Arthur Upfield - The Widows of broome

Bony passed to the wardrobe and removed the frocks and suits, and in a far corner he found a large bundle wrapped about with blue silk. His eyes were as blue as the silk covering of the bundle, and he broke it open on the bed and disclosed scraps of silk of several colours: cream, black, daffodil-yellow and green. He could see where a knife had sometimes been employed to start the rip completed by hands.

He sorted the pieces into the respective colours, his mind thrilling with the ecstasy of the hunter who has come within range of the hunted. Having smoothed the pieces of black silk, he proceeded to place them in position to prove the type of garment they had once been. He worked on the cream pieces with the same result, and troubled no further with the remaining scraps of silk.

There was no mention of this bundle of torn silk in the reports compiled by the Broome police, nor was mention made of it in the General Reports compiled by the men from the C.I.B. Had the bundle been in the wardrobe when the police went through the room, they could not have missed it.

After the homicide men had left and the house was finally shut up, the murderer had returned. Motive! It was coming… coming from the little bits and pieces… coming from these desecrated items of silken underwear… a strange and terrible motive for murder.

Medical Inspection

IT was four o’clock when Bony entered the police station by the rear door and discovered Mrs. Walters baking scones. He sniffed with exaggerated noise, saying:

“Ah! Hot buttered scones! And strong hot tea!”

“Where have you been all day?” Mrs. Walters asked accusingly.

Bony placed the sugar sack he had brought with him on a side table.

“Merely pottering about. Plenty of butter, now.”

“You haven’t had lunch?”

“It wasn’t convenient. I’m glad now…” and sniffing again loudly, he sat down at the floured table. “Six buttered scones and two cups of tea, and I won’t want any lunch. Who would?”

“Did your mother have any morelike you?” asked Mrs. Walters, buttering hot scones.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “You see, I was abandoned by her and found under a sandalwood tree. You get along with that baking. I’ve something to show you.”

“Have you?” Mrs. Walters looked at him intently. “This is the last tray to go into the oven, and I’ll clean up in no time.”

“Good! I want to ask a question and not be slapped for it. Promise not to slap?”

“I promise.”

“All right. Do you wear silk underwear?”

“What a question! Very often. Why?”

“I’ll tell you in a moment or two. Excuse me.”

With a scone in one hand and a tea cup in the other, and his mouth whitened by flour, Bony hurried along the passage to the office door. He made sure no member of the public was doing business, and was pleased to find both Walters and Sawtell, with a third policeman, working at their desks. He had already been introduced to Constable Clifford.

“Mrs. Walters wants you, Inspector, and Sergeant Sawtell… at once,” he called from the doorway.

“What the hell…” Walters began to explode, but Bony had vanished. He and Sawtell left their desks like dutiful children and obeyed the summons. Bony closed the door.

“I understand,” he began, “that when Lily Mallory, Mrs. Eltham’s domestic, reported that she couldn’t get into the house, you, Sawtell, went there and broke in. Almost immediately afterwards you telephoned Walters, and he joined you in the house. Did either of you then or subsequently examine the floor of the wardrobe in Mrs. Eltham’s room?”

“No. We waited for the Perth men to get here,” replied Sawtell. “But I was present when the C.I.B. man stripped the wardrobe of all its contents from top shelf to floor. Why?”

“Did you see a bundle of rags pushed into a far corner?”

“No. There was nothing of the kind there.”

“I find that satisfactory,” murmured Bony as though tohimself. “Now look… all of you.”

From the sugar sack he took the bundle wrapped in blue silk and opened it out on the side table.

“Examine those pieces of silk, Mrs. Walters, and tell me what you think about them.”

She handled the coloured pieces, lifting a strip of lime-green silk to which was a hem of fine lace. The three men silently watched her fluttering hands, the eyes of both Walters and Sawtell hardening as they understood the significance of this wilful destruction.

“Oh!” exclaimed Mrs. Walters.“Oh, what a shame! Such lovely undies, too. Why, it’s almost new.”

There was indignation in her dark eyes when she turned to Bony.

“I found that bundle in a corner of Mrs. Eltham’s wardrobe,” he said. “Thank you for your confirmation of what it represents. It’s expensive material, is it not?”

“Very. I very much doubt that it was purchased here in Broome… not since the war.”

“Black-market goods, perhaps,” contributed the inspector.“Could have been brought in by a lugger. What’s it all mean?”

“That Mrs. Eltham’s murderer destroyed all her silk underwear. Can you spare an hour to run out to Dampier’s Hotel?”

“Certainly. What’s breaking? Come on, out with it.”

The inspector’s face was almost ferocious.

“D’youknowwhat happened to Mrs. Cotton’s personal effects?” persisted Bony.

Walters referred to Sawtell, and the sergeant replied:

“I believe all her personal effects were stored in her bedroom and the room locked up.”

“Good! We’ll run out there at the first opportunity. Was Constable Clifford ever inside Mrs. Eltham’s house… after she was found, of course?”

“Yes. He was often there with us.”

“Ah! This case is beginning to break,” Bony cried, and none had seen him so excited. “I’m glad I came to Broome on two counts. One because I am your guest and the other because you gave me a real puzzler of a case. Now, Walters, do something for me immediately. Ring up Dr. Mitchell and tell him your wife has taken a bad turn and to come at once.”

“But Esther’s all right,” objected Walters.

Bony sighed, and Mrs. Walters snapped:

“Go and do what he asks, Harry. I’m having a real bad turn.”

The inspector stamped away. Sawtell grinned, and Mrs. Walters looked impishly at Bony. They said nothing but could hear the inspector at the telephone in the office.

“Have you ever charged anyone with destroying women’s clothes?” Bony asked Sawtell.

“No, and I’ve been here fifteen years.”

“I’ve known of it but not in connection with homicide,” Bony said. “This fellow is exceptionally clever. He works with silk or rubber gloves. No finger-prints. We’ll send these remnants down for expert examination, but I think they’ll find only my prints or those of Mrs. Walters: How long has Constable Clifford been with you?”

“Almost two years.”

“Married?”

“No.”

“Well, engaged?”

“I don’t know that one,” averred Sawtell. “He’s efficient and ambitious. We’ve found him a good bloke. He boards with us.”

Inspector Walters returned to say theM. O. was on his way.

“I’m sitting back. You can make the explanations,” he said to Bony.

Three minutes later, Bony began the explanations to Dr. Mitchell, who was certainly astonished to find Mrs. Walters looking quite sweet in her cooking apron.

“Inspector Walters brought you here under false pretences, Doctor,” he said. “However, I believe that the real reason will prove to be of such interest that you will readily forgive him. You see, we’re so positive that you will assent to help us in clearing up these murders at Broome.”