Arthur Upfield - Batchelors of Broken Hill

The noise was terrific and at four o’clock increased in tempo. The blaring radios in all bars as well as in this main lounge, added to the din of voices raised in laughter and quip, upset bushmen in for a spree but had no effect upon Wally Sloan. Under or within the general uproar his mind registered orders and never failed, and he spoke to his customers, adding the ‘sir’ when addressing women as well as men, giving racing tips, and at the same time noting the broadcast finishes of races in Melbourne and Sydney or Adelaide in which he was financially interested.

Everyone knew Sloan, and everyone called him Wally. He seemed to know almost everyone and appeared to spend much time at each table for four, but no customer had long to wait for his glass to be replenished. His tables were set in four banks with the widest aisle in the centre, and he weaved and glided up and down these tables as though in this staccato confusion he was the only directed mechanism.

There were, however, unwritten laws which Sloan laid down and ruthlessly maintained. No customer was permitted to stand at the serving bar, beyond which two bar-men co-operated with the two stewards. No two tables were permitted to be joined together, thus throwing out of gear the four banks of tables and reducing service speed. People were there to drink, and the staff was there to take the money, and in the background of all minds was the inevitable coming of six o’clock. When, therefore, six o’clock approached, decorum in drinking was sacrificed to the necessity of drinking as much as possible before the stupid moment when the Law said-shut up.

Among those who came in about four o’clock were three men from Zinc Corporation. One was an engineer, another was a metallurgist, and the third was an under-manager. The fourth chair at their table remained vacant until it was sneaked away by a party at the next table who wished to increase their number by one.

Wally had known the three men for years, and he didn’t bother to ask them what they were drinking. He carried long beers to them, talked for six seconds, took the money, and gave change from the coins on his tray. Many customers were as easy, for Sloan knew what they wanted and their wants never varied. Many of them were sufficiently considerate to have their money ready in a small pile on the table, that there need be no hindrance to a busy man. There were others who thought of money only when he set down the drinks, then dived into a deep pocket, changed their mind, pulled out a wallet, and then dithered before deciding to proffer a pound note or one for ten shillings.

Of these people women were the worst offenders, women unattended by male escorts. They kept Sloan idle whilst fumbling into handbags for change or purse, although well knowing the price of the drink they had ordered and that others waited.

There was one peculiarity about this Saturday-afternoon crowd which made it similar to the lesser crowd who came in on other afternoons. Certain people favoured certain tables, if able to get them. Parties of men chose tables nearest the main entrance, and unattended women always gravitated to those tables farthest from the main entrance and nearest the small serving bar.

Round about half-past five there occurred another phenomenon. Husbands, drifted away to join their mates in the public bars, and the wives would look forlorn, then annoyed, and finally unite to refill tables. It always went like this, and Sloan could tell the time by the shift of balance. Thus at five-thirty, despite the approach of the awful hour of six, the lounges were less busy than at half past four.

Shortly after five this afternoon two of the three men from the Zinc Corporation left, and the third man sat on, studying a plan which occupied most of his table. Now and then Sloan looked at this man’s glass, and because it seemed that the man was so absorbed by his plan, he seldom bothered him.

At twenty minutes to six Sloan was standing at the serving bar, giving his orders to the barman, when abruptly the conversation at his back dwindled into a vacuity made the more emphatic by the uproar in the next lounge and the bars. On turning about, he saw the plan-student standing, facing towards the entrance, and then lean to one side, double, straighten and bend backwards, and cave in at the knees.

The serving barman thrust his head and shoulders through the opening above the counter. He saw Sloan run down the room, snatch up an empty glass at a far table, and slam and lock the front doors. He saw the man stretched on the floor, sensed the significance of Sloan locking the entrance, turned and made a sign to the head barman, then vaulted into the lounge to guard the inner door leading to the smaller lounge and the back entrance. The head barman automatically ran out to the street and signalled a uniformed policeman stationed nearby.

Five Strange Women

HANS GROMBERG, the metallurgist employed at Zinc Corporation, died at twenty minutes to six. From that moment no one was able to leave the lounge. At five minutes to six Bony with Crome and Abbot and other detectives entered by the rear door and took charge.

Familiar with the construction of the Western Mail Hotel, Bony immediately had the smaller lounge cleared of staff and the curious, and the customers, confined in the larger lounge by the prompt action of Sloan and the barman, transferred to it.

There were thirteen men and nineteen women, and police procedure threatened to hamstring Bony. Abbot and another man noted their names, addresses, and occupations. Before this task was completed John Hoadly had arrived and examined the body. To the anxious Bony he said:

“Without an autopsy I can’t be sure, but, just between us, I think it’s cyanide. Not for a million would I drink the dregs in that glass someone said Sloan retrieved.”

“Thanks, Doctor. We’ll have the body in the morgue under the hour. Would you examine it as soon after that as possible?”

“Of course.”

Bony’s smile was wintry. The doctor was conducted through to the back of the building, and the photographer began to work. At a table in that corner near the serving counter Crome was taking down Sloan’s statement, and Bony joined them and smoked a cigarette until the statement was concluded.

“Any leads?” Bony asked the sergeant.

“No, sir.”

“People coming and going all the time, I suppose, Sloan?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, we cannot keep these people here longer than absolutely necessary. Come with me.”

Sloan and Crome accompanied Bony to the adjoining lounge, and there Bony asked the steward:

“How many present, do you know?”

Sloan looked over the small crowd, and, to Bony’s surprise, replied:

“Everyone, sir.”

“Name them, please. Check, Abbot.”

Without hesitation, Sloan did so, and Bony then addressed them.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s most regrettable that you should be present this afternoon when Mr Hans Gromberg had a fatal seizure, and that what I am sure was a pleasant afternoon for all of you should be so tragically terminated. Now in view of the fact that it’s remotely possible that Mr Gromberg was poisoned, I am going to ask you to agree voluntarily to be searched before leaving. If Mr Gromberg was poisoned, I am sure the poisoner isn’t here, but you would greatly assist justice by eliminating yourselves from all suspicion. Obviously, if the dead man was poisoned, someone did it, and that someone was in the outer lounge at some time during the period Mr Gromberg was there.”

“Suits me,” a man said, and a woman offered a sound suggestion: “Why not? Two of the barmaids could search us women. Good idea. Old Gromberg was a decent sort.”

All agreed to submit to a search and, as Bony anticipated, not one grain of any poison was discovered. He had done all possible.