Arthur Upfield - The Widows of broome

Five likely victims! When Mrs. Walters had left him, he compared his list from her information with that supplied by Sergeant Sawtell. The five were on Sawtell’s list, and from Sawtell’s memoranda Bony jotted down information concerning his five. Mrs. Sayers lived alone in her house, but in a room off the rear yard lived a man named Briggs who was her chauffeur and general man about the place. A woman came daily to cook and do the housework. Mrs. Overton lived entirely alone. Mrs. Clayton lived with her daughter aged fourteen. Mrs. Watson lived with two small children aged respectively four and three. A married sister spent much time with her in the evenings. And Mrs. Abercrombie had for a companion a woman much older than herself. Mrs. Overton seemed most open to attack, but then Mrs. Cotton had been surrounded by people.

It was all very well to place a guard over those women. Such a precaution would surely be noted by this Mr. Hyde, who would then select any unguarded woman. It was all very well to assume that he had a predilection for widows. Assumption was as far as anyone could go along that road.

There was one road Bony was reluctant to take. This killer of women had stolen the nightgowns belonging to his intended victims. The theft seemed to be a prerequisite to murder. The five widows could be interviewed and requested to report immediately they suffered such a loss, but could they be depended on not to gossip about such a request from the police? Bony thought not. It was useless to do anything unless absolute assurance could be obtained that official interest in nightgowns on clothes lines was not transmitted ultimately to the ears of the killer.

And yet, were another victim claimed by this murderer, it would be just too bad. At lunch, when listening to Nanette’s bright chatter, he decided to ask the five widows to report a theft from their clothes lines. After lunch he decided to drop his plan for another, and at no period of his career had he been so unsure and so hesitant in reaching a decision.

During the afternoon he sat with Inspector Walters in the office.

“Have you a spare map of the town?” he asked.

Walters said there was one, and after a short search produced it.

“Mark on it, please, in red ink the position of the houses occupied by the widows Sayers, Overton, Abercrombie, Watson and Clayton,” he requested, and without comment Walters did so. He gave Bony a full five minutes’ study of the position of the five houses before saying:

“Am I thinking what you’re thinking?”

“I am trying to plan how to protect those five women without the man we want knowing it. I thought it might be wise for one of us to interview each of those five women and ask them to report at once when they had a nightgown stolen from their clothes line. I still think that course would be the exercise of wisdom, but it has a grave defect. We can receive no guarantee that one or more will not gossip about it, and gossip in a place like Broome means blaring radio-broadcasting. However, it would seem that the best we can do ismaintain an unobtrusive surveillance over those five houses and then, when washing at one of them is left out, to wait by the clothes line.”

“That seems the best thing to do.”

“Could you arrange for Clifford and Sawtell, with you and me to take turns, to maintain watch on those five clothes lines?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good! Get Sawtell to begin by taking a walk this evening.”

“Certainly. And Clifford can do it tomorrow… between sundown and dark?”

“Between sundown and dark. If only I am permitted time, I’ll so build the fellow’s personality and background that I’ll be confident in handing you sufficient proof on which to charge him. Time is so essential, and yet the danger to one of those five widows is real, so real that I am made nervous. Now what do you know about Arthur Flinn?”

Inspector Walters produced a report and read:

“Flinn, Arthur Willoughby. Probable age 48. Believed to be a bachelor. Pearl dealer by profession. Resides at the Seahorse Hotel, in Chinatown, and has an office in Chinatown which is not now open for business. Came to Broome in 1945. Has stated that he came from Sydney where he lived during the war, and that he carried on his business in Darwin for ten years before the war. Has stated also that he was born in Australia, and that he possesses independent means.”

“Thanks,” murmured Bony. “I’d like to telegraph Darwin for a check-up, but cannot even trust the postal officials during this hunt for our Mr. Hyde. Write to Darwin by air-mail. They may know something of him. Will it go tonight?”

“Early tomorrow. Should have a reply-the day after. Is he important?”

“Flinn is one of Dr. Mitchell’s psoriasis patients. On the evening of April 7th, during the night of which Mrs. Cotton’s nightgown was stolen, he was seen resting against the back fence of the hotel. You will remember the flakes of dead skin I found on the floor of Mrs. Eltham’s bedroom. Admittedly, there was no dead skin amongst the dust I swept up from Mrs. Cotton’s room. Dr. Mitchell examined it through his microscope, and failed to detect any. The room was thoroughly cleaned by Irene, the girl at the hotel, immediately after Mrs. Cotton’s body was removed. That collection of dust proves only that the murderer did not return on a night after his crime to destroy Mrs. Cotton’s silk underwear. It proves that he did it on the night he murdered her. He had time to rip and tear Mrs. Eltham’s underwear the night he murdered her. Why he did not, but went back after a week or two to do it, I cannot tell you.”

“I remember seeing Mr. Flinn doing quite a lot of walking about Broome during the evenings,” succinctly added Walters. “Why not keep an eye on him?”

“A friend is already doing that for me.”

“Tell.”

“Mr. Earle Dickenson is obliging me.”

“But he must be drunk,” objected the inspector. “It’s the beginning of the new quarter.”

Bony smiled whimsically.

“Mr. Dickenson is obliging me by not becoming drunk. Should you see him when making the round of the widows’ houses, you might be forgiven for thinking he was drunk. I can assure you he is cold sober, and is taking a strong and beneficial interest in this murder investigation.”

“Well, well, well! You’d make a hell of a good temperance reformer.”

“Alas, I may have made a rash promise. I promised old Dickenson that when we have nailed our murderer he and I will get blind blotto at the Dampier Hotel.”

“I might be with you, too. Now I think I see through a brick wall. The evening before you visited Mrs. Eltham’s house, you and old Dickenson went out on a bender to the Dampier Hotel. Nowlemme think. Four days after the Perth mob left Broome, old Dickenson was taken off to hospital suffering from acid poisoning. He could have got the battery acid from Mrs. Eltham’s car. He could that night he stole the battery acid have seen…”

“You’re destined for the C.I.B.,” Bony said with a chuckle, but Walters remained serious.

“What did old Dickenson see? Go on, tell, Bony.”

Bony related Mr. Dickenson’s adventure on that night he “borrowed” Mrs. Eltham’s battery acid.

“Clicking teeth, eh!” pounded Walters. “Faultydentures, might be.”

“Or action resulting from great mental disturbance. I’d like to make our Mr. Arthur Flinn intensely angry.”

“Otherwise it doesn’t get us anywhere?”

“It may eventually. It’s a big piece among my bits and pieces. Ah, here comes the post-boy.”

The youth having departed, the inspector sorted the mail, flicking several letters across his desk to Bony. He spent two minutes with the contents of one official envelope and on returning his attention to Bony found him gazing at the ceiling. Bony said: