Arthur Upfield - Battling Prophet

“The fact, Colonel, cannot be evaded that he did not comply with the order to return,” calmly argued the Chief Secretary. “Had he obeyed the order, we would not now be embroiled with Commonwealth Instrumentalities. I am afraid that Bonaparte will have to kill the cat.”

“Are you hoping he will have to?” demanded Colonel Spendor, renowned for his loyalty to and protection of his officers.

“Certainly not.”

“Then I’ll wager you five pounds that Bonaparte doesn’t kill the cat.”

The legal countenance softened a fraction in what was supposed to be a smile. The Chief Secretary accepted the wager, and rose with the Chief Commissioner.

“Then we’ll go along to this Gilbertian court-martial,” decided the old cavalry officer.“Lowther! Where the devil are you?”

“Here, sir,” replied the gaunt secretary, opening the door for them.

“Bring those damn papers, and for heaven’s sake try to appear bright.”

Lowther smiled at the ramrod back passing through the doorway, snatched the sheaf of papers from the desk, and followed on. They entered a room much larger than the Commissioner’s office, and it was obvious that the space was needed, for, in front of a covered table, sat a row of men who stood until the Chief Commissioner and the Chief Secretary were seated.

To one side of the desk, facing both men and the two Chiefs, sat Bony.

Colonel Spendor bounced his chair, haw-ed, teased the papers Lowther placed before him, glared at everyone including Bony, and opened proceedings.

“Detective-Inspector Napoleon Bonaparte,” he said. Bony stood. “You are to understand that this is not a Court of Disciplinary Action, but an Official Enquiry from which recommendation might be made to terminate your appointment. You have been given due notice of this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You may select any officer present to assist you.”

“Thank you, sir. Under the circumstances, I will decline assistance. May I ask a question?”

“You may ask questions at any point.”

“Then, sir, other than Superintendent Boase and my colleagues, who are present?”

“Representatives of the Chief Secretary’s Department, and of the Commonwealth and Queensland Governments.”

“Sir,”persisted Bony, “in justice to myself, may I be informed whether there are representatives of the Commonwealth Security Service and the Commonwealth Investigation Service?”

“Representatives of those services are also present,” replied Colonel Spendor, and hurriedly wrote a note which he passed to the Chief Secretary. Bony sat down. The Chief Secretary read: ‘Raise that wager to ten pounds.’ Without a muscle moving, theC. S. wrote his acceptance.

“A telegram was sent you at Cowdry, South Australia, to report here without delay,” stated the Colonel. “You failed to obey.”

“There is no proof, sir, that I received any such telegram.”

The Chief Secretary’s only reaction was a slight tightening of the mouth. Colonel Spendor haw-ed, bumped his chair, snapped:

“Superintendent Boase. Tell us what action was taken by your Department, in accordance with our request, to notify Bonaparte to report back immediately.”

Boase rose to relate that Maskell, at Mount Gambier, had been telephoned to transmit a message to Bonaparte, which had been done per Senior Constable Gibley. When he sat, Bony rose.

“Strange,” he said mildly. “I suppose there is proof of this?”

Lowther leaned over the Colonel and assisted him to locate a document. The Colonel cleared his throat.

“This is a sworn affidavit by Senior Constable Gibley that he, et cetera, et cetera, verbally informed Inspector Bonaparte of the message he was instructed to convey.”

Again Lowther leaned forward to assist with a document.

“This,” went on the Chief Commissioner, “is a statement made to Sergeant Maskell, of Mount Gambier, signed by a postal messenger at Cowdry. ‘On’… yumyumyum… ‘I delivered what I suppose was a telegram inside a buff envelope, to Mr. John Luton, for delivery to Inspector Bonaparte, the inspector being away fishing or something. I did not at any time see the message.’ And this,” continued the Colonel, “is a statement by John Luton given to Sergeant Maskell. Ah…urmph! What the…! This reads: ‘I have told Sergeant Maskell, who is a friend of mine, that I’m not a bloody letter-box, yours faithfully, J. Luton.’“

Dead silence. Bony rose to his feet.

“Again I ask for documentary proof that I received a telegram ordering me to report to my headquarters. Gibley’s affidavit is unsupported. I don’t know Constable Gibley very well. I will not say he is untruthful. I do say that my long study of abnormal psychology has convinced me that the human mind is unreliable. A fantastic thought of to-day can become a strong belief to-morrow.”

The Colonel tormented his papers. TheC. S. wrote a note to him saying: “One to you, Colonel.” Colonel Spendor nodded agreement, his face expressionless. He glared at Bony. He glared at those officials he resented being on his premises, poking their noses into the affairs of his Department. He haw-ed, and loudly bumped his chair on the floor.

“Inspector Bonaparte, I suggest that you address us on your activities of a police nature whilst on leave of absence.”

“I thank you, sir, and accept your suggestion,” Bony said slowly, and produced a sheaf of notes. He looked intently at the officials before bringing his gaze back to the Chief Commissioner. “I was in Adelaide when granted leave of absence, and decided to spend my leave with Mr. John Luton, who resides near Cowdry.

“Mr. Luton’s nearest neighbour was the late Benjamin Wickham, the meteorologist of world renown. Further, Wickham and Luton had been close friends for many years. Wickham died in Luton’s house, and because his doctor believed that Wickham’s heart was not strong, he signed the certificate that Wickham died from heart disease accelerated by alcohol.

“Luton protested that his friend had never complained of his heart, that both of them were recovering from a drinking bout, and that Wickham died of something not alcoholic. The protest was made both to the doctor and to the local policeman. Both of them told Luton he should be sent to a home in Adelaide, on the grounds that he was of advanced age, that he was living alone, and therefore was a liability. Although a witness to this episode is dead, Luton’s suspicions of foul play are general knowledge in the locality.

“This would give you, sir, the distinct impression that Luton was revealing signs of senility, that he was living in squalor, and that he was a liability to both his neighbours and the authorities. The opposite is the truth. Luton is remarkably virile in body and mind; he lives in a well-kept cottage surrounded by a garden he cultivates, and he is in possession of considerable means.

“The fact that he has considerable means was not known either to the doctor or the policeman, who probably thought he had been entirely maintained by the late Benjamin Wickham, and therefore was minus social status, and without influence. I intend to put forward a different interpretation of this attitude towards Luton when he expressed grave doubt that Wickham had died of the effects of alcoholic poisoning. I am convinced, sir, that had Luton been known to be a man of substance his doubt would have been forwarded to Police Headquarters, and that cremation would not have been permitted until after a post-mortem.

“I will conclude this section of my reply by stating that the doctor who signed the certificate was a relative of deceased, that he was short of money, and that he knew he was an important beneficiary mentioned in the will. And that the local policeman was being unduly influenced by an agent of Security Service resident in Cowdry and, as a bank manager, a person of local power.