Arthur Upfield - The Devil_s Steps

“Because I like the scenery.”

“Nuts!” snapped Snook. He glared at Bony and asked: “Any special reason why you are working for the Army-outside of Queensland?”

Over Bony’s brown face flashed that smile which appeared to transfigure him. He had much earlier this day assessed the other’s character, and he was aware that Snook’s mind was akin to that of the Civil Servant, a mind governed by rules and regulations and precedents and what not. By such is a democracy ruled, and not by such are great criminals brought to the bar of justice. Placidly, he said:

“The Army employs me, I think, because no person in whom the Army might be interested would suspect that an unfortunate half-caste was a policeman. I am staying on here until I am assured that the person wearing the number-twelve boots is not a local resident, and also, until I am sure that the persons responsible for Grumman’s death and the theft of his possessions have left the district. That is why I think you can leave this end of the two cases to me.”

The Melbourne man rose to his feet.

“All right, Bonaparte. We’ll do that. You will keep usau fait with any developments up here?”

“Certainly. I may go down to the city tomorrow, and then I’ll call in at Headquarters and have a look at your pictures of Marcus.”

“Yes, do. We’ll help all we can. And don’t you take Marcus at all cheaply. He’s Satan walking the earth. Now I’ll get along. I’ll leave the news lads to you and Miss Jade and Bisker. Bit of a character-Bisker. He told the Super that he was entitled to civility as he paid income tax. The old man looked as though Bisker was a talking mosquito.”

On leaving the office, Snook left the house and was driven away by a plain-clothes man, while Bony sauntered into the lounge and rang for George. George was away getting a drink for him when Miss Jade appeared.

She was now quite composed and dressed in an afternoon frock. She wore clothes like a Frenchwoman. Bony rose to his feet and gave her a slight bow and his brightest smile.

“I’ve just asked George to bring me a drink,” he said lightly. “Might he bring you one, too?”

“Thank you, Mr. Bonaparte.” Miss Jade smiled with her mouth and not with her eyes. George entered with Bony’s drink, and she ordered a cocktail.

“I am glad that you are not running away, too, Mr. Bonaparte,” she told him.

“Run away! Certainly not! I’d not leave for ten murders,” Bony said gaily. “I want a holiday. I like this house, and the air outside and the views. And now that the wretched police have left, I expect to be able to enjoy my holiday in peace.”

They touched glasses. She accepted a cigarette from his case, and she looked into his eyes over the flame of the match he struck for her. He was rolling a cigarette for himself when she asked:

“What was your impression of Mr. Grumman?”

“Quite good, Miss Jade. He bothered me a little with his accent. Did you know his nationality?”

“American, I understood. German-American, I think. Plenty of money. My books show a credit for him of some eighteen pounds. He paid well in advance from the day he came.”

“He had been here some time?”

“Yes-five weeks last Tuesday.” Miss Jade most daintily blew a smoke ring, expertly lanced it and turned again to Bony. “I can’t understand how his luggage was carried away without someone hearing it being taken.”

“Out through thefrench windows of his room, across the veranda, down over the lawn and so to the road where, no doubt, a car was waiting.”

Miss Jade nodded her superblycoiffured head in silent agreement.

“Do you understand it at all?” she asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand it a little bit,” Bony admitted. “I never could even guess the ending to a mystery thriller. Raising sheep is my long suit. I fear you must have been badly frightened when that man shot the local policeman.”

Miss Jade clasped her bejewelled hands together. Her eyes were big when she exclaimed:

“Oh, I was, indeed. It was that man’s eyes which frightened me most. They reminded me of the eyes of a jay which Bisker wounded. The birds would come here and take all the berries from my trees, so I got Bisker to shoot some of them. One fell at my feet, and it looked up at me and tried to fly at my legs, and its eyes shone with a red light. That man’s eyes were red, shining red, when he backed to the door and pointed his dreadful pistol at us. Red eyes in a paper-white face. I’ll never forget them.”

Abruptly, Miss Jade became pensive. Bony was about to speak when she motioned with her right hand for him to remain silent. Then she said: “Somehow or other, that man’s face reminded me of someone I’ve met, and you mentioning just now about mystery thrillers brings to mind who that someone is. That man is not unlike a resident here, a writer of mystery stories, a man named Clarence B. Bagshott. Well, now, that’s remarkable.”

“How so, Miss Jade?”

“Mr. Bagshott’s face is very white, and he has dark eyes which at moments when he’s talking take on a reddish gleam. He’s a mystery, too. I never liked the man. I wonder! I wonder if the man who came here and killed Mr. Rice is a relative of Mr. Bagshott! He might be. But then that’s absurd, Mr. Bonaparte, isn’t it?”

“Possibly, Miss Jade, but not necessarily.”

“Still, as someone once told me, authors of mystery stories are criminally minded. Instead of actually committing crimes, they give vent to their criminal instincts by writing about crime.”

Miss Jade gazed straight into Bony’s eyes. Then slowly her face, including her eyes, broke into a smile and she laughed.

“How silly of me, Mr. Bonaparte. And I am laying myself wide open to a slander action. Mr. Bagshott is very clever in his way, and, I suppose, like most clever people, is a little neurotic. Now what?”

George entered from the passage connecting the lounge with the reception hall.

“There’s a party of reporters come, marm. They are asking for you.”

“Bother!” Miss Jade softly exclaimed. Then to Bony: “Do I look all right-if they want to photograph me?”

She had risen, and Bony was standing when he replied in his grand manner:

“Madam,” he cried, “you are the loveliest woman I’ve been privileged to meet for many a long year. A little publicity, I am sure, will not spoil you. Aurevoir! I’ll take a little walk before dinner.”

Treasure Trove

THE GIANT shadow of Mount Chalmers was extending its thick finger across the wide valley towards the great mountain range, the tree-lined escarpments of which now stood in brilliant relief. Not a leaf moved on the stately mountain-ash gums growing beside the road along which Bony strolled. Early for the season, a whip-bird deep down in a gully gave its warbling note which is followed by a sound like that of a whip being cracked, whilst in the grassy banks of either side of the road the red-capped robins and the blue finches were busy nesting.

To the man of the open spaces of the semi-arid interior, this scene of soft greens and chocolate earth, of silvered tree trunks and trailing vines, gave pure delight. The air was so clear, cool but not cold, and its freshness was like wine in the nostrils.

What a day it had been! The weather had been sublime, the scene one of innocent rustic charm. Yet no previous day had provided Bony with such a crop of questions demanding answers.

He wondered what Colonel Blythe’s reactions would be when he heard that Grumman was dead and his luggage removed. At least, the theft suggested that there were others besides Colonel Blythe who suspected the distinguished member of the OKW had brought priceless documents with him from Germany.