Arthur Upfield - Winds of Evil

“Not all of them. Hang-dog Jack was here, of course, and Harry West and Young-and-Jackson. Mr. Dreyton had just gone into the office as book-keeper.”

“Ah, yes! Mr. Dreyton is a man of breeding and education. He reminds me constantly of Mr. Trench at Windee.”

“Oh! In what way?”

The expression of pensiveness on the dark face was banished by the slow-growing smile.

“When first I met Mr. Trench,” Bony said, “he was a rabbit-trapper and kangaroo-shooter on Windee. As you would know, that is not a trade for a man of refinement to follow. Mr. Trench provided me with quite a little mystery, and I think I run no risk of breaking a confidence when I tell you that the reason he was a fur-and-skin getter was due to the condition imposed on him by Mr. Stanton. Wishing to prove him before accepting him as his son-in-law, Mr. Stanton made it the condition of his consent that Mr. Trench should apply himself to the hardest work on the run for two years.

“There is a certain similarity between Mr. Trench and Mr. Dreyton. Both are gentlemen and both are English. Their manner and speech prove rearing and education above that of the average man. Can you tell me why Mr. Dreyton prefers working on a boundary-fence to working in an office?”

The abrupt question, following the reference to Trench proving himself for love, caught Stella’s breath. Try as she might, she could not conquer the betraying blush, and Bony felt he had been indelicate.

“Forgive me!” he exclaimed. “Do not, please, answer that impertinent question.”

“But I must,” she said quickly, breathlessly. “There is nothing like that of the Trenches between Mr. Dreyton and me. Neither my brother nor I know why Mr Dreyton prefers the fence work. Or rather we do. We wanted him in the office because he is such a good tennis player and bridge player, and then the other day, when my brother made a direct appeal to him, he explained that living with us, even as the book-keeper, reminded him too acutely of the status in life he had enjoyed and lost before coming to Australia.”

Bony now was sitting motionless, gazing absently out through the drop-window.

“Don’t you believe me?” Stella Borradale asked coldly.

“Er… of course, Miss Borradale. I fear I am being very rude.”Again the quick smile. “I am often rude when I am thinking. Now let us come forward in time to the murder of Frank Marsh. Can you recall that night?”

“Easily. Sergeant Simone questioned us all enough to make us remember it all our lives.”

“Then I owe something to the redoubtable sergeant,” Bony said laughingly, and his smile was so disarming that it made Stella momentarily forgetful of that dangerous ground to which he had led her. “Tell me, please. Who slept at ‘Government House’ that night other than the cook and the maids?”

“Only my brother and I. Mr. Allen, who was then bookkeeping here, occupied the book-keeper’s room in the office building.”

“There were no visitors?”

“None.”

“At that time Mr. Dreyton was fence-riding. Was he here at the homestead or not?”

“Yes, he was. He was camped in this hut,” Stella answered, obviously trying to perceive the objective of Bony’s questions.

“You are being very patient with me,” she was told. “You had no visitors when Alice Tindall was murdered, and you had none when Frank Marsh was murdered. Did you go out the night that Marsh was killed?”

“No. It was a bad night.”

“Did you play bridge?”

“No. My brother was away part of the evening. He went to theStorries to discuss with Fred Storrie a deal in sheep.”

“Can you tell me what Mr. Dreyton did that evening?”

“Yes… due again to Sergeant Simone. Mr. Dreyton visited Carie, where, for some time, he played chess with Dr. Mulray. But tell me! Surely you do not think that Mr. Dreyton-”

Bony chuckled.

“You will be accusing me of thinking that either Mr. Borradale or Mr. Dreyton is the Strangler. Men like they do not commit murder without a sound motive. Besides, you can tell me, I am sure, what time they returned to the homestead. In your brother’s case at least.”

“Yes. He returned shortly before ten o’clock. He had been poorly all day and he went straight off to bed.”

Bony rolled and lit another cigarette.

“I have, of course, a reason for asking all these questions, and when you decided to come here this afternoon with Mrs. Trench’s message you let yourself in for them. You see, I have to solve a jig-saw puzzle, and my questions can be termed the pieces of the puzzle. Would you be able to forgive me if I were very candid with you?”

She could, subsequently, never understand how this man swamped her natural reserve to the extent of compelling her to tell him that he could be as frank as he wished. He went on:

“I find it difficult to believe Mr. Dreyton when he says that his reason for preferring the fence to the office is the pain he feels when in contact with luxury, comparative to his previous financial and social status. I find it difficult, too, to believe that your brother’s desire to have him in the office is due to Dreyton’s social accomplishments.”

Quite slowly Stella expelled her caught breath. She was become fearful that she would once more betray herself. To prevent this she hurried into an admission.

“I also find it difficult to believe that,” she said, and Bony did not fail to note that her coolness of demeanour was temporarily shattered. “I have long suspected a stronger reason than bridge and tennis and good company. I think that sometimes my brother feels the responsibility of running this property too heavy to bear, and I think his load is lightened for him when he can discuss his difficulties with Mr. Dreyton. As you know, Mr Dreyton is only a few years senior to my brother, but he is decades older in worldly experience. Martin takes after our mother in many ways. Our father was much more rugged and hard than is Martin.”

“Hem! I can understand that running Wirragatta successfully is not an easy task. And then your brother left school to return home direct to manage this property, and therefore missed that hardening process induced in one’s character by what is cynically called sowing one’s wild oats.”

“If you do not believe Mr. Dreyton’s reason for preferring the fence life, what do you think could be his reason?”

The indifference with which this question was put was not genuine, and Bony’s sharp ears detected it. Stella now was semi-masking her face by lighting a cigarette from the match he held in service, but having guessed the secret of her heart he knew her reason for asking the question.

“I will not attempt to answer your question, Miss Borradale,” he told her as his eyes twinkled. “It may be that Mr. Dreyton is being very foolish. As to that I cannot say.”

For the second time this afternoon Stella Borradale felt the warning heat creeping to her face, and she was not alone in blessing Hang-dog for beating on his triangle at this moment. They rose together. Bony gallantly escorted her to the door of the hut, but despite the cook’s interruption and the detective’s gallantry the blush would betray her.

In a frantic effort to overcome it she said laughingly, “I think you are a very dangerous man, Bony.”

It made Bony laugh delightedly, and when they stood one on either side of the doorstep he said, “Dangerous, Miss Borradale? Never, never dangerous, I earnestly assure you.”

Retrospect

IT WASA thoughtful man who walked across the river’s dry bed to the men’s quarters. Bony’s inquisition of Stella Borradale had brought out several facts, only one of which at the moment appeared to have any significance relative to Bony’s investigation. This was the fact that Donald Dreyton must have known that Alice Tindall was walking back to her camp and that Frank Marsh was walking back to theStorries ’ house.