Arthur Upfield - The Devil_s Steps

That the gunman was George, Bony was morally certain, although he had not discovered the kerchief used as a mask or the rubber pads inserted into the mouth to disguise the voice. Neither had he discovered the gunman’s pistol or his own automatic.

There was something else of great interest found in that room. Bony had had plenty of opportunity to study the steward employed at the Chalet, and he was sure he was not in error in summing him up as precise in his habits. He was sure that George would not have left his toilet gear in disorder upon the chest of drawers. He was sure that George would not unfold all those well-laundered shirts and then refold them in such a careless manner. Apart from the man’s training and psychology, what need had he to unfold those shirts?

Then there was the bed. He was to be away for only the one night, and the bedclothes were folded and placed as though the room was expected to be vacant for some time instead of being unoccupied merely for one night. It was most likely that George made his own bed andhimself kept the room clean and tidy. Now it was upset, despite the folding of the bedclothes and the rolling of the mattress.

Just as he was convinced that George was the gunman, so he also felt sure that this was the room visited by Sleeman, and that Sleeman had been searching for something. Instead of remaking the bed, he had neatly folded the clothes and rolled the mattress, possibly to give the absent man the idea that during his absence one of the maids had done this-Sleeman had apparently been unable to remake the bed after pulling it to pieces to get at and to search the mattress.

Probably the hairbrushes had been within their leather case, and Sleeman had forgotten to put them back, as he had omitted to replace any article correctly.

What was Sleeman? He used a light to get himself along passages with which a novice in crime would have become familiar after twenty-four hours’ stay at the house. He had come here to ransack a room and had made stupid attempts to hide his work.

Yes, what was Sleeman? What was his interest in George’s room? And if it had been he who had returned from some place long after midnight, and had entered the house by the front door, where had he been and why had he been out so late?

Not altogether disappointed, Bony left George’s room and proceeded along the passage to that used as a lumber room. The door of this room was also unlocked. The key was on the inside of the door, and examination proved that recently it and the lock had been oiled-recently, but not that night.

The interior of this room was three parts filled with old furniture, wooden cases, rolls of linoleum, old-fashioned lattice blinds and ornate gilt-framed pictures. The furniture, although old, was very good and very solid, bespeaking an era long before the modern guest house at a mountain resort.

The dust held Bony’s first interest in this room.

He had not questioned Bisker particularly about its contents, neither had he sought to learn how long the contents had been in it, but the impression which he had received from Bisker was that the place had been a lumber room for a long period. Yet the dust on the surface of this furniture was so slight as to indicate its age as less than a month at the longest.

An interesting point. Well, now he was here, he would see what there was to be seen.

The furniture was stacked and not loosely. He set the torch upon a what-not which he placed beside the door and thus gained its direct light. There was no window blind, but now he was disposed to defy the possibility of being observed from outside.

He proceeded to extract chairs and tables and sofas from the stack, determined to make a passage through it to the far wall. He was obliged to work with extreme care, for the room beyond was occupied by one of the maids. Unused to this kind of labour, as he was unused to this kind of investigation, he yet made not the slightest sound. And when he had worked for nearly twenty minutes he began to hum a tune, to hum unconsciously, so swift was his mounting excitement.

In one of the far corners he came upon two large steamer trunks, three large suitcases, a small leather grip and a bag of golf clubs. Every article was stamped with the letters “B. G.” The trunks and suitcases were plastered with shipping-company and rail labels.

So that was why the dust was so light upon the furniture. The furniture had been thoroughly dusted before Grumman’s luggage had been taken from his room to be stowed away in that corner. The dust on it now had settled after the luggage had been brought there so that there would be presented no finger- and hand-marks and no fingerprints if the remover had not been so stupid as to work without gloves.

Bony began the task of putting all the furniture back. He used his handkerchief to dust each article as he replaced it, and repeatedly shook the handkerchief, hoping to raise as much dust in the air as possible that it might settle and thus mask his work as a duster.

He was warm when he left the house by the scullery door, which he locked, warm, from exertion, not from mental excitement, which had the effect of making his brain cold. To Bisker, he whispered:

“Have you got any tea and sugar over in your hut?”

“No,” replied Bisker. “Got a billycan over there, and there’s a water tap ’andy.”

“Good! You go back to your hut and make a fire and fill that billy. I’ll steal tea and sugar and some eats from the kitchen. Where is it kept?”

“The tea and sugar you’ll find on the shelf over the electric stove. The tinsain’t large and I could take ’emback when Igoes in first thing, sort of,” directed Bisker. “In the cupboard near the winder is a tin of biscuits. I seen the cook put ’emthere late last night.”

“All right! I’ll get all that. You make that billy boil fast.”

For the third time this night, Bony entered the kitchen, was there only for a few minutes, and then for the last time emerged through the scullery door. He left the key beneath the brick and carried his treasure trove to Bisker’s hut.

Already flames from the fire were licking determinedly round Bisker’s blackened billycan, and Bisker stood and watched Bony unroll a cloth and display a half leg of mutton, a loaf of bread, some butter, a bread knife, and tins of tea, sugar and milk. “You’re ablinkin ’ corker!” he exclaimed.

“I am a hungry man,” Bony admitted. “Night work always makes me hungry. What do you think of the weather now?”

“I’m game to bet it won’t rain after all,” Bisker replied. “Wind’s gone round to the southeast and the stars are breaking out. That suit you?”

“It most certainly does. Now no more talking till that billy boils. Make the tea really strong.”

Bisker nodded, and began to remove his outer garments of two overcoats, muffler, battered felt hat and gum-boots. Now and then he glanced at Bony, to see him roll a cigarette and lean back against the wall whilst seated on a petrol case beside the table. Bisker felt happy-really happy. He was cold, despite the wearing of the two overcoats, and the growing heat of the fire added to his happiness. The interior of the hut, the “tucker” stolen from the kitchen, all transported him far away back into his own country.

Bony was smoking with his eyes closed, and Bisker thought he was tired out. Tired out! Bony’s mind was clear as crystal and as active as a race horse at the barrier.

The water in the billycan broke into violent eruption and Bisker nonchalantly tossed two handfuls of tea into it, permitted it to boil for four seconds and then lifted the can off the flames and dumped it on the floor to assist the leaves to settle. The sound brought Bony from his meditation, and he stood up and proceeded to cut bread, butter it lavishly and then cut meat to make sandwiches. Bisker opened a tin of condensed milk by stabbing its top with his tobacco knife. He poured milk and then the tea into two polished tin pannikins, and Bony said: