Arthur Upfield: Death of a Lake

“Oh, just a moment, Mr Martyr. Won’t keep you long.”

Martyr turned, walked back to the desk. There he stood looking down at the brown-paper parcel Bony was holding. From the parcel, his eyes flickered to encounter the blue eyes from which he couldn’t hide. Actually, Bony was a little surprised when Martyr sat down.

“Where did you find that?” he asked, thinly.

“In Lester’s room.”

“Lester’s room!” echoed the overseer. Thencame the one word, loudly: “When?”

“After the fire… after.”

Martyr placed his elbows on the desk and cupped his chin in his hands. He put a question to the sergeant:

“Have I got to tolerate this inquisition?”

“No, there’s no compulsion, Mr Martyr,” repliedMansell.“Would look bad if you refuse, of course.”

“Yes, I suppose it would.” Martyr removed his gaze from the grey eyes to the bright blue eyes, and the blue eyes detected neither fear nor despair, but resolution.

“I don’t like answering questions,” Martyr said sharply. “I’m used to asking them. Do you know what’s in that parcel?”

“Money. Shall I tell the story, or would you care to?”

“I will. I can tell it better than you. Two days before Gillenvanished, he came to the office after dark and requested me to take custody of a parcel which, he said, contained personal effects he treasured. I consented to do so, saying I would place the parcel in the station safe. I told him I would write a receipt for the parcel, and he laughed and said that wasn’t necessary. I waxed the knots and at one place got him to press his thumb.

“I didn’t think anything more of the parcel until, on the phone, Mr Wallace told me to run through Gillen’s effects to establish his connexions, and when I opened the parcel I was astounded to see the large amount of money it contained.

“Not having found anything among Gillen’s effects leading to his parents or friends, or where he came from, and feeling sure he could not possibly have gained the money by honest means, I decided to forget about the parcel in the safe. I realized that it mightn’t do to resign right away and start off on my own, but that I must be patient and wait on here, perhaps for several years. My mother is almost an invalid, and I am her only support. I was able to send her a few pounds now and then together with a salary cheque.

“Naturally, when the house burned down, I was anxious about the parcel, and you know that when I got here the safe would have been too hot to touch, and I didn’t want the men to see me interested too much in it. Which is why I ordered them to go with Barby to his camp. So I returned, as you said, and opened the safe, and took the parcel to Lester’s room, intending to retrieve it on my return and before I went to Johnson’sWell for the men. It was my intention to steal the money. I believed Gillen had stolen it, or that it was stolen money, so that my action didn’t seem to be so bad.”

“H’m!” Bony added a note to his pad. “Having taken the parcel from the safe, you forgot to take the key. You threw ash on the safe and over your tracks as you withdrew from the ruins. Then you took the parcel to Lester’s room and hid it under the mattress on Lester’s bed. Why? Why didn’t you take the parcel with you? You were in no possible danger of being searched.”

“I couldn’t be sure I would not have to take over anotherute, or drive Mr Wallace’s car. And having lost everything bar what I stood up inin the fire, possession of the parcel might have been noticed.”

“Didn’t you think that Lester might return from Johnson’s Well, and might have found the parcel under the mattress?”

“No. Anyway, that was a chance I had to accept.”

“Yes, of course.” Bony regarded the overseer for a long moment. “I think, Mr Martyr, I could tell the story better than that. Just where did you hide the parcel in Lester’s room?”

“Where? Under the mattress, as I stated.”

“Think! Think, man!”

Martyr reddened with anger.

“If you didn’t find it under the mattress, then someone found it before you. That’s where I put it.”

“I rode back from Johnson’s Well, and saw the dust raised by your utility after your second departure,” Bony went on. “After you left for the second time, and before I arrived here, there was certainly no other person in sight. Therefore, no one could have removed the parcel from under the mattress, because it was never under the mattress.”

“All right! Then where was it?”

“You don’t know, Mr Martyr?”

“Under the mattress was where I put it.”

“I repeat, Mr Martyr, you don’t know where I found the parcel, because you did not hide the parcel in Lester’s room.”

“I tell you I did. And my word is as good as yours.”

Bony bent over and brought to view the station books.

“See the slight damage done these books by the heat in the safe, generated outside the safe. The covers are brittle. Here are the tax stamps, curled by the heat to thin spills. Now regard the parcel of money. The wrapping does not bear any such effects of heat. So, Mr Martyr, the parcel was taken from the safe before the fire… when you were miles away on a job with Carney.”

Martyr said nothing, looking at Bony, trying to evade the ice-blue eyes, being compelled to face them again and again.

“You returned from just beyond the first ridge,” Bony continued. “You opened the safe to remove the parcel, which already had been taken, and you began then to guess about the fire, and you knew who took the parcel from the safe before the fire began. And those questions you asked yourself, and hated to answer, because you don’t like answering questions, are questions I have asked myself, and have supplied the answers. Nothing you can say will affect the result to the person who removed the parcel of money from the office safe. I suggest that you concentrate on Gillen.”

The only sound within the shed was the occasional creaking of the roof iron tortured by the sun. Martyr bit his lip, and then his finger-nails. Bony rolled a cigarette. SergeantMansell stared at the overseer and was glad he wasn’t the object of this suavely polite interrogation. Martyr sighed, moved to roll himself a smoke, as though to steady his fingers. His voice was flat.

“I was sitting on the house veranda. The moon was full. It was late, after eleven. I saw Gillen walk down to the water. He was wearing only pyjama trousers and once the moonlight was reflected by the golden locket suspended from his neck.

“He ran into the water, and then he splashed it over himself, as he continued to run, getting deeper and deeper until he lunged forward and began to swim. For some time I could see his dark head on the silvered water and watch the outward-running ripples under the moon. Presently, he swam from my sight, swam on towards the far shore.

“I sat on the veranda, thinking. Then I heard a cry. It was far out on the Lake. At first I thought it was Gillen playing the fool. Then I heard, low but distinctly, his cries for help, including the word ‘cramp’. I did not get up. I knew Gillen wasn’t playing the fool, but I didn’t get up from the chair. I sat on and listened to Gillen drowning.

“You must understand why I hated Gillen, and why I let him drown.

“Living conditions here were rough before Mrs Fowler and herdaughter were employed. But, life was smooth for all of us. I had my first big job. The men were easy to get along with. There was no clashing and no unpleasantness. The women changed all that. They brought order and cleanliness and decent living, but they also brought hate and pain.

“That was three years ago, and I thought Joan was innocent and sweet as well as beautiful. I asked her to marry me. She said she would like to think about it. I took her riding, gave her little presents. She asked me how I stood financially. I told her I hadn’t been able to save because I had to support my mother. I offered her the partnership in my job here, and was confident one day of becoming a full manager. She said she wouldn’t marry a man in my position and with my prospects. The man she married must be rich. When I pressed her, she told me I was too dull, and too old, anyway.