Arthur Upfield - Murder Must Wait

“On the dot,” agreed Essen.

“How far up the Settlement Creek does the river back water?”

“Don’t know that one. Could find out from the town butcher who runs stock on the far side of it.”

“Obtain the information… with your usual caution.”

Essen left, and Bony regarded Alice, and Alice knew she had not previously met this particular Bony.

“Mr Bulford committed suicide, Alice. And Mrs Delph becomes suddenly ill. As soon as it’s dark, pay the cook a visit and find out just what the illness is, and if possible the cause. Let me know by phone. Then skip along to the Olympic Bank and keep an eye on Mrs Bulford. Clear?”

“Quite. You stirred up the ants’ nest, didn’t you?”

“You’re guessing, Alice.”

“P’haps.”

“Well, stop it. See you tomorrow. I must talk to Yoti.”

He left her mutinous but high on the peak of action. He passed Essen at the telephone and sank into the chair beside Yoti. Yoti put down the pen with which he was writing a report on the Bulford suicide, and Essen came to state that the water in Settlement Creek lay as far back as the lantana swamp. Bony asked him to draw a rough map, and the sketch showed the lantana swamp due north of Mr Beamer’s house at the entrance to the Settlement.

“I was hoping that was so,” Bony said, distinctly gratified. “In the morning, Essen, I want you, accompanied by two constables, to proceed to the Aboriginal Settlement, leaving here exactly at nine o’clock. On reaching the Settlement, I want you to tell Beamer that you have information concerning Marcus Clark’s trespass in Mitford which necessitates interrogating every aborigine remaining at the Settlement. I want every aborigine called to the hospital ward where Clark is a patient and there kept for at least an hour. Cross-question them on the imaginary information, and permit not one to leave Clark’s ward during that hour. There will be, so Beamer told me, not more than a dozen to be rounded up, and I want them out of the way for an hour only. Clear?”

“Yep. That’ll be done,” answered Essen. “With two men, I’ll leave town at exactly nine. Meanwhile…”

“Your patrols on duty?”

“Yes.”

“Good! Now I have to make my own preparations. I’ll see you again, Sergeant, before I leave.”

Bony vanished beyond the doorway, and Essen looked at his superior with the ghost of a smile widening still further his wide mouth.

“Busy little man… sometimes, isn’t he?” he remarked to the wogs flying about the light.

“Reminds me of a Chinese I knew and sometimes played draughts with,” Yoti said seriously. “Ah Chung let me win a man off him, then perhaps two more, and then another, and I’d think I had him well sewn up. And he would sort of hesitate and say: ‘Igibbit chance’. He’d move a man to make me move, and then he’d clean the board. And do it every time.”

“Yair! This half-caste seems something like your Chow,” Essen drawled. “Plays his leads, then stirs up a mob ofabos, and we get what? Nearly all theabos clear out, and a bank manager shoots himself. And now he’s going off on a boat trip, and tomorrow I’m to bale up the remainingabos on fake information. I’d better go after that boat.”

Yoti nodded, and returned to his endless writing.

At eight o’clock the duty constable reported, was told to lock up and go home. At eight-twenty Alice McGorr rang up and spoke to Sergeant Yoti. At nine-fifteen the Postmaster came in with two bottles of beer and to talk for fifteen minutes. At nine-forty Bony reappeared.

He was dressed in black. There wasn’t a speck of white about him. He wore a pair of old black canvas shoes, and about his neck were slung a roughly made pair of sheepskin overshoes with the wool on the outside.

“Fancy dress ball this time?” mocked Yoti.

“Something of the kind. Anything further?”

“Yes. Your Alice McGorr rang to say that Mrs Delph has had a nervous breakdown.”

“Indeed!” purred Bony. “She gave me the impression she was heading for it.”

“From information received,” continued Yoti grimly, “it is alleged that Dr Delph communicated with a Dr Nonning in Melbourne, saying his wife was seriously ill, and asking him to come to Mitford at once, to assist him with his practice.”

“Promising, Sergeant,” Bony almost lisped. “Nonning is Mrs Delph’s brother, the well-known psychiatrist.”

“Any good to you?”

“It gives. Dr Nonning is also a collector of aboriginal relics. I wonder if he would be interested in that missingdrawing? ”

The Secret Camp

SAVEFORthe talking ripple at the bow, the boat and its crew made no sound. The ‘maiden moon’ had vanished and her starry lovers were lustreless.

The flow of the stream was negligible, and the only discomfort was created by mosquitoes. Facing to the bow, Bony pushed at the oars for three hours before he saw on the skyline of the north bank the tree marking the turn-off to the Settlement. Ten minutes later he was resting under the bridge carrying the main track over Settlement Creek.

By the stars it was then two o’clock… when all good aborigines should be fast asleep, sheltered and safe from the dreaded Kurdaitcha.

Under the bridge it was completely dark and, in this creek, no currents. The boat rested motionless, and Bony made a cigarette, lit it when hands and head were enfolded by a bag, and thereafter kept it cupped by his hands. Here the surfacing fish were almost lethargic, when those in the river had exhibited elan in their chase after smaller fry. The bullfrogs ‘clonk-clonked’ like bells minus tonal strength, and the invisible night birds committed their murders with unemotional efficiency.

There was no need for haste, and Bony, having finished his cigarette, greased the hole in the square stern of the craft to take a rowlock, and greased the rowlock before laying an oar in it. From now on he would propel the boat by the oar astern, and steer without error.

The bridge passed, and the trees almost met over the narrow waterway. The sculling oar and its rowlock made no sound, and it seemed to be the trees passing the boat, not the boat in motion. The lovesick stars were no lamps upon the dark waterway, and the trees slept unattended by wind. There was plenty of time to reach the far end of the waterway and hide the boat before dawn, when Bony hoped to be high in an ancient gum within fifty yards of the blacksmith’s shop and about that distance from Mr Beamer’s house.

Presently the trees halted in their procession to make way for clumps of lantana growing along the edge of the now shallow water. A few minutes after having entered this lantana section, Bony smelled smoke. Camp-fire smoke at three in the morning! Smoke when all camp fires would be out or damped down for the night! The air movement was from the Settlement to Bony, but such was the strength of the aroma its origin could not be a fire banked with ash ready to be broken open for breakfast cooking in the Settlement.

Bony ceased sculling, and the boat continued to ‘drift’ through the still water, and then abruptly the aroma was cut off and the rancid smell of mud returned. Gently the stern oar brought the boat round, and slowly it was propelled back over its course until again it was centred in the ribbon of invisible smoke, so sweetly aromatic.

Doubtless it was the weight of a cold twig which broke through the white ash covering the burning heart of the fire, because in the wall of black velvet suddenly appeared a flaming ruby to become an angry eye staring at the man in the boat. And for five long minutes Bony stared back at the angry red eye. It was then that the embers beneath the eye subsided when for a brief three seconds there lived a tiny flickering blue flame.