Arthur Upfield - The Devil_s Steps

Steadily regarding Bisker, Bony told him to remain silent for a minute or two. He turned about on his box, to sit with his back to the table edge, and Bisker took up the cup and sipped at its contents.

Bony was decided that the pens in their leather case had been pushed down into the earth in the tub sometime before breakfast that morning, and most probably before daylight. That those pens had been in the possession of General Lode, alias Mr. Grumman, he was morally sure. He felt certain, too, that on the roll of film were photographs in microscopic reduction of the formulas and plans which Colonel Blythe was so anxious to obtain.

Now some person or persons had removed Grumman’s personal effects from his room with, apparently, the obvious purpose of examining them at leisure to find the material which Blythe wanted and which came out of Germany before the end of the European war. It could not, therefore, have been that person, or those persons, who had pushed the pens in their case down into the earth of the tub.

Had that person, or those persons, been forestalled by another who had relieved Grumman of the pens before Grumman died and his luggage was removed from his room? Or had Grumman become suspicious that an attempt was to be made to secure the precious films and himself disposed of the pens by pushing them into the place where, by coincidence, Bisker decided to bury the bottle of whisky?

The previous evening, in the lounge after dinner, Grumman had announced his intention of going for a walk. He had left the lounge by the door leading to the reception hall and the porch, beyond which stood the shrubs in their tubs. Had Grumman then buried his fountain pens?

If he had done so, then he must have been anxious about their safety, and must have suspected that an attempt would be made to steal them from him. Or it might have been that Grumman was anticipating arrest. And yet… When he returned and accepted the drink offered by the guest, and then returned the hospitality, he had not appeared anxious or worried. He was quite calm, and he betrayed no nervousness, even to the watching Bonaparte.

Assuming that it was not Grumman who had buried the pens, then the party who did so must have stolen them from him, buried them, and was waiting to secure them at a favourable opportunity. It was most unlikely that he had had anything to do with the theft of Grumman’s luggage. And it might well be quite likely that he had watched the tub from time to time, and had seen Bisker hovering about, and even sitting on its edge. In which case he would be certain that Bisker had taken them, and in order to get them back into his possession might be prepared to go to any lengths, even to murder. For human life would count for nothing in the scales against the importance and value of those secret formula and plans.

Had the man, Marcus, been after them? Had Grumman been expecting Marcus the night he died? Had he, Grumman, feared Marcus to the extent of, himself, burying the pens where Bisker discovered them? If he had, would he have done so at the time he went for his walk, when the porch light was as dangerous to him as it was to Bisker when he wanted to dig up his bottle?

The longer he surveyed these questions, the more he favoured the thesis that the person who had buried the pens in the tub was independent of the person or persons who had carried Grumman’s body down to the ditch and had stolen his luggage.

Why had he buried the pens in the tub? They were easilyhidable. If Grumman had not buried them, and it appeared most unlikely, then the other person had done so because he feared they might be found on his person or among his belongings. That would argue that he knew of Grumman’s death, and, further, that he was a guest or member of the staff and not someone who had come to the house specifically to steal those pens. And still further, it would argue that the thief was aware when he buried the pens that his effects and his person might be searched before he could leave the premises without suspicion.

The value of the contents of the pens was incalculable, assuming that it was the material indicated by Colonel Blythe. To obtain it from Grumman desperate methods had been employed, to the extent of murdering Grumman. If it was thought that Bisker held possession of the buried pens, his life would not be worthtenpence.

Now what of Bisker? Had he stolen the pens and buried them in the tub? Had he buried them for the purpose of not being found in possession of them after the theft was discovered? Had he stolen them as fountain pens and not for the remarkable contents in the place of ink? Bony swung himself round to face Bisker.

“Why did you steal those pens, Bisker?” he demanded, staring into Bisker’s washed-out eyes.

He saw Bisker’s brows rise high, saw the look of indignation flash into his eyes, and knew before the denial was spoken in anger that Bisker had not stolen the pens.

“All right! I believe you,” he assured the handy-man.

How much could he take Bisker into his confidence for Bisker’s own sake? A man addicted to drink is ever unsafe but Bisker might be wide open to fatal attack if thought to possess those pens. Bony considered further. Bisker was a bushman. He hada certain strength of character, even if alcohol was his downfall. Bony thought he knew his man fairly well, and eventually he decided to take chances with him. He said:

“I am going to tell you a thing or two, for your own good health, Bisker. I have reason to believe that the man Grumman was murdered for those pens. You saw what was inside one of them. Those series of small black dots are industrial secrets worth untold money. You were messing about that tub, and the man who buried the pens there might have seen you, and when he goes to get the pens he might connect their disappearance with you. Then he might go-get after you. Do you follow me?”

Bisker nodded, and Bony experienced satisfaction when observing no fear in Bisker’s face.

“I am going back to my room to bring a couple of blankets,” Bony continued. “I’ll camp here with you, and tomorrow you and I will go down to Melbourne, and I’ll arrange for you to be escorted as far north as Windee Station, where the boss there will give you a job at my request. And you will stay there until you are wanted for the inquests.

“Crummy Mr. Bonaparte!’ exclaimed Bisker. “That’ll do me.”

“Very well then. Not a word to anyone, you understand! I won’t be more than a few minutes obtaining a blanket or two. Is there a key to that door?”

Bisker shook his head, and said:

“There’s an old axe in that corner. She’s light and ’andy.”

“Very well. And keep off that bottle.”

Bony walked to the door, opened it and passed outside, closing the door behind him. In the darkness, he waited for his eyes to become accustomed to it. Then with the silent tread of a cat, he circled the hut, walked along the narrow path to the open space fronting the garages, and entered the house by the main door. In the reception hall he encountered Miss Jade.

“You did it very nicely, Mr. Bonaparte,” she said, smilingly.

“Just what, Miss Jade?”

“Avoiding those reporters,” she replied. “They gave me an awful time of it, and kept flashing their camera lights to take my picture. And the questions they asked! They photographed the house and had me standing on the veranda steps. I am to be in all the papers tomorrow. Oh, the publicity, Mr. Bonaparte!”

Bony smiled delightedly.

“You will have your house full of guests by tomorrow night,” he predicted, and then added in his suave manner: “I am sure, Miss Jade, that the proprietress of Wideview Chalet will not detract one iota from the picture of the house itself.”

Miss Jade was well pleased. She wanted to talk about the coming limelight to be shed upon herself and her house, and it was only with firmness allied with extreme tact that Bony disengaged himself and passed on to his room.