Arthur Upfield - The Widows of broome

“He could. So could Mr. Rose, or one of the other masters. Any man wearing a size eight shoe could be the man I cannot drag forth from black obscurity. Look! If you permit that kettle to boil much longer it’ll boil dry. D’youknow what happens when a kettle boils dry?”

Mrs. Walters laughed outright, and turned to take a teapot from the cabinet. Having made the tea, she said:

“Now I think back, it does seem that Mr. Percival asked a lot of questions, doesn’t it?”

“Did he?” asked Bony innocently.

“You know he did. You couldn’t help but hear what was said.”

“I did hear something about the boys. You’re not accusing me of spying, are you?”

“Oh no. I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.”

Bony smiled, and went off for the tea-cups. It seemed to Clifford, who entered at that moment, that Inspector Bonaparte did nothing else but serve him with cups of tea.

“Any results?”Bony asked him.

“Yes. Mrs. Overton did not employ anyone to help her with the housework. AhKee, the laundryman, said he collected Mrs. Overton’s washing every week. When I asked him if he laundered her silk things, he said no.

“All right! Anything further?”

“Nothing,” replied Clifford. “I made enquiries of Mrs. Overton’s neighbours on whether they had seen anyone lurking about at night, and they all replied that they hadn’t. None of them said they had ever lost anything, although I hinted that we’d received reports of petty thefts.”

“Good work,” approved Bony. “Well, I suppose you want to make ready for your trip south. You’ll find the sergeant at home. Report to him. Did you pass the cigarettes to the prisoner?”

“A large packet when I took his midday meal to him.”

“Done much air travel?”

“Fair amount, sir.”

“You will please me by returning as quickly as possible. We’re short-handed. I’ll have a communication for you to present to the Chief of the C.I.B., who will facilitate your quick return. I’d like you to be in at the death.”

That made Clifford smile appreciation of the compliment, and Bony returned to his office. He was still there when he heard the inspector’s voice in the front office, and he waited five minutes before joining him. Walters was in dress uniform, and he looked bigger and even more efficient.

“The entire town was there,” he said. “Some of ’emmade it plain how pleased they were I had caught the murderer. I’ll be lynched if another murder happens.”

“That shall not happen. Will you guard Mrs. Watson’s house all night?”

“No need. She and her children are leaving for Perth on the plane tonight. Be down there for a month.”

Bonysighed his relief.

“I shall watch over Mrs. Sayers, and I’ll get old Dickenson to keep his eyes on Mrs. Clayton’s house for the night. That leaves Mrs. Abercrombie, who has a woman living with her. They should be in the least danger.”

“You’d say so if you saw the companion. Grows a moustache. Sawtell and I will take care of them. We’ll take shifts. But what about you? Like us, you didn’t go to bed last night.”

“I’ll manage. Whend’you expect the relief constable from Derby?”

“In the morning. And Clifford should be back by tomorrow night.”

Bony transmitted Clifford’s report of his enquiries and left the inspector at his desk. He sought Mrs. Walters, from whom he learned that dinner would be at six. He asked to be called punctually at six, and lay down on his bed for two hours’ sleep. He slept at once and woke refreshed, and at seven he joined Mr. Dickenson on the bench placed well in the deepening shadows of the trees outside the post office. Without preamble, he said:

“Now let us to the plough and furrow straight towards the distant who-and-how. Tonight I want you to plant yourself close to Mrs. Clayton’s house, and stop there till dawn. Only if you observe a man trying to enter, or gaining entry, will you give the alarm. D’youknow how to manage a Webley?”

“I am acquainted with concealable weapons,” the old man said. “This walking-stick I brought in case…” He snapped back a catch and withdrew the handle for about two inches to reveal the blade of a sword.

“Excellent!” murmured Bony. “However, under the circumstances I’ve outlined, it will be essential to raise the alarm. Take this revolver and raise the alarm by firing rapidly. Either the inspector or Sawtell will be watching Mrs. Abercrombie’s house, and whoever it happens to be will join you in a couple of minutes.”

“Supposing I shoot the fellow instead?”

“It would be against the fool law. You see a man breaking into a house in the dead of night and you can prove… what? That he’s a murderer? Why, it takes about ten eye-witnesses to prove that he is breaking a window for the purpose of entering.”

Bony rapidly itemised his many difficulties, accepting the old man into his confidence because of his innate decency and his will to fight for the remnants of his self-respect. Unfortunately, eighty-two is badly matched against forty and fifty, even against sixty.

“Tell me about Abie,” he urged. “You mentioned having seen him walking about bare-footed at night.”

“I have so,” said the old man. “Before proceeding with him, I want to say how greatly I appreciate your attitude to me in view of my present social position. Now for Abie. For several years I have suffered from insomnia, and I’ve sat long hours of night on these seats, observing much and pondering on the frailties of man and the deceitfulness of woman. I have on several occasions seen Abie prowling about at night without foot-covering and without the overcoat which gives him such pride to wear. I have seen him entering and leaving house gardens, and I have been interested by the fact that no robberies were reported.”

“Strange. What do you think of the theory that Abie was trying to trail someone?”

“Then I never saw the man being trailed.”

“Very well, let’s leave him for another person-Mrs. Sayers. From what you said the other day, you know something of her history. She sleeps alone in her house at night?”

Mr. Dickenson vented a soft chuckle.

“I’ve known her since she was eating pap in old Briggs’ arms. She’s a toughie, and I’ll warrant she would give this strangling gentleman a run for his money. Still, even the toughies can be caught with one foot off the ground. If old Briggs slept inside the house, you need have no concern for Mrs. Sayers.”

“He sleeps in a place near the garage, I understand.”

“Yes. Both of them are ruled by routine. Every night, including Sundays, Briggs leaves for the Port Cuvier Hotel dead on nine o’clock. At the hotel he has two glasses of beer and purchases a bottle of gin. He returns to the house exactly at ten. If Mrs. Sayers hasn’t visitors, he closes the storm shutters and locks the front door, looks to the windows to be sure they’re fastened, andleaves by the back door, which he locks and takes the key to his room. And before he gets into bed, he’s lowered the tide in his bottle down to an inch.”

“You appear to have studied him rather closely,” observed Bony.

“It’s given me something to do. Look at Broome during the daytime. Hardly anyone is abroad. Sit and watch Broome at night and you will be astonished by the number of people. I could write a book about Broome. I might even be able to write two. Oh yes, I’ve watched them. I’ve been watching ’emfor years.”

“Has Flinn been on visiting terms with Mrs. Sayers for long?”

“No. About a year. He doesn’t call on her often,” replied the old man. “As I told you, he’s a flash. I suppose you know he was one of Mrs. Eltham’s midnight friends?”