Arthur Upfield - The Bone is Pointed

“I wonder why Young Lacy flew over this road to Opal Town instead of direct. Coming this way would add several miles to the journey.”

Blake offered no comment. He failed to understand what possible implication lay behind the observation.

“Is there a telephone instrument at this Pine Hut?” inquired Bony.

“Yes. Pine Hut belongs to Meena Station. There was often one or more black stockmen stationed there, but not since the dry season began.”

“Then there is communication with Meena homestead. Would one be able to raise Opal Town from Pine Hut?”

“No. The line is a private one, extending only between the hut and the homestead.”

“O! When you reached Pine Hut, what were theLacys doing?”

“Young Lacy was putting away tools, and the girl was sitting on a case in the shade of the short veranda fronting the hut.”

“From my memory of Opal Town,” Bony said slowly, “if Young Lacy flew direct from Karwir he would pass over the police station before landing, would he not?”

“Yes, that’s so,” agreed Blake. “He often does that-comes direct. Goes over the same way on his return flights.”

“Now, I should like to know why he came this way. Do me a favour. I want your car to take me to this Pine Hut. You remain here and finish your lunch and look after my horse. I’ll not be long away.”

Before the Sergeant could speak, Bony was walking across to the car. It was a new machine and Blake was thankful when the detective drove it expertly to the track and expertly changed gears.

“Blest if I can understand him,” Blake said aloud. He listened to the dwindling hum of the engine for several minutes until it faded into the silence of the quiet day. He again heard it, like the drone of a distant bee, an hour later, and when Bony rejoined him he said, a little huffily:

“Satisfied that my description of the telephone is correct?”

“My dear man, I didn’t doubt your veracity. What I wished to ascertain was if Miss Lacy had rung up Meena homestead.”

“Did she?”

“Yes, she did. Her tracks on the earthen floor below the instrument indicate that she spoke for some considerable time to someone at Meena.”

“There appears nothing out of place in that,” argued Blake. “Remember, they were forced down there. Miss Lacy naturally would occupy the time by talking with Mrs Gordon, or the son.”

Bony sighed in his old mocking manner. He said:

“Without doubt, Sergeant, you are right. I am a wicked and suspicious detective, looking for evil where evil doesn’t exist.” Abruptly the cloud came back into his face, and he asked: “Tell me. Have you ever heard of a fellow named Horace?”

“Horace! Yes, Horace Maginnis keeps the pub in Opal Town.”

“I mean the Roman Horace, the philosopher and poet.”

“Oh! Yes, I’ve heard of him. He was a slave or something wasn’t he? Kind of raised himself in the community.”

“That was he. Horace once said, or wrote, I forget which: ‘No matter whether you are high born or low born, there is a coffin waiting for you.’ ”

“Eh!” ejaculated the astonished Blake.

“Horace wasn’t quite correct, Sergeant. Not all men, low born or even high born, are destined to be buried in a coffin. Have you got a new tracker?”

“Yes.”

“What’s his name?”

“Malluc.”

“Young?”

“No. Malluc’s getting on in life.”

“Sack him.”

“What for?”

“For the reason that at this time an elderly aboriginal is a dangerous man to have hanging about a police station. If you cannot get a young man, do without a tracker until I have completed this investigation.”

Blake’s eyes became big.

“If you say so. But what’s the reason? Why don’t you take me more into your confidence?”

Almost casually Bony examined the keen face and the frosty eyes. Blake was a typical outback police administrator of a huge district. He was naturally stern, and skin-bound with red tape. When Bony spoke, his face was transformed by a winning smile.

“I’d like to take you fully into my confidence,” he said, earnestly. “There is a lot to be said in favour of confidences, but I don’t know where this particular investigation is going to lead me. I intend, of course, to follow it to the end, to find out what became of Anderson, who killed him, if he was killed, and how and why he was killed. You knew the man and his record. You know all the people who knew him. And, Sergeant, as I have said, I don’t know where the investigation into his disappearance is going to lead me.”

This somewhat vague generalization merely perplexed Blake.

“Still-” he objected, and then stopped.

“I would be, indeed, grateful for your assistance, Sergeant,” Bony said. “We belong to different branches of the Force, and we unite only on one point, that of making justice swift and sure. I will confide in you to a certain degree, but not wholly because I don’t know the end of the case. I may need you more as a human being than as an official colleague. Did you bring any letters for me?”

“I did. Sorry! I forgot them.”

Blake leaned back to reach for his tunic, and from a pocket produced two letters. Bony first opened one addressed in handwriting.

“From my wife,” he said, looking up. “She tells me that she and our boys are all well and busy with their respective careers. They live just out of Brisbane, at Banyo, you know. Superintendent Browne has been out there. He told my wife that I was expected back at headquarters on the seventh of the month. He said, too, that Colonel Spendor is very angry because I did not report, and that this time the Colonel intends taking drastic action concerning my disobedience. Browne asked her to write urgently and plead with me to return at once. I like Browne although he does not understand me; he persists in his belief that I am a mere policeman-if you will excuse me, Sergeant. And now for this official letter. I will read it to give you an insight into what I have to put up with.”

Blake wanted to smile and dared not. Secretly he was a rebel against the authority that kept him roped to a place like Opal Town. Bony began to read the typescript he had withdrawn from the long official envelope:

Ninth October-Prior to your assignment it was made clear to you that the exigency of the Department required you to report back not later than October the seventh. Former latitude extended to you could not in this instance be granted. Therefore, as from the seventh instant you are granted leave of absence without pay until October the twenty-first. Should you fail to report for duty on or before that date, the Chief Secretary will be advised to terminate your appointment.

Blake’s face was serious.

“Better report on time,” he said. “You have only six days of your leave left.”

“But, my dear Blake,” argued Bony, becoming at once grandiloquent. “If I had thrown up my investigations at the orders of headquarters, how many of them should I have successfully finalized? Why, about three per cent. The Commissioner has sacked me at least five times for refusing to relinquish an investigation. Then, I have had to give a detailed explanation and get myself reinstated without loss of pay. Since this present investigation will not be concluded in time to permit me to report on the twenty-first I shall again be sacked, and again have to trouble myself to get reinstated. One would think that no successful investigator of crime would have to suffer such pin-pricks. However, we will forget it. Did you make any further progress with the inquiry into the local sale of green cable silk?”

Again Blake wanted to smile but dared not.

“A little,” he replied. “Whiting says that he has not sold green cable silk to theGordons for a very long time, and that he doesn’t remember ever having sold cable silk, green or any other colour, to theMackays. What’s the strength of this cable silk?”