Arthur Upfield - No footprints in the bush

Flame in the shadow!

On what was McPherson pondering? His replies to questions were abrupt; once he made an affirmative answer by mistake. Hadhe taken Errey’s attache case from the swag, to destroy the dead sergeant’s notes on the murder of the two stockmen? Both he and Burning Water must be held suspect of knowing whomight be the murderous pilot. Well, after preliminaryprobings here at the homestead, he would have to go out to that hut and endeavour to follow Errey’s trail. Yes, up to the point when Errey decided to take Mit-ji to Shaw’s Lagoon.

Mit-ji-ah-yes, Mit-ji. Mit-ji knew something about those murders; otherwise Errey wouldn’t have arrested him. Mit-ji was probably in league with the Illprinka men, because the stockmen had been murdered during the theft of a large number of McPherson’s cattle. Supposing the theft of cattle was connected in some way with the pilot of the aeroplane, as seemed likely since the machine had come from, and returned to, the country of the Illprinka. Then supposing that the pilot had destroyed Errey’s car, not for the purpose of killing the sergeant but for the purpose of silencing Mit-ji?

The theft of the cattle and the killing of the aborigines who guarded them at first appeared all black. The murder of Sergeant Errey by a man flying an aeroplane appeared all white. Yet the last might have been dependent on the first, and the two together partly white and partly black.

It was going to be a really good investigation, he was sure. He was pleased now that he had decided not to present Price with the real facts of the death of Errey and Mit-ji. Price appeared in an excellent light; a man eminently suited to his particular job which was much nearer the administrative side of police government than “pinching drunks.”

Then, of course he, Bonaparte, had as usual his old ally, time. There was plenty of time to conduct the investigation, which would have to include two separate cases of crime appearing to have a joint origin…

Probably because of his non-participation in the conversation, Bony was the first to hear the sound of a distant aeroplane engine. One of the two aboriginal maids was standing at his side, offering a dish when he heard the faint and somehow sinister sound. He turned slightly sideways, the better to look up into her face to ascertain if she, too, had heard this sound.

None of the others saw the quick clash of gaze, the swift understanding of a man and a woman. Bony knew then that the lubra knew the truth concerning Mit-ji’s death with Errey, as did probably every aborigine within hundreds of miles. He saw in the big black eyes naked fear.

Flora McPherson was speaking to Price and her uncle of the possible assistance which might be rendered the widowed woman in Shaw’s Lagoon. McPherson was saying he would do anything suggested.

“Pardon me, everyone,” Bony said, his voice clear and quick. “Mr McPherson, I hear the approach of an aeroplane. I suggest that all lights are extinguished.”

“Why on earth-?” began the girl.

“Yes,” snapped the squatter.“Out with those lights.”

Bony bent over the table and blew out the candles in the sconces. McPherson jumped to his feet and strode to the lamp on the sideboard.

The room now was illumined only by the reflection of a light in the passage without, and Bony saw the tall figure of the squatter for a moment. Then that light vanished, and McPherson could be heard shouting for all lights to be put out.

Price was demanding to know this and that, supported by Flora McPherson. Bony moved to the open French windows, through which quite plainly came the noise of the oncoming machine. Through the windows passed the half-caste, across the wide veranda and down the steps of the rose-bedded lawn. The stars were bright. The night air was soft, warm and laden with rose scent. The croaking of the frogs by the great dam of water was banished by the rising roar of engine exhausts. Bony went on between the small beds of standard roses, managed to escape the arms of the sprinklers, and stopped when he reached the bottom fence. There he stared into the night.

Presently he saw it. It had no navigation lights. It was flying at a great height beyond the dam, and when it began to turn in a giant circle Bony knew that the pilot had sighted the dull star-reflecting sheen of the water and had picked up his land-mark.

He was coming down. The sudden decrease of engine power told that. The plane became a shadow passing across the faces of the stars, and because it appeared lower than it actually was, it seemed to Bonaparte that its descent in giant circles was much prolonged. It drifted out over the plain, vanished, reappeared, coming to pass directly over the house. But no, it passed over the dam, its engine breaking into periodic bursts of power which finally became sustained.

Now the plane was away to the north, beyond the sky-cutting edge of the house roof. That the pilot had nerve to fly at night was proved. That he had complete confidence in his engine and his instruments was proved, too. The roar swiftly increased. It was approaching the house. Bony waited, no fear in his heart, only a fierce desire in his mind to identify the machine with that from which Errey’s car had been bombed.

Then the roof edge, silhouetted against the sky, was abruptly blurred by the shape of wings and dragon-fly body. The plane was a bare five hundred feet from the ground, and the thunderous song of its engine deafened the staring Bony, who was confident it was the same machine he had seen at noon. His feet registered a slight shock. A missile had struck the ground close to him. He knew its position, and he flung himself down and waited. No explosion came.

Possibly it was not a bomb, but a message! If it should be a message of some kind, then Bony simply had to have it. On his hands and knees he moved forward to the approximate position of the missile, fear now a stabbing torment. The arrival of McPherson on the veranda drove him on. The squatter was asking for him. Pricewas wanting to know why the lights had been put out, and the girl was saying that perhaps the pilot of the machine was urgently looking for a landing place.

Then Bony’s hand came in contact with the “bomb.” It wasa treacle tin with an air-tight lid. The force of the concussion with the ground had forced off the lid, and from the tin openinglay a ridge of fine sand. It had been filled with sand-and a sheet of paper.

Bony pocketed the paper. The tin he emptied of the remaining sand, and hastily buried it, with the lid, in a rose bed. Then he strolled towards the house, murmuring:

“All things are for the brave-even a big slice of luck.”

But his heart was a thudding hammer in his chest.

Bony is Persistent

IT was after midnight when the squatter and Bony said goodnight to Price on the road above the gully, in which lay the remains of a modern car and two men. Price drove on to Shaw’s Lagoon: Bony and his host returned to the homestead, which they reached shortly before one o’clock.

“Well, I suggest a peg, and then bed,” McPherson said.

“I find that suggestion good,” Bony agreed quietly. “I too will make one: that we have the peg in the office. There are a number of questions I would like settled before I go to bed. Otherwise I will probably not sleep for worrying about them.”

“Hope they won’t be many,” the squatter objected, almost rudely. “I’m tired-and sick.”

“So am I-whichis another reason why I don’t wish to go to bed yet. Memory is the devil at times.”

“Humph!…All right. You go into the office and light the lamp. I’ll get the drinks.”

McPherson found Bony making cigarettes, the number of which did not appear to indicate an early retirement. There were four cigarettes already made, each with the “hump” in the middle, all lying in a row. Bony did not look up until he had rolled the fifth cigarette and placed it beside the fourth. Near to the cigarettes McPherson set down the tray.