Arthur Upfield - The Bone is Pointed

“Broken a leg! Where is he?”

“Out at Blackfellow’s. Wouldn’t let Bill and Fred put him on the car. Sent in for the truck. We’re going out for him. We’ll want a mattress or two.”

“And Dr Linden,” added Diana, white-faced but calmly courageous. “You call him and tell him to come out at once. I’ll see to the things we’ll want. I’m going with you.”

“All right. Rush. We can’t lose time.”

Diana ran into the passage and shouted for Mabel the maid. She was flinging on her clothes when the girl appeared.

“Tell the cook to make tea in the thermos flasks. We’ll want a bottle of milk. Get the bottle of brandy from the chiffonier. Bill the Better can take the mattresses from the beds in the two single rooms.”

“All right, Miss Lacy. Is Mr Lacy badly hurt?”

“Yes, very, but don’t stand there talking.”

When Diana went out to the truck it was loaded and her brother was waiting at the wheel. She climbed into the seat next to him, Bill the Better beside her. He was red with dust, but his watery blue eyes were at the moment strangely clear and hard.

“The boss would go down theflamin ’ well,” he shouted to beat the roar of the engine and the wind lashing the passing trees. “I went down and told ’imand Fred what was wrong and where it was wrong. Fred tried to stop ’imgoin’ down, but ’e would go down. Why does ’e think ’e’sabloomin ’ three-year-old? ’E slipped off the ladder and ended up on the pump platform. Busted a leg down there, ’e did. I went down after ’im, and lashed ’imto the windlass rope and held ’imwhile old Fred pulled us up.”

“Where is the leg broken, do you know?” Diana asked, wondering why her brother didn’t drive the truck all out as she would have done.

“Dunno properly. In the thigh it looks like. The boss ’e yells at me and says: ‘You tell ’emback at the homestead not to send for noflamin ’ quack till I say so.’ We lays ’imout on the ground, careful like, and Fred got ’is straw mattress for ’imto set ’is head on. Then ’e says: ‘Wot in ’ell areyergapin ’ at me like that for? Getgoin ’ in the car and don’t drive fast or you’ll bust the big ends and the station can’t afford a new set with the dry times on us.’ ”

A few minutes later, he said:

“Me and old Fred done our best, but ’e would go down theflamin ’ well. You know how ’tis. Thereain’t no ’oldin’ the boss when ’e’sset on doinganythink.”

Diana laid a hand on his grimy forearm, saying:

“Don’t you worry, Bill. We know you did your best. Everything will be all right.”

They found Old Lacy lying on the ground near the well coping, his head resting on a straw mattress, a billy of jet-black tea and two pannikins beside him. Fred rose from squatting on his other side. He was a wild-whiskered nugget of a man.

Diana ran to her father and knelt at his side. She stared down at him with tear-filled eyes.

“Oh dad, is the poor leg broken, d’you think?”

“ ’Fraidso, my gal, but don’t you fret. It was me own fault. Bill was doing all right, but I went down to check up on him, old fool that I am. You brought the mattresses? Good! Set ’emout on the floor of the truck. Fred’s taken the door off the hut to roll me on and to lift me up on to the truck.”

Diana offered him brandy but he refused it. They lifted him on to the door, and he instructed them how to raise him carefully and then to slide him off the door on to the mattresses.

“Have a peg before we start?” suggested Young Lacy.

“No, lad, I’m all right. Give a stiffener to Fred and Bill. Where the devil have you got to, Fred? Oh, there you are! Don’t you go down that flaming well, now. I’ll send out to have the cattle shifted until we can put another shaft down. I think I will have a peg, lad. I got sort of shook up.”

It was noon the next day when Diana remembered her appointment with John Gordon fixed for eleven o’clock.

Colonel Spendor

THE well nourished and still erect figure of the Chief Commissioner of the Queensland Police passed through the outer office to that inner room in which even the walls exuded police history. He was white-haired and white-moustached; his feet trod lightly, bespeaking training as a cavalry officer; his lounge suit of light-grey tweed fitted admirably, but a uniform would have fitted better.

“Good morning, sir!” said the secretary, having come to attention from bending over the huge table desk set in the middle of the large room.

“Mornin’ Lowther!”

Off came the Chief Commissioner’s hat, to be flung into a chair as he passed behind the desk to the comfortable swivel affair in which he did his daily work. Lowther retrieved the hat and hung it on its peg inside a wall cupboard. He had shaken the cushion in the swivel chair, but Colonel Spendor punched and belaboured it further till he was satisfied. Then with many snorts andhmffs, he sat down.

The morning had begun.

Two pink, plump hands went out to draw a pile of opened correspondence nearer their owner. A pair of dark-grey eyes directed a flashing glance to the secretary still standing beside his chief.

“Well, what the devil are you standing there for? Got a pain or something?”

Long association with Colonel Spendor had given Lowther mastery over his features.

“Superintendent Browne is anxious to see you as early as possible, sir,” Lowther murmured.

“Browne!” The Colonel swung a little sideways the better to deliver a frontal attack. He repeated the name as though it had been that of a famous ballet dancer, gave a terrific snort, and propelled himself round again to the table with such violence that the chair revolved almost in a complete circle.

“Superintendent Browne hinted, sir, that the urgency of the matter was dictated by a communication concerning Detective-Inspector Bonaparte.”

Two plump hands swept aside the pile of correspondence, then they fell to the chair arms and grasped them, so that when the Colonel rose the chair rose with him. When he relaxed the chair thudded heavily on the carpet.

“A deserter, Lowther. I ordered Bonaparte to report by a certain date. He said he would before he left on that assignment. He didn’t report on the date named. I wrote saying that if on the expiry of the term he had not reported he would be dismissed. He hasn’t reported. He flouts my authority. Dumbly tells me to go tohades. He’s unreliable, Lowther. I’m tired of him. Now, no more about Browne. I’ll see him at the morning conference.”

Colonel Spendor dragged the pile of correspondence tempestuously to him.

“Inspector Bonaparte is too much aJavert, sir. I wouldn’t like him on my tail.”

“I’m not interested in your tail, Lowther. I am trying to be interested in this correspondence, trying to earn my salary. I’m the only one here who is trying to do that. How many times have I had to sack Bonaparte? Tell me that, as you seem to ache for a back-yard gossip this morning.”

“Six times, sir. You have reinstated him without loss of pay on six occasions.”

“Just so, Lowther. I’m soft. But I’m not going to be soft any more. Discipline was becoming so bad that it would have been only a matter of time when every constable on the beat would have thumbed his nose as I passed by. What progress is Askew making on the Strathmore case? Did Browne tell you that?”

“He didn’t mention it, sir.”

“He wouldn’t. Why? Because Askew is a fool. Why? Because Browne would sooner waste my time than take an interest in his department. Bonaparte should have been assigned to that case, and, Lowther, Bonaparte is mooning about the bush looking at the birds and things andexplainin ’ to people what a damned fine detective he is.” Up rose the Colonel and the chair to fall again with a thud. Police typists in the office below looked at each other and grinned.