Arthur Upfield - The Widows of broome

The brown eyes clouded.

“He reminds me somehow of a spider, and I hate spiders. Gives me the feeling that he wants to eat me.”

“Well, let’s get back to Mrs. Overton. Did she have any male friends?”

“No man special here. As I told you, she was engaged to be married.”

“Did she tell you that she lost a garment from her clothes line?”

“Oh yes, she told me about that.”

“Was it a nightgown?”

“Yes, a lavender silk one.”

“When was it stolen, d’you know?”

“Yes. She told me she lost it Tuesday night. Does it mean anything?”

Bony related the circumstances of the theft each murder victim had suffered, and told of the finding of their silk underwear bundled into the wardrobes. Mrs. Sayers was now sitting stiffly upright, her eyes wide and her lips parted.

“These three crimes provide proof that in Broome is a man imbued with a terrible hatred of women,” Bony proceeded. “Each crime was planned with meticulous attention to detail, so that he made no stupid mistakes which a man nearer to normalcy would have made. However, he was unable to evade doing those things which had become habitual, long before he set out on his murder career. Thus, his second murder indicated a pattern, and this pattern was made clear with his third murder. You realise, of course, that his three victims were widows?”

Mrs. Sayers nodded.

“They were able to purchase expensive silk underwear. From each he stole a nightgown. He cut and ripped to pieces their silk underwear. That, broadly, is the pattern in which is concealed his motive.”

“Why kill three entirely different women?” asked Mrs. Sayers, and Bony secretly acknowledged her intelligence.

“That question is a difficult one. The first victim was a hotelproprietress, the second was a woman of blemished virtue, the third was much respected for her good works. I can find no common denominator.”

“Well, the first sold drink.”

“That’s so. The murderer could have a hatred of drink.”

“The second sold herself,” itemised Mrs. Sayers.

“The murderer could hate immorality. For what could he hate the third? The third sold good works. I understand that Mrs. Overton was a keen church worker and intensely interested in child welfare. A man cannot hate both good and bad. Assuming that he plans to murder you. Why you? Pardon me for saying so, but you are neither good nor bad. It could be said that you are negative. Not that you are, of course, but by the same yardstick you are. Do you know a man in Broome who makes you uneasy, even frightened?”

“No man has ever frightened me. I’ve known plenty of the Flinn type. Frightened of ’em? I can take care of myself. Briggs taught me to do that when I was a little girl. I was caught one night on the beach bya Malay. He was in hospital for months.”

“That was some time ago, I suppose,” Bony commented.

“Yes, years ago. In the good old days the place was crowded by all nations. Money! Money floated on the wind, and what my father didn’t manage to pick up my late husband did. You needn’t worry over me, Mr. Knapp. I can look after myself.”

“Briggs taught you ju-jitsu, didn’t he?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“When the Malay attacked you, everyone in Broome heard about it, I assume?”

Mrs. Sayers shook her head.

“No one knew about it bar Briggs and my father… and old Dickenson. By hell… he told you, eh?”

“No. He did mention, though, that Briggs had taught you to take care of yourself. What I’m trying to establish is how many people in Broome know you were taught ju-jitsu by an expert?”

“Very few, if anyone.”

“Might be an idea to go into training.”

“You think the murderer might have a go at me?”

“It would be a certainty if he stole one of your nightgowns. You sleep alone in the house. Is there any communication with Briggs?”

“Yes, but I don’t know if it’s working. I can ring a bell in Briggs’ room from my bed. I had it put in several years ago when I was ill.”

“Do your friends know about this?”

“No. Why should I tell them? It never had any importance.” Mrs. Sayers giggled. “Besides, imagine the gossip if Broome knew all I had to do to bring a man into my bedroom was to press a button.”

Bony, managing with elegance to extricatehimself from the chair, stubbed his cigarette and looked down steadily at Mrs. Sayers. She was older than Mrs. Overton had been and, he thought, the lightness of her make-up was distinctly to her advantage. Her arms were firm and well moulded, and wealth had certainly not coarsened her. She must have been strikingly handsome when a young girl.

“Mrs. Watson and her two children left for Perth today. You know that?” he said.

“Oh yes. I heard that she had decided last week to have a holiday.”

“I’m glad she went away. It reduces my responsibilities by one. Mrs. Abercrombie and Mrs. Clayton are two of them. You are the remaining responsibility.”

“But I’ve told youyou needn’t worry about me.”

“Mrs. Abercrombie has with her at night an elderly companion. Mrs. Clayton has her daughter with her. The daughter is only a schoolgirl but Mrs. Clayton is safer than you are. I don’t want to frighten you, but I do want you to understand quite clearly that you are my greatest responsibility. You would relieve me of much anxiety did you consent to adopt every safeguard against swift and silent and deadly assault.”

Mrs. Sayers stood up, proving then that she was slightly taller than Bony.

“Whatever you say goes with me.”

Bony smiled his thanks.

“Our plan of defence will not entail any inconvenience,” he said. “We must have the co-operation of your man Briggs. Both you and he must not vary your usual living routine, or in any way indicate that you are on your guard. Even your cook must know nothing. Is that Briggs returning?”

“It’ll be him. You’ll have a cup of coffee or something?”

“Thank you. I suggest that you ask Briggs to come in here.”

“He’ll report as usual. He makes wonderful coffee, but I have to pour the brandy. I just love brandy in my coffee. Briggs introduced me to it when I was cutting my wisdom teeth.”

“It appears that Briggs has been Jonathan to your David.” Bony held a match to her cigarette, and their gaze held above the tiny flame. She felt the impact of his personality, and in the instant acknowledged the mental power which subjugated in everyone the consciousness of his mid-race.

“Briggs has been my father and my mother and my brother,” she heard herself saying, whilst thinking how strange it was that not till now had she realised it.

Briggs stood in the doorway. His jaw was chewing. He turned the invisible switch and said:

“Anything wanted before I lock up?”

“Come here, Briggs. And don’t keep on chewing like a mechanical figure in a toy shop.”

Bony suggested that they sit down, and Briggs listened whilst perched on the edge of a chair, the tail of his coat hoisted by the bottle in the back pocket. As Bony proceeded to outline what he had told Mrs. Sayers, the man’s facial expression never changed, nor did the small bright black eyes waver from Bony’s mouth. When Bony ceased speaking, he said:

“I beenurging Mrs. Sayers to take proper care for the last two month. Things being as they are, I’ll be doing sentry-go round the house at night.”

“You’ll do no more nor less than what Mr. Knapp wants,” interjected Mrs. Sayers. “In other words, Briggs, you’ll do just what you’re told to do.”

“I’m listening.” The eye farthest away from Mrs. Sayers was momentarily masked by the lid. The wink was the signature to a treaty of alliance against the wilful and unpredictable Mrs. Sayers, nee Mavis Masters.