Arthur Upfield - The Devil_s Steps

It was Bony’s turn now to stare into Bisker’s eyes and at Bisker’s weather-cum-whisky-stained countenance. Bisker went on:

“I been working for Miss Jade for two years, and Iain’t beengettin ’ round with me ears shut. I ’ad no excitement this last war, and nothing before that after three years in France during the first Great War.”

“I’ll think about it, Bisker, and let you know when I return,” Bony decided. “Remember, a closed trap lets nothing out.”

Colonel Blythe Receives a Jolt

THE HOUSE in South Yarra occupied by Colonel and Mrs. Blythe stood back from the street. It was an old house “growing” in about two acres of ground surrounded by a high wall.

Besides the domestic staff, the Colonel was provided with two clerks, a stenographer and a messenger. When this clerical staff, supervised by Blythe’s assistant, a Captain Kirby, left at five o’clock the premises were guarded by Peace Officers until nine in the morning. The Peace Officers’ quarters were situated at the rear of the house in an outbuilding, and after office hours telephone calls were received by a Peace Officer on duty at the switchboard inside the house. He would connect with Colonel or Mrs. Blythe in the study or the lounge respectively, and, after eleven o’clock, with Colonel Blythe’s bedroom.

Bony, having arrived at the front gate at six o’clock in the morning had to make known his business to the Peace Officer on duty there. This man contacted his duty-mate at the switchboard, and following discussion, the telephone beside Colonel Blythe’s bed awakened him.

“Bring him in-to the study,” ordered the Colonel, and three minutes later he was welcoming his early visitor with keen expectancy. The door having been closed by the Peace Officer, he observed the cut on Bony’s cheek-bone.

“Been in a private war?” he asked.

“Er-a slight skirmish,” admitted Bony. “Very early to call on you, but I thought you would like to have a report. The Grumman chase has become most interesting.”

“Yes, that’s so. I heard yesterday afternoon that Grumman had been found dead. Poison, I understand. And a policeman shot. Like a drink?”

“Tea-or coffee-if it’s at all possible,”assented Bony. “I haven’t only just got out of bed.”

Colonel Blythe picked up the telephone. He spoke quietly in his customary, unaffected voice and the Peace Officer was only too pleased to leave his switchboard for the kitchen. Then Bony was pressed to accept a cigarette and smoke while his host left him to bring a pot of salve for the cut on his cheek. Anxious though he was over the Grumman affair, Blythe’s first thought was for his visitor.

“This stuff will cleanse and heal,” he told Bony on his return. “Shove it on. There’s plenty more.”

“Thanks. The cut was beginning to smart. Done with a gun, by the way. My own fault. Yes, poor old Grumman was found in a ditch yesterday morning. Did the C.I.B. people contact you?”

“No,” replied Blythe. “I was informed through other channels.”

“Well, the morning papers will have a lot of it,” Bony promised. “But I’ll run through the details which will include material the papers won’t have.”

He related how he had found Bisker and another man standing on the edge of the ditch wherein lay the body of Grumman, and how he had subsequently entered Grumman’s room to find the dead man’s effects vanished. He told of the visit of the man, Marcus, and the shooting of Constable Rice, concluding by asking if the Colonel knew anything of Marcus, otherwise Alexander Croft, alias Mick Slater, alias Edward B. Martyn. Colonel Blythe pursed his lips and nodded.

“Edward B. Martyn is known to me,” he said. “Captain Kirby, my assistant, will know much more than I do. Kirby, by the way, is a Scotland Yard man. Er -just a moment. Come in!”

The Peace Officer entered carrying a tray containing coffee and biscuits, and Blythe suggested that both he and his mate on duty at the gate might like coffee-with a little dash of rum in it to keep out the cold. Bony felt that Bisker had made a mistake by not consenting to accompany him that night and morning.

“Well, go on,” Blythe urged when the officer had departed with the addition to the coffee in a glass.

“How Grumman was poisoned I expect the C.I.B. people will find out,” Bony proceeded. “It’s an item which interests me but probably not you. They were anxious to play ball with me and I saw no reason why I should not-up to a point. I could not understand why Grumman should be killed, presumably for his papers, and then his belongings removed. He was found dressed in dressing gown and slippers, and wearing pyjamas, so we may assume that he died before midnight-leaving his killer at least five hours to go through his effects for the papers. It became still more baffling after I observed the handy-man loitering about a tub in which grows an ornamental shrub outside the main entrance.”

Colonel Blythe listened with growing intensity of interest as Bony continued the tale of Bisker and his buried whisky, his eyes became wide open and he smiled happily as Bony described the scene in Bisker’s hut when he closed his hand over Bisker’s wrist to prevent accidental damage to the unwound spool of photographic film.

“Good work, old man!” he exclaimed. “Excellent.”

“Yes, it was a tremendous fluke,” admitted Bony.“One of those rare coincidences which sometimes favour me. However, the pens were subsequently taken from me.”

He related how he had gone back to Bisker’s hut and there found Bisker unconscious and his pockets rifled and the hut searched. He related the coming of the “drunk” and how he had been taken in by the ruse, and eventually how he had been held up and the pens in their holder taken from him by the man who escaped.

“What horrible luck!” Blythe burst out at the conclusion of Bony’s report. “You’ll have to get that chap. We must have those films, you know. They’ll be a damn sight more dangerous in the hands of some other Power than in the keeping of the OKW, for the OKW won’t be able to do so much with them for several years, and in that time, our own Government will nullify most of their secrets through the discoveries of our own scientists.”

“It was unfortunate,” Bony said sadly. “They were beautiful pens. I was intending to ask you for them.”

“Oh, yes, you could have had the pens, man. It’s the contents we want. Hang it! What fearful luck! What do you make of it all?”

“Very little,” Bony confessed. “However, I am strongly inclined to the belief that the man who baled me up and took the pens did not come from the city to do it. He was wearing a navy-blue suit which was so well pressed that it was obvious that he hadn’t worn it long, and hadn’t travelled by car in it. Also, it smelled of strong disinfectant: youknow, the stuff that is put with clothes to keep away silverfish. If he had come from a distance, or had been in the open air for even a short time, the smell would not have been so strong.

“Whether he had anything to do with the killing of Grumman and the theft of Grumman’s luggage is debatable. I think he’s not responsible for Grumman’s death and the theft of Grumman’s kit, for he put those pens in the shrub tub, or knew they were buried there by some person who had no need to steal Grumman’s kit.

“What have we? One party who killed Grumman and stole his kit. Another party who stole the pens and planted them in the shrub tub, and a third party, the man, Marcus, who mightwell have been after Grumman’s papers. This last raises the question of what a dope trafficker had to do with ahigh German officer in possession of plans and secrets of armaments.”