Arthur Upfield - The New Shoe

“The money found in the wallet assumed to have belonged to the dead man is a point which I find of greatest interest,” Bony confessed to the dog. “All told, the amount was?89 7s 5d. As the novelist would say, it is out of character for Eldred Wessex to have left that money with the dead man’s clothes. I am strongly inclined to think it would be entirely in character for Dick Lake to have left money and wallet, even taking care to place the odd seven andfivepence inside the wallet. That indicates a strong sense of honesty in Lake. Why the revolver was not left in the cave would indicate that it belonged not to the dead man but either to Eldred or Lake…

“Well, Lake is now beyond the reach of the stoat, but Wessex isn’t. Eldred Wessex is still at large, living possibly somewhere on his father’s farm, probably over beyond Sweet Fairy Ann, with or near Fred Ayling. I anticipated that Bolt would fail to find him as Waghorn, which is why I gave the Super that little something to occupy his attention. And now, Stug, as Pepys would say: ‘Home for a glass of ale and a rousing good dinner’. Many thanks for divesting me of those burrs.”

Stug staggered down the headland slope behind Bony, and he lurched up the highway to the Inlet Hotel as though nothing mattered save to flop upon the mat outside the bar room door. Yet with spasmodic enthusiasm he accompanied Bony down the road after dinner, and along the Inlet track to the camp where Moss Way lived.

It was a one-room iron shack set back off the road between Penwarden’s house and his workshop, and Moss was found seated on a case at a rough deal table and reading a newspaper by the aid of a storm lantern.

“Picking winners?” Bony surmised from the doorway.

“Hullo, Mr Rawlings! Come in! Matter of fact, I was.”

There were two rough bunks, one either side the open hearth. Cooking utensils, food wrapped in paper, bottled condiments, created the confusion seemingly inseparable from menbaching for themselves. Moss indicated a broken chair beside the fire, and moved his case to sit with the visitor. Stug silently came in and lay down at Bony’s feet.

“Howyou beenputtin ’ in the day?” asked Moss.

“Went to Lorne this morning. Tramped along the cliffs this afternoon. Calm sea. Seems too cold for rain.”

“Might blow a dry easterly tomorrow. Glass at the pub’s high.”

No anxiety in the easy voice. Despite the chill of the night Moss sat in his cotton vest in sharp contrast with the heavy working trousers and nail-studded boots.

“You will have to find another partner,” Bony said, lighting a cigarette.

“Yair,” agreed the long man. “Put it on Fred Ayling last night. Must have been the wrong time. Fred was terrible sore about something. He came in to see if there was anything left of Dick’s. I asked him what aboutit, and he said he might begoin ’ to work for Ma Wessex.”

“Whatd’youthink he was sore about?”

“Aw, I don’t know. Always was a moody bloke. Been living alone too long, I suppose.”

The dog raised his head and growled… and went off to sleep. Bony steered the conversation away from Ayling to the safer water near the ports of General Subjects. It was fully half an hour before he brought it back to the point he wished to anchor it.

“You’d think that Eldred Wessex would have made certain of being at Dick’s funeral, wouldn’t you?” he suggested.

“Yes… and no, from what I’ve heard of Eldred Wessex,” replied Moss. “Don’t know much about him, not being one of themob around here. You’re either in or you’re out, and if you are out you don’t never get in, if you know what I mean. What I reckon is that Eldred never was any good, but he was able to put it over people, especially his friends. Use ’emup, right andleft, and never blink an eyelid.”

“Couldn’t have bothered much aboutwritin ’ to Dick explaining why he didn’t arrive at Geelong.”

“That’s what worried Dick, I think. And Dick waiting all that day, and when Eldred didn’t come off the train, camping in the car all night outside the station, and waiting all the next day, too.”

“A long wait,” murmured Bony.

“You’re telling me. He left here at one to meet the 2.20 in from Melbourne. All keyed up, too. Got a telegram early that morning, and we drove out to Eli’s place to borrow the car, Dick putting up a tale he wanted to meet a girl friend for the day. He aimed to bring Eldred back on the quiet, walk in on the old people to give ’emthe surprise of their sweet lives. I come across that telegram this morning. Found it stuck behind the flour tin up there.”

“Hm!” murmured Bony, rubbing his nose with a fingertip to prevent Moss from noting how the nostrils quivered.

“Dickmusta put it there, and then forgot all about it,” Moss went on. “Terrible disappointed when he came home, he was. I come in for a drink of tea and some grub about midday, and there’s Dick cleaning up his best clothes. With his other clothes he wouldn’t care a damn if the backside of his pants was hanging down and trailing after him. His best clothes, though they had to be looked after like he was getting married. I’ll get that telegram. You take a deck at it.”

Moss obtained the flimsy from a writing pad.

“Shows how artful Eldred was to beat the Post Office,” he said, passing the message to Bony.

It was accepted by the GPO, Sydney at 5.35 pm, February 26th, and read:

“Hope toarrive Geelong per train about two tomorrow. Want you meet me with car. Say nothing to anyone as father might get to hear about us. Love always. Ethel.”

“Ethel!” purred Bony, and Stug growled without lifting his muzzle from his paws.

“Eldred,” Moss said, triumphantly. “Dick didn’t know any Ethel. Told me he didn’t, anyhow. Said the telegram was from Eldred.”

“He could have come home for the funeral,” Bony persisted. “Probably his failure to do so upset Fred Ayling.”

“Musta. Fred told me to keep out of it, and not to talk about Dick. As though Dick belonged to him. I’ve been Dick’s cobber and partner since he came back from the war, and I’m going to talk as much as I like. There’s some things, though, that I’m not going to talk about. Wouldn’t have talked about ’emto you only you’re a sort of friend, going over Sweet Fairy Ann with us, and Dick saying youwas all right. What’s in my mind, did Dick spend that night in Geelong?”

“What’s the point?” objected Bony.

“I dunno. Washfold went to Anglesea that evening, and he thought he saw Wessex’s car parked beside the road at the Memorial Look-Out.”

“That’s on a hill this side of Anglesea, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I never said nothing to Washfold about Dick going to Geelong, and what time he said he came home. Nothing to do with Bert Washfold.”

“No, of course not. Better forgotten, eh?”

Moss stared hard at Bony, and nodded.

A few minutes after that Bonyleft, and at ten o’clock the following morning he was seated in Bolt’s car parked outside the Geelong Railway Station, and watching the passengers coming off the first train from the city. There, following a telephoned request, a detective, attached to Divisional Headquarters, joined him.

“Yes, I’m Inspector Bonaparte. Get in the car. What is theCIB’s report?”

“That at 9 AM this morning Waghorn had not been located, sir,” replied the detective, crisply. He was a slight, grey-eyed man whose chief distinction was not to look like a policeman.

“You were on the Lighthouse murder investigation?”

“Yes, sir. I know the district and the people. Was stationed at Lorne for seven years in uniform.”

“You know, then, the people living behind the Inlet… the Wessexes, the Lakes and the Owens?”