Arthur Upfield - The Devil_s Steps

It was eight minutes past ten when Bony first heard the approaching “drunk.”

He was not far from the hut, perhaps at the end of the narrow path with the open space fronting the garages. A low mumbling merged into a burst of profanity. Bony heard a hiccough, then a man’s voice complaining:

“Why don’t you open the ruddy door, Bisker? Here’s me a-wandering around in the flaming darkness, hangingonter a bottle, and there’s you lying in bed snoringyer ruddy headorf. Curse it! If Isings out loud the Jade woman will hear. Like she didlarst time.” A period of silence ended with a hoarse appeal: “Bisker, open theflamin ’ doorso’s I can see where I am.”

Bony remained seated on the floor beside Bisker.

From beyond the door he could hear the “drunk” talking quietly to himself, the thought of Miss Jade apparently still uppermost in his mind. Presently, when he made another appeal, Bony knew he was much nearer the door.

“A blokeoughter be shot. Trying to take a drink to a pal, and he won’t open the door to give a bit of light. Hey, Bisker! If you don’t open the door I’ll roar the place down and bring Miss Jade along.”

There followed more mumbled growling interspersed with oaths, and then a body lurched against the wall of the hut beside the door. The sound of this body sliding to the ground down the wall was illuminating to the listening Bony.

“Well, I’m here,” solemnly announced the gentleman without. “This ruddy tree’s as good as any other, Is’pose. Silly fool, Bisker! Where’s me bottle? Coo… I thought I ’adlorst me littledarlin ’. Wonder ’owfar that ’utis from ’ere.”

A little later, the “drunk” clawed his way to his feet, and Bony heard him say:

“Flamin’ ’utmust be the other side this tree. I’ll go round ’erand then I might see the ’ut.”

Against the corrugated sheets forming the walls, Bony could hear the man’s hands and occasionally his feet when they kicked against the iron. He passed round one corner, passed the window and so passed round the next corner, the while complaining:

“Mighty big tree. Biggest tree I ever see. Biggest tree in Gippsland. Biggest tree in Australia.” On coming again to the door he said: “Biggest tree in the world.”Silence… Then: “Where theflamin ’ ’ell am I? Could ’aveswore I was on Bisker’s track.” Then he began to sing:“ ‘I’m the cock ofGlasgee Town…’ ”

Bony got up from the floor and crossed to the door which he opened and flung back-to look down the ugly snout of a squat black japanned revolver, and above the weapon at the black mask over a man’s face.

“Reach high-quick!”

The order was spoken low and menacingly.

Bony raised his arms, and at the same time the heat of anger rose up his neck into his head.

“Back! Back you go!”

Bony backed and as he did so the masked man entered the hut, closing the door behind him with his free hand. He was of medium height and weight. The hand gripping the pistol stock was white; obviously its owner was one who spurned labouring work. The lounge suit of navy blue was well cared for, the trousers expertly pressed, as were the sleeves of the coat.

“Back a bit more mister,”came the order, and Bony backed until he came against the table.“A little to your left. That’s it. Now sit down on the box. Keep your hands up-I might get nervous.” Bony obeyed. The intruder himself began to back away, away towards the body of Bisker and the hurricane lamp. His eyes could be seen beyond the holes in what was a dark blue kerchief, their gleam reflecting the light of the fire. They appeared never to blink. They kept their fixed stare upon Bony even as their owner bent his knees and picked up the lamp and placed it on the table.

“Now then-where’s your gun?” he demanded. “Don’t back and fill. I’d much prefer to shoot and then take what I want. Where’s your gun?”

“In my coat pocket,” replied Bony, his voice toneless.

“Stand up.”

Bony obeyed, and the business end of the weapon was pressed into the pit of his stomach.

“If you’ve got any imagination, you’ll feel right now what a bullet in the stomach is like. What pocket is your gun in?”

“Right.”

The eyes behind the mask bored into Bony’s blazing blue ones. The pressure of the gun against his stomach remained dreadfully steady. He felt the hand enter his coat pocket, felt the small automatic being withdrawn. He was furiously angry, not with the masked man but with himself, angry at having been so stupid as to fall into such a simple trap.

“Now we’ll have the pens in the little leather holder. Where have you got them?”

“Spit the rubber out of your mouth and talk plain,” suggested Bony.

“Smart, eh? Come on. Talk about fountain pens.”

Bony hesitated, then decided it was useless to prevaricate.

“They are in the top-left waistcoat pocket.”

“Good! You just keep your hands up and don’t worry about me. I like helping myself.”

Bony abruptly found difficulty in maintaining his gaze direct to the masked eyes, and it was greatly to his credit that he maintained the stony expression on his own face, for beyond the masked man he could see Bisker, and Bisker was standing up on his own two feet. Hallucination, surely! If only he, Bony, dared look away from the masked face to make sure that it was Bisker behind the fellow, Bisker standing up, and gently swaying to the right, where lay the axe. A hand unbuttoned Bony’s coat, felt behind the cloth for the pens, found them, and began to endeavour to unfasten the pins fastening the leather holder to the cloth.

Bony could not now see Bisker out of the corner of an eye, and he began to wonder whether what he had seen had been a vision conjured by wishful thinking. The hand at his waistcoat pocket was becoming impatient with the pins, and thus the pins became more obstinate. The hand then felt under Bony’s right armpit-then flashed across to the left.

“Undo those pins and hand the pens to me,”came the order.

“Do it yourself,” snarled Bony.

“I’ll give you one chance more. Only one. What about it?”

The voice was brittle, hard and merciless. Bony lowered his arms, slowly, for the weapon was aimed at his stomach with a steadiness which was appalling. He was obliged to tilt his face forward to see what he was doing, and then, glancing upward, he again saw Bisker, this time to the right of the masked man. And Bisker had taken up the axe.

“Come on! What are you mucking about for?” demanded the masked man.

“Use your eyes and see,” Bony suggested, and hoped greatly that Bisker would do nothing whilst that gun was pressed into his stomach. He freed the holder from the cloth, and drew it out of the pocket and held it forward. It was snatched from him, and the masked man stepped two paces back, two paces nearer the waiting Bisker.

Bony’s arms were beginning to tire, but the weapon in the steady hand of the masked man was still aimed directly at the centre of his stomach. Beyond the masked man, he could see Bisker, and Bisker was holding the axe above and behind his own head. Bony could just see its blade. It was rust-stained and remarkably blunt.

It was then that from outside therecame a loud and long cry. It sounded not unlike a circular saw jamming in the cut and rapidly being stopped. The masked face confronting Bony tilted upward in an attitude of startled listening. Then upon the roof a heavy object fell with a resounding crash. There followed a slow slithering of some object down the iron roof, and finally a dull thud just beyond the door.

“What’s that?” demanded the masked man, and in his voice Bony detected alarm.

“Friend of mine,” replied Bony, aware that two opossums had fought on a tree branch immediately above the hut, and that the vanquished had been forced to fall to the roof.