Arthur Upfield - The Widows of broome

Mrs. Sayers conducted her visitor to the door and bade him good-night. If she noticed Bony, she said nothing as she passed back into the lounge, and Bony did not remove his gaze from that hypothetical shark’s fin.

Eventually Briggs came in by the kitchen door, switched on the light and then the hot point to prepare coffee. The kitchen light completed the illumination of the passage, and Bony, watching Briggs approach, drew back a little. Briggs, who must have seen him, completely ignored him, and entered the lounge to receive final instructions.

“Anything you want, Mavis, ’fore I lock up?”

“Yes, Briggs. I would like a pot of coffee and some sandwiches brought to my room. I’m going to bed. I’ve a nasty headache.”

“All right! You better take a couple of tablets. Got any?”

“No. Bring me a packet with the coffee.”

The identical conversation had been conducted the previous evening, and with voices slightly raised so that should Mr. Hyde be outside the lounge windows he would know Mrs. Sayers’ immediate plans. Tonight, in the unoccupied room along the passage, he was doubtless holding the door ajar. Briggs was perfect: Mrs. Sayers was superb.

Briggs proceeded with his chores, closing the storm shutters and locking the veranda door. As on the previous evening, he did not shut the door to the house, and he did not make an inspection of the rooms, and when he was passing the room where lurked the “makoshark” Bony slipped into the bedroom occupied by Mrs. Sayers.

Mrs. Sayers came in and switched on the light. Bony commanded silence with two fingers pressed to lips. He wrote a note, using the tall-boy for a desk, and, when Briggs knocked, he gave her the note, which she saw was directed to Briggs.

Briggs was told to enter and appeared with a tray covered with a cloth. He openly winked at Bony, dexterously removed the cloth and spread it on the bedside table. Then, having set out the supper, he stood with the tray under an arm and asked if there was anything further required. Presenting him with the note, in which Bony had announced the arrival of the murderer, Mrs. Sayers said:

“That will be all, Briggs. Don’t forget to put out the kitchen light. You’ve often forgotten it, remember, and I won’t have wastage.”

The wrinkled face slightly expanded in a grin.

“What a nark you are, Mavis,” he grumbled. “Here’s me having to think of everything, and you go crook. All right! Now take them tablets and sleep deep. Good-night!”

The door closed behind him. Mrs. Sayers poured coffee for two, and she and Bony sat on the edge of the bed and munched sandwiches. In a low whisper, Bony told of what he had seen.

“He won’t come for an hour or two. He’ll wait to be sure Briggs is asleep. Bear in mind all the points I’ve given you, and keep a hard rein on your nerves. And remember, I want to take a picture of him, so try to avoid coming between him and the camera.”

Mrs. Sayers nodded. Her eyes were bright with excitement and she gained Bony’s complete admiration when he failed to see a sign of fear. In his chair in the far corner, he smoked a last cigarette and watched her gathering the supper things with hands perfectly steady. She placed them on the dressing-table, and Bony removed one cup and saucer, which he put into a drawer.

Again in his chair, he laughed silently when Mrs. Sayers slipped on her satin nightgown and, with a flourish, completed her ensemble with the iron collar. She smiled at him, and he knew she wanted to giggle. Then the mood passed and she stretched and raised her arms and tensed her muscles. Her face was very square and her eyes were small and wicked. Above the foot-rail of the bed, she waved to him before pulling on the light cord.

In the dark, Bony settled himself for what he expected to be a prolonged vigil. He could hear Mrs. Sayers moving on the bed. Briggs was still in the kitchen and he was whistling as though to send them a message of good cheer. A minute passed, and then the sound of the kitchen door being shut and locked. Silence descended like a desperate hand on an alarm clock.

The stage was set and the actors waiting for the curtain to go up. The play would begin with the entry of the man Bony had already identified with his “bits and pieces”. The remaining actors had been drilled in their parts and were now waiting to receive their call. It was a situation and a moment to thrill the heart of one who loved the dramatic denouement.

When Bony pressed the button at the edge of his chair and tugged the cord operating the camera shutter and the automatic flashlight, Briggs would rush for the kitchen door and, if unable to unlock it, smash it with a sledge-hammer. He would then race along the passage and, should there be no light in Mrs. Sayers’ room, he was to make for the master switch before joining forces with Bony. Meanwhile, Mr. Dickenson was to emerge from the hut with a bucket of sand into which was partially embedded three wide-mouthed bottles. Into the bottles he was to place rockets, the wicks of which were moistened with kerosene. Having fired the rockets he was to make for the front veranda door and switch on all the lights.

The rockets would be seen by the two constables guarding the homes of Mrs. Abercrombie and Mrs. Clayton. They would at once race for Mrs. Sayers’ house. Inspector Walters and Sergeant Sawtell would be waiting in the jeep, and they should arrive within three minutes of the signal being sent up.

Guile and patience were the attributes essential to landing this monster, with emphasis on guile. Police posted round the house would, under these circumstances, be foolish. To get within range of a tiger you don’t blow whistles, and to hook amako shark you don’t use a bent pin. And when you have the co-operation of a woman like Mrs. Sayers, you try to so arrange matters that you will have the most complete and the most conclusive evidence to accompany your assertion that an attempt to murder did take place. The Crown Prosecutor’s ruling is ever-“He who asserts must prove.” Bony waited with cold patience to provide a classic example of assertion with proof.

With the eyes of his mind, Bony could see the man skulking in that other dark room. He was crouched on the floor, recalling those ecstatic moments when he had killed three times and waiting for the moment to come when he would again kill. He had been a young man blessed with a retentive memory and the laudable desire for knowledge, and the road of his progress had been marked with his triumphs. He had been spurred by ambition to reach the goal of social distinction and power, and nothing had been permitted to come between him and those prizes. Normal human desires had been placed on the altar of asceticism and with unbreakable will maintained upon that altar.

He had fought a good fight… so he had thought… rushing to the shower and his books when the battle went against him. He had exchanged the pleasures of early manhood for knowledge. Knowledge would bring power. With power he would have social position and once that was gained all that which he had suppressed within himself could be given freedom of expression.

But, having entered the kingdom of ambition, he discovered that his knowledge did not include even the elementary knowledge of women. The years of self-denial had loaded him with honours, they had raised him high to a position of power… and they had stripped him of his youth. Wine he had expected, and vinegar he had received in the critical flash of a discerning eye, the titter of scorn within a whisper, the lift of a luscious mouth. Lovely women wanted nothing of his knowledge. They are themselves a Science, and only the ardent student acquires the counter-science. He had found himself too old to begin the study.

The pride of the successful man was overwhelmed. What he had with conscious will kept submerged rose from the sub-conscious to attack with long-pent fury. He had become the centre of contending forces, finally to emerge fearing that for which he yearned and fearing he would lose all the fruits of his emulation.