Arthur Upfield - The Mountains have a Secret

When Mulligan replaced the instrument he told Bony he had been asked to do everything required of him-even to robbing a bank.

“I have always liked Superintendent Bolt,” Bony said. “He is one of those rare men who is never hesitant to accept responsibility. Now, first, I want your word you will not report to him my requests excepting under circumstances I will outline later on.”

“But Superintendent Bolt will want to know,” Mulligan objected.

“You will be protected by your word to me.”

“Very well. You have it.”

“Thank you. By the way, I mustn’t forget. I want you to take charge of Bolt’s car. I’ve left it at the Haymarket Garage. See that it’s returned to him as soon as convenient, and remember that he loves that antique more than a youth would love a hundred-horse-power roadster.

“Well, now. I have tried to get into the disappearance of those two girl hikers by the front door, as it were. I’ve been staying at the Baden Park Hotel for more than a week, and, as a matter of fact, I’ve become interested in the people running the place. It’s my intention to return and enter by the back door.

“I am convinced that there are distinct disadvantages in numbers, and so I shall proceed alone. I want you to drive me to a point near the junction of the Hall’s Gap-Dunkeld road with the track to the hotel, and there set me down. I intend to live on the country as much as possible, to go in as a swag-man, and mooch around without being seen or tracked. I must purchase suitable clothes and rations and a quart pot. And I would like to leave Ballarat by six tonight.”

“I’ll be ready. I can get a car.”

“Thanks. Have you, or could you obtain, a pistol fitted with a silencer?”

That made Mulligan’s eyes shoot wide open. Then almost sorrowfully he shook his head.

“Going to be like that, eh?” he murmured. “I can let you have an automatic.”

“I have one, but I wanted something silent. Never mind.” Bony produced the pistol given him by Bolt and laid it upon the table. “I want at least fifty cartridges for this weapon. One ought always to provide for misses.”

By the Back Door

VIEWED from the north, the Grampians are minus features of interest, presenting a seemingly low and flat-topped front. It is when nearing Hall’s Gap from the Western Highway that these mountains grow swiftly impressive, and it is on entering the Gap that one is conscious of the success with which they have hidden their grandeur.

Mulligan, wearing sports clothes, drove a well-conditioned car through the small tourist resort of Hall’s Gap. Beside him sat Detective-Inspector Bonaparte, no longer debonair, no longer tastefully clad. The riding-breeches were new, but the boots and leggings belonged to Mulligan’s son, who was an enthusiastic hiker. The coat was slightly too large, having been bought from a second-hand dealer, whilst the khaki shirt beneath the coat was one of Mulligan’s own and four sizes too large. On the rear seat rested a blanket-roll within a canvas sheet, and a gunny-sack containing food, tobacco and matches, and a couple of boxes of pistol cartridges.

When a little more than two miles south of Hall’s Gap, Mulligan said:

“This is where Price was found. His car was beside the road and facing towards Hall’s Gap. Half a mile back along the road to Hall’s Gap there was at that time a large camp of road-workers. It was not until half-past nine in the morning that the first traveller came along and saw the dead man still seated behind the steering-wheel as though he had fallen asleep. He had been shot through the brain with a . 32. The engine was switched off, and the car was in neutral gear. It could be that Price steered the car to the side of the road, switched off the engine, and foot-braked to a stop. And that immediately after the stop he was shot dead.”

“Indicating that either he was signalled to stop or that he met and recognised someone,” added Bony with faint interrogation in his voice.

“That’s so,” agreed Mulligan. “There were no finger-prints inside the car other than those of Price. According to Simpson, Price washed and polished the machine the day before he left. Outside the door nearer the driver were Simpson’s fingerprints, and Simpson made no bones about admitting that on the morning Price left he had leaned against the door chatting with him.

“Price left Baden Park Hotel on the afternoon of December thirteenth. He was found dead here the following morning. There were two bullet-marks inside and at the back of the car, and the two bullets were located. Three shots at least had been fired.”

“Any theory about that-of your own?”

“Yes. That the killer opened fire as he ran towards Price and didn’t know that his first shot had killed him.”

“Seems sound deduction. No one at the camp hear the shooting?”

“No one. The evening of December thirteenth was still and hot. The night was still and warm. We chose two different days of similar conditions to fire pistols here and have men at the camp. Our men at the camp heard the reports, but they were not loud enough to awaken the lightest sleeper, and during the early part of the evening there was an accordion band concert in progress. However, after the roadmen had gone to bed, one was taken ill and another sat up all night with him. Neither of them heard any shooting.”

“Giving strength to the theory that Price was not shot just here.”

“Or that the killer had a silencer fitted to his pistol.”

“Price was armed, I understand.”

“A. 22 revolver. A mere toy. It was snugly buried among hisdunnage in a suitcase. It was his private property.”

Mulligan drove on, and Bony fell pensively silent. The sun went down and the crests of forbidding mountains lay in wait for them. Dusk was falling when the road turned sharply to the endless range, taking them up and over the crossing, twisting and turning but newly formed and dangerous to careless drivers. It skirted the granite face of a mountain against which a planet might crash and, apparently, be repulsed. When they reached the farther valley it was dark.

They came to a sign-post having but one arm, announcing that Lake George was five miles distant. Then, twenty minutes later, they crossed the long bridge and met the sign-post having three arms, one of which indicated the track to Baden Park Hotel. When a hundred yards beyond the sign-post and still on the road to Dunkeld, Bony asked Mulligan to stop and switch off his lights.

“On coming to that sign-post for the first time,” Bony said, “I could smell nothing but the gums and the good sweet earth. I’m now smelling something in addition to nature’s scent. My gift of intuition is informing me that something extraordinary is being hidden in these mountains. Therefore, I shall not under-estimate probable forces exerted against me.

“Be easy, my dear Mulligan, and tell the Super to be easy too. There is no practical way to establish regular communication with either yourself or Constable Groves at Dunkeld. Maybe I shall have to call for assistance, or deem it necessary for the hotel to be raided, or meet with a situation impossible of being dealt with by myself. Therefore, I would like you to be prepared, to have cars and men ready for instant dispatch into this area on receiving a call direct from me or through Groves.

“That’ll be fixed. You’re going to live tough all right. What about extra supplies and that sort of thing?”

“I’ve enough rations to keep me going for ten days. There are rabbits to be snared and nice fat hens to be requisitioned from the hotel’s small farm. I’ll live better than in the Outback, for there is water everywhere and the winter rains are still a month away. Now we’ll part company. You return to Ballarat via Dunkeld, so that there will be no turning round to arouse the suspicion of anyone hearing the sound of the movement and wondering why. Let me out before you switch on your lights. Aurevoir!”