”

The little man breathed the affirmative answer. Only Tolnic and Boase saw the soft gleam of sympathy in the girl’s brown eyes. She nodded encouragingly.

“You tell everything that happened from the time you left Adelaide with these men.”

Added to the men’s original objective in bringing him, Tolnic’s role had been also to ascertain who was in the house with Luton, with emphasis on the man who had frustrated their earlier attempt.

As their car had passed Mount Mario, they saw a car turn off at the bridge and take the track to Luton’s house. They had parked their car deep in the scrub, and they waited there until Dr. Maltby had left.

They had overheard Alice’s reception of the doctor, then Tolnic was instructed to proceed as planned. They had not thought of the dogs now free of the kennels, and the dogs bluffed Tolnic at the gate. From the veranda Alice had further bluffed him, and he had returned to his masters to report.

Then Gibley had called at the cottage. They overheard that Mr. Luton was abed with a cold, that his clothes had been hidden to immobilise him, and when Gibley drove away they were convinced that the only person with Luton was this woman with the devastating tongue.

When the dogs had raced away after Gibley’s car, the position was open and shut for Tolnic to offer his wares at the back door. He was to hold up the woman, gag and secure her, then to knock Luton out if he proved difficult. Meanwhile, they would lie in wait for Knocker Harris should he appear, and at dark would take over from Tolnic. Tolnic was to encounter all the risks, and if he was apprehended, and talked, his wife and children were to be bashed. The usual technique!

Alice smiled at him. Then she swung about to face the men.

“Having given you a few lessons on interrogation,” she told them, “I am going to make tea and sandwiches. So you all get out of my kitchen, and stay out, see?”

They drifted, and Boase asked with mock humility: “Can’t I stay here with Bonaparte?”

“Yes, let’s,” Bony supported, and they sat at one end of the table and regarded each other like representatives of East and West. After Alice had slammed the door to the sitting-room, there was quiet. Bony said:

“You and I, Boase, have to be good. This affair is big, proved so by the interest ofC.I. S., and, I am confident, also by S.S. Politics, Boase. Crime is as a sweet rose nodding in soft sunshine over the black evil of a political cesspool. Admit that theC.I. S. has been putting much over your Department.”

“Correct,” snapped Boase, taking from a pocket a pipe and pouch. “What annoys me is I don’t know how much.”

“I could tell you. I know most of it now. They put a lot over me, too. I am not a politician, and no one can be permitted to use me as a scapegoat. To employ an old saying, ‘I shall get out from under,’ and although in calm moments you won’t blame me, you will get hurt in the process. Wait! You and I have always worked amicably. I think we could agree that off duty we have a mutual personal liking. I need your assistance now. You will need mine later.”

“What do you want?” asked Boase, eyes small, tapping the stem of his pipe against the stiff hairs of his moustache.

“I must return to Brisbane as fast as I can.”

“Oh! Pretty hard-with all this mess. What can you do?”

“The loud pedal will be down hard on the cremation of Wickham’s body, in view of the protest made by Luton both to Maltby and Gibley. I must push it down, because, in order to emerge safely from under, I can spare no one. You assist me to get to Brisbane within hours, and I’ll present you with a soft pedal that you can push.”