Arthur Upfield - The Devil_s Steps

The artist was saying:

“Yes, the police thoroughly examined poor Grumman’s room. Tookall his luggage off, too. At least it was all gone when I passed along the passage to my room this afternoon and was able to look in through the open door.”

“I didn’t see ’emcarting it away,” interjected Sleeman.

“Oh, they must have taken it,” objected Leslie. “What else would they do with it? Becomes State property until the next of kin is established.”

“Well, you may be right, but I saw the police cars depart both yesterday and today, and I did not see Grumman’s luggage taken away.”

“They probably got Miss Jade to store it,” volunteered Downes.

“Maybe! But that doesn’t seem to accord with their usual procedure,” Leslie argued, for the first time this evening experiencing opposition, and obviously not liking it. A brown-bearded man who apparently believed that people engaged in art should ever appeararty, he was naturally endowed with a temperament.

“Well, we’ll ask Miss Jade about it,” Downes said mildly, and went on eating.

The matter was put to Miss Jade later on in the lounge, the subject being raised by Leslie. It was then about nine o’clock. The Watkins couple had gone out for a walk despite the rain, Mrs. Watkins having announced to everyone that her husband suffered “frightfully” from indigestion. Leslie and the squatter from the Riverina were talking in one corner of the spacious room. Sleeman was writing letters, Downes was reading, as was Lee. Bony waslying full length in a chair.

“Mr. Grumman’s luggage!”Miss Jade echoed. “I don’t know what the police did with it.”

“There you are, Sleeman!” cried the artist. “What did I say?”

Bony raised himself a fraction that he might observe the others. Miss Jade was standing near the artist and Lee. Downes had lowered his book to his knees and was regarding Sleeman with obvious interest. Sleeman said, with strong conviction:

“I stick to my guns. I am sure that Grumman’s gear wasn’t taken away by the police. As I said at dinner, I saw all the police cars depart, yesterday and today.”

“Well, then, where the devil is it?” demanded Leslie. “It isn’t in his room now.”

“No, the room is vacant,” Miss Jade said in support. “It was unsealed this afternoon by Inspector Snook just before he left. One of the maids has cleaned it since then.”

“The police said nothing to you about Grumman’s luggage?” pressed Leslie, with what seemed unwarranted heat. Miss Jade shook her dark head.

“Give in, Sleeman,” ordered Leslie.

“I can’t change my conviction,” Sleeman said, firmly.

“All that I know,” contributed Miss Jade, “is that yesterday morning I was told that the room had been sealed and would not be made available to me again until the police had completed their investigation of it. And, as I have told you, Inspector Snook said I could enter the room just before he left this afternoon.”

“Very strange,” remarked Downes from his chair. “Perhaps one of the staff saw the luggage being removed. Ah-here’s the steward.”

“George!” called Miss Jade. “Did you see what became of Mr. Grumman’s luggage?”

George was crossing the room, carrying a tray on which were a bottle and a glass and water for Mr. Sleeman. His mind must have been wandering, for, on being addressed, he tripped slightly, and then came to stand in the centre of the lounge and faced his employer. The water in the glass jug, Bony noted, almost spilt out onto the tray. In his soft and precise voice, George answered:

“No, marm.”

“Perhaps Bisker carried the luggage out for the police, or saw them take it away. Would you run out and ask Bisker?”

“Very well, marm.”

George presented his tray to Mr. Sleeman, and Sleeman helped himself to a liberalnobbier of whisky, added water, and settled himself further into his chair. George carried his tray back to his pantry.

“You know, that’s mighty strange,” Leslie burst out. “I’m not disbelieving you, Sleeman, when you say that you saw all the police cars, but, you know, they must have taken the stuff. What did Grumman have, Miss Jade?”

“Oh, there were two large steamer trunks, and several suitcases,” replied Miss Jade. “I remember seeing Bisker and George carry them from the car which brought Mr. Grumman. They carried them past the office off the hall, and I was standing at the open door of the office. I remember-”

Miss Jade’s voice was slowly cut off as the scream rose in pitch and volume. It was a scream from the throat of a badly horrified woman. It began on a high note, and rose to a note still higher, the last note drawn out to an unbelievable length. Abruptly it was shut off. Miss Jade became a Junoesque statue. Bony rose to his feet, but Mr. Downes got to his with remarkable alacrity. He was near the door leading to the reception hall and the office. Bony was near that door through which George had appeared and had departed. Then the scream began again. It began on a high note, rose and fell into a pulsating gurgle, then burst once again into a long-drawn ear-torturing shriek.

The sound of it came through the door by which George had gone and which had been left open. Bony leaped from the standing position beside his chair. Leslie and Lee remained just where they were. Downes was even quicker in his actions than was Bony, but Bony was first through that door. He heard Leslie roaring behind him. He heard Miss Jade cry out.

The door led to a passagemidway along which were the double doors giving entry to the dining room. At the far end of the passage another door stood wide open, and through that Bony could see the kitchen range. The scream had stopped, and now was beginning again. The terrified woman was undoubtedly in the kitchen.

The Kitchen Party

WITH THE scream ringing in his ears Bony raced into the kitchen of Wideview Chalet, closely followed by the dour Mr. Downes, Sleeman, Lee, Miss Jade and the artist.

Beyond the large cooking range, Bony saw the rear vision of Mrs. Parkes. Her large body was clothed in black, neatly halved by the white bands of an apron. The sleeves of her blouse were rolled above the bends of her arms where, in normal persons, elbow joints would be visible. One arm was raised and in the hand of that arm was gripped a flat-iron.

Upon the table where the staff ate, the girl Alice was kneeling. Her hands were resting upon her bended knees, and her head was tilted back. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, and from that mouth issued another long-drawn-out shriek. In the instant that she paused for breath, Mrs. Parkes snapped:

“Shut your trap, Alice! Leave him to me!”

A moment, two, three of paralysing inactivity held everyone in the kitchen. Then Mrs. Parkes said, conversationally:

“He’s coming out!”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” cried Alice in an ascending octave, and began all over again her scream of horror.

Slowly, reminding Bony of a show figure revolving in a shop window, Mrs. Parkes began to turn in the direction of Alice on the table. As she turned so did the girl’s shriek rise up thescale. Then, like a classical javelin thrower, Mrs. Parkes threw the flat-iron. The missile thudded upon something on the floor, skidded and crashed into the wall.

“Got him!” cried Mrs. Parkes.“Now then, Alice, come down from that table and stop behaving like a young gal wanting to be kissed.”

The cook moved forward, and Bony, with the company behind him, also moved forward after Mrs. Parkes, who came to a halt, glaring triumphantly down upon the mangled body of an enormous rat.

Miss Jade assumed command.

“Mrs. Parkes,” she exclaimed, “whatare you doing?”