Arthur Upfield - The Devil_s Steps

“Goodoh! I won’t bemore’n a coupler minutes getting rugged up.”

“What about your boots? Have you got any rubber-soled shoes?”

“No, but I got a pair of gum-boots, and I know where all the soft places are to walk about on.”

“Excellent. Get dressed, and warmly.”

Presently Bisker announced that he was ready, and together they left the hut, Bony leading the way round the rear of the garages and so to the rear of the wood-stack. It was twenty minutes to midnight.

At the end of the stack where Bony halted, a watch could be kept on the scullery door, the roadway to the top gate, and the front entrance, which now was locked and unlighted.

“I want you to stop here and not move away no matter what might happen,” Bony breathed. “I’ll be back later.”

Bisker softly grunted that he had heard, and Bony moved off to be engulfed in the night. The night was full of noise, the gusty wind roaring in the drive trees and those lining the upper road. At a distance above and below Wideview Chalet, the wind roared with volume through the tree-tops like angry giants walking the mountain slopes, coming near and nearer, and passing away and farther away.

Although wearing a heavy overcoat, Bisker was becoming cold when he heard light footsteps on the roadway. The person was coming in through the top gate, and bush-wise, Bisker slid down to the floor of wood-chips skirting the wood-stack that he might see the approaching person against the sky, which although blackwas not as dark as at ground level.

The steps came quickly, and almost at once Bisker recognised that they were the steps of a woman. Then he saw her quite plainly against the sky. She was wearing some material about her head, and whilst in his view, she stopped and stooped and removed her shoes. When again she went on, she moved without sound, and Bisker watched her walk to the scullery door, pause there, thenopen the door and pass into the house, re-closing and locking the door behind her.

“Wonder where the old cat goesgallivantin ’ this time of night?” he voicelessly asked the passing wind. “Nowlemme think. She was out the night Grumman was done in, and she was out the night following. Then she missed two nights, and went out and come ’omeabout this time. Sheain’t been out since then until tonight. Wonder if Mr. Bonaparte wasexpectin ’ ’erto go out tonight, sort of?” Bisker began to sneer silently to the wind: “Go to bed witha ’eadache, meblinkin ’ aunt’s grandmother! The old cat. Strayin’ on the tiles at midnight, or a bit after.”

Soliloquising thus enabled him to pass the time and to assist in keeping from his mind the growing chill. A strong gust of wind brought a skiff of rain which bit coldly into his face, and then when the wind passed like a giant to stride away down the mountain, in the abrupt comparative quietness he fancied he heard other footsteps on the road beyond the gate. The next wind-giant came before he could be decided about it, roaring through the trees so loudly as to drown out the noise of a farm tractor. That giant passed, and Bisker strained his ears.

“Mustabeen mistook,” he breathed into his moustache. “By cripes, I wasn’t!”

He saw the figure on the roadway, a figure that loomed high from his prostrate position at the foot of the wood-stack. He saw it against the almost black sky. It seemed to drift past him, making not the slightest sound, and Bisker shivered. It drifted towards the open space before the front entrance and vanished from him.

“Mustabin Mr. Bonaparte,” he said to himself. “Cripes, ’e can move silent, all right. Like thembloomin ’ aboriginesgettin ’ around. Well, well, we are ’avin’ a great time of it.”

Half an hour later he almost shouted. He was lying on his back to maintain that sky background when he felt a hand close over an ankle, and then saw a form loom over him like a vampire. A shape blotted out the sky from his eyes, and then he saw two gleams of steel-coloured light. The voice, he was most happy to hear, although it came to him as an echo flung back by his own moustache.

“Did you see that man come in from the top gate?” asked Bony.

Bisker felt Bony’s ear touch his mouth, and he breathed:

“Yes. Did you? Where did he go?”

“Into the house by the front door. Hadhis own key, I think. Went in and closed the door. It was locked when I tried it a minute ago. See anyone else?”

“Yes, Miss Jade. Shecome back a full hour ago. From the top road.”

“You were not able to recognise the man?”

“No. All I could make out was asortashadder drifting by, I thought I ’eardfootsteps on the road beyond the gate but I couldn’t be sure ’cosof the wind.”

“How do you know the woman who came in was Miss Jade?”

The question was cause for Bisker’s silence, and Bony said:

“You don’t know that it was Miss Jade, eh?”

“But we know as ’owMiss Jade ’as been out late at night, don’t we?” countered Bisker in defence.

“Very well! We’ll leave it at that. It was a woman, butwho, we don’t know. Will you stay here a little longer?”

“Too right! As long as you like.”

“Good! Stay here until I come back to you. I may be away for some time. I am going into the house by the scullery door.”

The shadowy form that had been just above him slippedaway, and Bisker did not see Bony, or hear him, depart.

The Prowler

STOOPING BEFORE the scullery door, Bony felt for the key beneath the brick, and with it let himself into the house, then pocketed the key and closed the door behind him. With the shutting of the door the orchestra of the wind played with only one violin and one drum muffled.

Within the house the inner silence was profound, and Bony leaned back against the door and gave himself a full minute of meditation. He could be sure that the woman Bisker had seen enter by that door had been Miss Jade, and that by now she would have reached her room and probably was in bed and asleep. The man who had entered by the front door presented a far different problem because even a guess could not be hazarded to establish him. Bony could not know if he were one of the guests, or a burglar. If one of the guests, then he could assume that this guest had gone to his room and by now was in bed, if not actually asleep. If a burglar, then he would be very much awake and somewhere in the house engaged in his unlawful occupation. In consequence, a burglar would be much more a menace to Bony’s plans for that night than a guest.

In his left hand, Bony held a swithy-stick, cut from the bush that evening, green and resilient and about four feet in length. Why does a cat grow whiskers from above each eye if not for the purpose of being warned by them that an obstruction was immediately before it, an obstruction not seen in complete darkness? Bony’s swithy-stick was intended for similar use to avoid running against any object which might fall with a clatter, and to avoid tripping over an object and producing the same result. With the stick held before him, he gently prodded with it whilst he crossed the scullery to the connecting doorway with the kitchen. He felt that he would not contact any probable burglar until after he had left the kitchen, and therefore, when he gained the passage beyond the kitchen, he leaned against a wall and listened, listened for full sixty seconds which, under such circumstances, take a long time in passing.

He was aware that this passage was approximately twenty-five feet in length, and that at its far end was the serving door to the lounge. The passage was bisected by another. Along the left angle were the reception hall and theoffice, whilst along the right angle were the wine-store, the steward’s room, a lumber room and three bedrooms occupied by the staff.