Arthur Upfield - An Author Bites the Dust

Simes pointed it out as the tree used to secure Wilcannia-Smythe, and then braked his car to a halt.

“The car that brought him here stopped half a dozen yards farther on,” the constable said. “It was turned round half-way along that stretch of road where gravel was once dug out of the hill-side for the track. Jenks had to turn there, too. As I told you, his camp is half a mile up along the road.”

“Let us relax,” Bony said, and it was a command.

This was a page of the Book of the Bush with which he was unfamiliar, and it occurred to him that Constable Simes and Jenks might prove to be better trackers thanhimself in this class of country. Accustomed to the interior and its limitless plains and mulga belts, its gibber deserts and sandy wastes, here Bony was in an entirely different country and might have been on a different planet.

Requesting Simes to remain in the car, he alighted and went forward to examine the place where the abductors’ car had stopped and they with their victim had alighted. From this point to the tree high on the slope, human feet had laid ribbons of darker green on the floor of closely-growing bracken, and presently Simes watched Bonyzig-zagging to and fro across these ribbons as he mounted the slope. Then, having arrived at the solitary tree, Bony circled it several times, finally leaning with his back against the great trunk.

So clear was the air, Simes could observe Bony roll a cigarette and then, having lit the weed and pocketed the spent match, move out of sight behind the tree, remaining hidden for almost a minute. On reappearing, he came striding down the slope, the bracken to his waist so that he might have been wading in green dye. On reaching the car, he got in and slammed the door.

“You were right,” he said. “Both men wore size seven boots or shoes. Neither was a big man and neither was a tall man. The left leg of one man is slightly shorter than his right, and he is not a bushman because he places both heels as one used to walking on hard pavements. The other man is stouter, for his stride is a fraction shorter. He is slightly pigeon-toed and he has a corn on the fore-part of his right foot. Also, the lace of the right shoe or boot was undone.”

“Gosh!” Simes exclaimed. “Dinkum?”

“I might have read more clearly had it not been for the bracken,” Bony said. “Your friend Jenks is at least six feet tall, weighs something like sixteen stone, chews tobacco, has grey hair and has done a great deal of riding.”

“The exact picture,” the astonished Simes admitted.

“By the way, you had an accident when your right ankle was injured.”

“No, never. You’re mistaken there.”

“Am I? You astonish me. Alas, I am growing old and my sight is failing. I hope my brain is not failing, too. Let us return. My dear man, a really gifted aboriginal tracker could have added much to what I’ve been able to read. In comparison, I am a novice. Quite sure you never hurt your right ankle-say when you were a lad?”

“Yes, quite sure,” Simes answered, now frowning. “Would you recognizethose tracks if you came across them tomorrow or next week?”

“I would know them if I saw them again next year. You see, Simes, no two men walk alike. The Law says ‘by their deeds shall criminals be known’. I say, by their foot-marks shall I know them. Do you think you could obtain some plaster ofparis?”

“I could.”

“Then you drive back and get it. We’ll make casts of those human tracks and the tracks made by the car tyres. Judges and juries are DoubtingThomases. I’ll wait here.”

Simes was back within twenty minutes, and then watched Bony make plaster casts, watched him lift them when dry and pencil data upon each.

“I have quite a collection at home,” Bony said, and then added after one of his little dramatic pauses, “made by the boots and shoes of men who have hanged or gone to prison for many years.”

On arriving back at Yarrabo, Bony suggested that Simes should drive direct into the open garage behind the police station, and they were about to emerge when Mrs Farn appeared, carrying a watering can.

“Thank you for that delightful afternoon tea,” Bony said to her. “I find your Victorian summer very humid and mind-dulling. I have been reading tracks, and then I discovered that your tea stimulated my brain to the extent that I misread only once-according to your brother.”

Simes chuckled, saying, “Read mine and said I had had an accident once to my ankle.”

“And so you did,” snapped Mrs Farn. “You were playing football when it happened. It was five years ago when Yarrabo was playing Yarra Junction. You were laid up for a week.”

“Well, by gosh, so I did!” Simes almost shouted.

“The effect of your afternoon tea was even better than I was led to think, Mrs Farn,” said the delighted Bony, and left them to call on Dr Fleetwood.

Ping-pong Balls

DR FLEETWOOD himself answered Bony’s knock, conducting him this time to his den and inviting him to be seated before a single-paned window overlooking a well-kept garden. The doctor at once concentrated on the subject of the grey powder with which, it was evident, he was deeply concerned.

“I am regretting that I’m not a toxicologist,” he said. “I got so far as proving that the powder you left with me is animal residue. I thought at first it was chalk, which is compact limestone composed chiefly of the shells ofrhizopods. I might be able to tell you more if you gave me details of its history, where you found it and under what circumstances.”

“Then it is not poisonous?”

The thin lips were compressed into a faint line. Then, “I placed a little of the powder on a lettuce leaf and gave it to a rabbit. The animal shows no signs of distress or even discomfort. This morning I prepared an alcoholic extract which I injected into another rabbit. That rabbit died within half an hour.”

Bony’s gaze was removed from the thin, pale face of the speaker to the garden beyond the window. The silence within the room was emphasized by the ticking of a small clock somewhere behind him.

“How much of the powder did you use in the extract?” he asked.

“Slightly more than half of the quantity in the envelope.”

“Of itself, therefore, the powder is non-poisonous?”

“It has produced no signs of poison in the rabbit that ate it.”

“Might it be poisonous to human beings?”

“In the form of alcoholic extract, probably.”

“Pardon me if I appear unduly persistent,” Bony said. “You are sure that the powder is neither mineral nor vegetable in origin?”

“I am sure on that point, yes.”

“Do you think a toxicologist could determine what it is?”

“I believe he could,” replied the doctor. “Anyway, if you permitted me to send the remainder of the powder to Professor Ericson, of the University, he would inform us. Ericson is a personal friend of mine. He has command of laboratory equipment far beyond the means of the ordinary medical practitioner.”

“H’m!” Bony pondered. “I would not like to place you in the position of wasting the professor’s time with a common and innocuous substance.”

“I think it is neither common nor innocuous,” asserted the doctor.

“Very well, doctor. Please send the remainder of the substance to the Professor. It will be interesting to know what it is, and when we do know I will tell you where I found it. It’s likely that we’ll have a good hearty laugh over it, and then apologize to Professor Ericson for wasting his time.” He rose to his feet, and said, “I’m sorry I cannot take you fully into my confidence about the Blake case. The autopsy revealed a foreign substance in the dead man’s viscera, but the substance is not stated in the report and therefore could not have been considered toxic. If, let us assume, Mervyn Blake had consumed some of that powder just before he died, would the autopsy reveal it as a foreign substance?”