Arthur Upfield - Winds of Evil

Here, however, there was room for argument. Marsh had been found close to the Common gates, but there was no shred of proof that he had been strangled to death where his body was found.

Bony’s mind went back to the first two cases, those of murder. These bore similarity and favoured pre-knowledge. The prevailing weather was an inducement to people to stay at home. Assuming that the murderer did have pre-knowledge of his victim’s movements, he must have been at Wirragatta homestead the evening of that night Alice Tindall was killed, and he must have been either at Storrie’s selection or in Carie the evening of the night Marsh was murdered.

Now if it could be established that someone resident in Carie or at Storrie’s selection was visiting Wirragatta when Alice Tindall was murdered, or if it could be established that a resident at Wirragatta had visited Carie or theStorries the evening that Marsh was murdered, then the name of a man, or men, who knew the movements of both these unfortunates could be regarded as that of a person having the pre-knowledge the murderer almost surely had.

Bony came to favour this pre-knowledge theory at the expense of that which assumed that the murderer obtained his victim only by blind chance, like a thug waiting at a dark street corner for the casual pedestrian to come within striking distance of him. The chance of meeting a lone walker on such nights was so infinitely small as to be put aside in argument as unworthy of consideration. Only in the case of Mabel Storrie had chance given the killer a prospective victim, and again only through chance had she escaped death.

Bony felt he was on safe ground to reason thus. He must find if there were any visitors to Wirragatta the night Alice Tindall was murdered, and if there were any visitors to Carie or to Storrie’s selection from Wirragatta the night that Marsh was murdered. Anyone out visiting on either of these two windy nights could be held gravely suspect.

Outside the hut wherein Bony was pondering these theories awilly -wagtail shrilly chirped its warning call, and, thus warned of someone’s approach, he quickly stacked the weather reports and was wrapping them in their brown-paper covering when Stella Borradale appeared in the open doorway. From Bony, now on his feet, her cool gaze fell to the table.

“Do I interrupt you?” she inquired pleasantly.

“An interruptioncan be much appreciated,” he replied, advancing to her. “Might I be of service?”

“I saw you come here an hour ago, and I have suspected that you make this hut your writing-room,” she said smilingly. “Would it, do you think, be permissible for me to enter? I have a message for you.”

“Back in 1900 it might not have been. In this year, certainly, Miss Borradale.” Bony turned back and rearranged the petrol-case seat. “If you will be seated-I am sorry I cannot offer you a cigarette. I make my own, and badly, too.”

“I have cigarettes, thank you.” Stella became seated and Bony held a match for her use. “I have had quite a long letter from Marion Trench, and she and her husband and Mr. Stanton all wish to be remembered to you. I hope you did not mind me mentioning to her that you are here?”

“By no means-if you stressed the fact of my incognito. I recall many pleasant incidents of my stay at Windee*. There I achieved my greatest success-and sacrificed it.” *The story is told in Mr. Upfield’s novel, The Sands of Windee.

“Oh! How, may I ask?”

“I cannot, of course, speak of the case, which was delightfully baffling. Miss Marion Stanton, as she was then, is both physically and mentally a beautifully woman. For the sake of her happiness I confessed to my colleagues my first and only failure to finalize a case.”

Stella Borradale was regarding the detective pensively.

“Marion and I have been friends for years,” she said. “Some time back she hinted that her present happiness was due entirely to you. They ask me to tell you how much they hope you will call at Windee before returning to Queensland.”

“That would be like the people at Windee. Did Mrs. Trench mention Father Ryan?”

“Yes. She said she thought you would like to know that Father Ryan always talks of you when he and they meet. Are you a Catholic?”

“No. But I admire Father Ryan immensely. He is a wonderful man-a splendid man.”

Through the smoke of her cigarette Stella watched the dark face now animated and lit with the lamp of enthusiasm. She tried very hard to keep out of her own eyes her increasing interest in this half-caste who behaved and spoke as well as any man she had ever known. His vanity was obvious, but her interest was not based on his fine face and modulated, cultured voice. Just what it was based upon puzzled her.

She said impulsively, “May I ask why you are continuing your investigation after the arrest of Barry Elson?”

At once Bony’s face became a mask.

“You are asking a conjuror to show how he does his tricks,” he said chidingly, the smile again lighting his eyes. “But I will answer your question-in strict confidence. I am almost, but not quite, certain that Barry Elson did not attack his sweetheart.”

“I am sure he didn’t,” she said emphatically.“But… but could you not have prevented his arrest?”

“I could have done, I think.”

“Then why didn’t you? Think of the state of his mind at this moment if he is innocent, as I am sure he is.”

“Barry Elson admitted to me, MissBorradale, that he did a caddish thing when he left Mabel Storrie to walk on home alone, most especially after those two terrible murders. He must learn his lesson and then, perhaps, he will be given the opportunity to re-establish himself with theStorries and with everyone else who knows him. I regret that I cannot enlighten you further on this matter.”

“Well, will you appease my curiosity by telling me if you have made any progress in your investigation? We seem to agree that this strangling beast is still at large. Sometimes, chiefly at night, I become horribly nervous. One never knows when that terrible person will again attack and kill.”

“I can assure you that I shall not return to Brisbane and my family until I have located him. I wonder, now-would you assist me by frankly answering a few questions I would like to ask, in strict confidence?”

“Most certainly.”

“I do not think it absolutely essential but I believe it will be of assistance to maintain my slight deception on the people here,” Bony said in some kind of preface. “Nearly everyone will talk more freely to a private individual than they will to an investigating police officer. Why, I don’t know, but it is so. Other than to Mrs. Trench, you have not revealed my identity?”

“I passed you my word about that.”

“I stand reproved, Miss Borradale. Now may I begin the inquisition? No one will disturb us, as my sentry is on duty.”

“Your sentry!”

“Awilly -wagtail. He informed me of your coming. Now for my first question. Please go back in your mind to the night when Alice Tindall was murdered. Were both you and Mr. Borradale at home that night?”

“Yes. I remember it quite well.”

“Alice Tindall left the homestead for the blacks’ camp shortly after eleven o’clock, did she not?”

“The time she left was settled for ever by Sergeant Simone,” replied Stella. “It was twenty-five minutes after eleven. It had been a dreadful day, and about nine o’clock it began to thunder and lighten badly. There was no rain, but we expected it, and Alice stayed with the cook and the maids until the thunder had passed on.”

“Were there any visitors at Wirragatta at that time?”

“No, no one.”

“I suppose you cannot recall who the men were then working at the homestead?”