Arthur Upfield - Batchelors of Broken Hill

There was the remarkable juxtaposition of the murder dates with Lodding’s sick-leave dates, and the finding of the haft of the glass dagger inside the gate of the house now occupied only by the woman’s sister. That proved that Tuttaway had been there at least once before Jimmy Nimmo had seen him.

Mrs Dalton had watched him. When normally she did not retire until two in the morning, last night at 1 am her lights were out and she was watching a man testing the defences of her house. Why?

Mrs Dalton! Having no known pets, Mrs Dalton ordered eight pounds of meat daily in addition to normal requirements! No extra milk or bread.

Was there someone else living in that house? Was Tuttaway being harboured by Mrs Dalton? Absurd, on the face of it. Were Jimmy wrong about his guess about Tuttaway being the man testing the windows, Tuttaway could be holed up there.

A search of the house might reveal much, but was there sufficient evidence on which to base an application for a search warrant? Both Pavier and Crome had called on Mrs Dalton, and she had received them with no hint of subterfuge or evasion.

Jimmy Nimmo! Yes, Jimmy Nimmo! Jimmy was coming towards him, followed by two boys on whose faces was plainly writ anticipation. Jimmy was looking without enthusiasm for the red-haired waitress, and he need not have worried because Bony had previously asked her not to recognise either Jimmy or himself in the presence of the boys.

Jimmy introduced them to Mr Knapp, down from his station in Queensland, and Bony told them that New South Wales was even better than Queensland, and that the Australian Eleven was sure to belt hell out of the Englishmen at the coming Test Matches. They swiftly assessed him, his romantic background, and with the casualness of their generation accepted his suggestion of double ices. They addressed each other as Bluey and Blackie.

Both lived in the same street as did Mrs Dalton. They understood that their friend was very sorry for Mrs Dalton and that he was anxious to know everything about her so that he could help her now that she lived all alone. Bony thought the boys were far more interested in the ices than in Mr Nimmo’s good intentions.

“What do you think of Mrs Dalton?” he asked the red-headed boy.

“Aw, I reckon she’s all right, mister,” replied Bluey. “Better’nthe other one, the one who was bumped off. She was a bit sour. Mrs Dalton sometimes gets me or Blackie to do summat for her, and she gives us sixpence.”

“Gave me a shilling once for going down to oleClouter with a message,” remarked Blackie.

“Anyone staying with Mrs Dalton since her sister was killed?”

“Don’t think,” replied Bluey, licking his fingers.

“No one trying to get in ahead of Mr Nimmo, I suppose?”

“Don’t know. Don’t think. Pass them cakes, Blackie, and don’t hog. You seen anyone staying with Mrs Dalton?”

“Nope! An’ don’t you hog the cakes, either.”

“Haven’t seen a tall gent taking an interest in the place?” interposed Jimmy.

The boys were too busy at the moment to reply. Bony opened the subject of dogs, describing some of those on his alleged station, and this subject brought the casual question if Mrs Dalton kept dogs.

“Nope,” answered Bluey. “Had one once, though. Black an’ tan bitser.”

“Yes,” mumbled Blackie through the cake. “Died. She buried him in the garden.”

“H’m! Pity. How long ago was that?” asked Bony.

“ ’Fore Christmas. Musta etsum’t.”

Jimmy put in his oar.

“Ah, well, dogs take keeping these days. What they get through is pretty good.”

“That bitsermusta,” Blackie managed to say. “Mrs Daltonusta get eight pounds of steak for him, anyway. Still does. Tom told me. He delivers it. Now that’s a bit rummy, mister. What she want it for now?”

“Puppies, perhaps,” suggested Bony.

“Don’t think. Don’t hear any.”

“Cats, then?”

“Nope. No cats, either. Never seen any. You, Bluey?”

“Nope. P’raps she makes meat pies.”

“And gives them to poor neighbours,” suggested Bony. “Does Mrs Dalton have many visitors?”

“Nope,” replied Blackie, and Bluey said:

“Seen one old geezer going in.”

“I haven’t.”

“I have that,” argued Bluey, button of a nose twitching with sudden belligerency. “Seen her going in through the back. Seen her coming out. Our back’s in the same lane, that’s how I seen her.”

“Another ice?” asked Bony. Why ask? There was no stopping these boys. He waited for the ices to be brought before continuing the interrogation.

“What was the old woman like?”

“Like? Aw, bit older ’n Mrs Dalton. Wears specs, at least once she did. The other one, Miss Lodding, didn’t like her.”

“Indeed! When was this?”

“Long time ago, might be since Christmas, the old geezer went in and Miss Lodding saw her in the garden.”

“Then what happened?” prompted Jimmy.

“I watched over the back fence. Couldn’t hear nothing, though, but they went at it, and the old geezer dropped her specs and then she picked ’emup andfollered Miss Lodding inside.”

“Seen the old lady since Miss Lodding was killed?”

“Yeh, once.”

“And who buried the dog in the garden?”

“Mrs Dalton. Seen her take it into the little plot. Dead all right. Seen her digging the hole. Never had no more dogs after that.”

“Fenced in with netting,” offered Blackie, sighing with near repletion. “She’s always digging in that little plot, ain’t she, Bluey?”

“Now and then she does. Plantin ’sum’t, I think. Can’t get near enough to see.”

“Doesn’t Mrs Dalton employ a man for the garden work?” Bony asked, and was answered with vigorous headshakes. “You have never been right inside the garden?”

“Nope,” replied Blackie. “Went in once and got bailed up by Miss Lodding. Told me to get out and keep out. Sour old cow. Mrs Dalton’s all right, but she won’t let us in her garden, either. When she wants us to go a message, she comes to the fence.”

“You don’t think that the old geezer you spoke about really lives with Mrs Dalton?” Bony persisted.

“Don’t think. Might, though. Didn’t clear out that time Miss Lodding told her off, anyway.”

“You don’t remember what colour her handbag was, I suppose?”

“Nope,” replied Bluey, and Blackie added a headshake. They had downed half a dozen ices apiece and cleaned up the cakes, and, in the vernacular, ‘had had it’. They followed Jimmy and Bony to the street with less sprightliness than on entering the cafe. Bony bade them goodbye, ordered Jimmy to dine with him that night at six-thirty, and walked slowly to Headquarters. He was in his office less than a minute, when Crome came in.

“Stillman’s here,” he stated levelly. “In with the Chief.”

“Is that so?” Bony steadily regarded the sergeant. He glanced at his watch. “I want just twelve hours. Will you help me to them?”

Crome was cautious, although willing.

“As much as I can. That bloke gets under my skin. Just as we were getting places, he barges in.”

“Don’t worry about him, Crome. Concentrate. Give me twelve hours and we may send Stillman back to Sydney with a pebble in his shoe. I want both you and Abbot to have dinner with me this evening. Six-thirty at my hotel.”

The big man frowned, then grinned.

“We’ll be there, and thanks.”

“Clear off now and take Abbot with you. Any of your men about, you send home or far away. Stillman can begin in the morning, but this night is mine. Game?”

“Too ruddy right, I am. Abbot will be too.” Crome grinned again, and this time with anticipation.

Bony listened to the departing footsteps and smiled. Without haste he gathered his notes and data and placed them in his briefcase. The file on Tuttaway also went in. With haste he went to the detectives’ general office and retrieved the pictures from the wall, and these, too, he added to the contents of the briefcase. Then he rang Luke Pavier, catching him at the office of his paper.