Arthur Upfield - Murder down under

“Have your farm dogs gone home?” Bony asked.

“They went back along the trail when they were let out of the garage. Got home when I was about to leave, so I tied them up. Just in time, too, to shut the gate on three cows. If it wasn’t for the cursed burglary, I’d appreciate the joke of that trailed decoy. The bird who put it down knew his onions.”

“Too right,” Bony agreed colloquially. “The fellows in Queensland scooped every dog and cat out of town and kept them prisoners in an old house two miles away. They undertook to find the lost animals at sixpence apiece.”

“You in Queensland long?”

“Born there. Went to school in Brisbane.”

“How did you come to be working in Western Australia?”

“I made a good cheque on ahorsebreaking contract and took the opportunity I long wanted to see the West. I came to Adelaide by train andthem took the mail plane. Foolishly I didn’t book my return passage when I had the money. I went broke. Got tight one night, and someone relieved me of my last two tenners.”

“So you got a job with the Rabbits.”

“Yes. Met a fellow who said I might get a job with the Rabbit Department. After a little trouble I found the office and the chief. Asked for a job and was sent up here that night.”

“Wonderful!”

“What is?” asked Bony blandly.

“You gettinga job like that. You don’t appear to know your luck.”

“Well, I suppose I was lucky in a way.”

“In a way!”Landon echoed. “It was only a few months ago that they put off three-quarters of the staff on account of the depression. There are two of the old hands doing nothing in Burra today.”

“Well, well,” Bony said smoothly. “One of them will have a chance soon. I’ve almost saved my fare to Brisbane.”

Arriving at the farm gate, Bony got down and opened it, closing it again after the car had passed through. When they pulled up in front of the house Mrs Loftus came out to meet them.

“I am so glad you have come, Mr Bony,” she said sweetly, offering him her hand. “Please come in. We are just going to sit down to a late breakfast.”

Gone was Mrs Loftus’s cynical aloofness. She accepted Bony on full equality, inviting him to enter her home with a nervous little laugh and many apologies for the untidiness of the living-room caused by the burglar. Turning from the stove with a dish of bacon and eggs in her hands, Miss Waldron smiled brightly and expressed the hope that he had not eaten breakfast.

Bony could see no alteration of the furniture, the heavy articles occupying the same positions they had done when he had paid his secret visit. Door and windows were opened wide, the window blinds drawn to minimize the glare. Above the conversation rose the hum of the curious blowflies attracted by the scents of the meal.

“You had quite an adventure last night,” the detective said when all were seated at the table.

“Yes. We were so frightened,” Mrs Loftus told him with a wan smile. “We were thankful enough when day dawned. I feel horribly tired, having had barely four hours’ sleep.”

“I am sure I shall sleep well tonight,” Miss Waldron said in more cheerful tones.

“Tonight you need not be nervous, for that man won’t come back again,” Landon assured them with laughter.

Miss Waldron shivered. “I hope not,” she said, adding when she turned to the detective: “Do you think you will be able to track the wretch?”

“I have no fear of failure,” he replied egotistically, and then proceeded to lie with the calm assurance of Landon. “My mother was wonderfully adept in the art of tracking, and she trained my gift of observation, inherited from her.” Bony could not remember seeing his mother at any time in his life. “To see marks on the ground of the passage of some living thing that no white man can see does not depend entirely on vision. A blackfellow will see a track which the white man wouldn’t see through atelescope, because he does not understand what his unaided eyes show him. The lubras are better trackers than the men, for the men are less energetic as food foragers, and, therefore, less practised.”

“Is it correct that you have worked for the police?” inquired Mrs Loftus.

“On several occasions,” he replied frankly, his teeth flashing in a smile. “Yet they are hard masters, although the pay is good. I don’t like working for them. They are too suspicious. Because they cannot see so well the little tale-telling marks, they think, when a tracker faults, that he is lazy or is playing a game of his own.”

“Tell us one of your tracking adventures, Mr Bony, will you?” Mrs Loftus entreated. “Let me fill your cup first.”

“Thank you. Your coffee is delicious. If I bore you, tell me to stop.” Bony leaned back in his chair, idly stirring his coffee. “The most remunerative work given me by the police was related to theMetters case. You might remember it. No? Well, in nineteen twenty-four a little girl was horribly murdered on a farm fifty miles west of Toowoomba, Queensland. I happened, at the time, to be in Brisbane, and quite by accident a detective officer met me in Queen Street. To shorten my story, I set off when the price of my services was fixed at sixty-five pounds and expenses paid, because they get all the praise for the work a black tracker does for them.

“I reached the scene of the crime three days after it had been committed. The child had been murdered in a small block of uncleared timber. She was returning from school, following a path through the timber as she had done for several years, and it was obvious that the killer waited hidden there. It was a most shocking affair altogether, and, apart from the money, I determined to get him.

“I can understand and have a little sympathy for theman who kills whilst influenced by alcohol or passionate anger, but I have none-and no normal person could have any-for a person who cold-bloodedly plans such a crime against an innocent girl. The murderer in this instance made no effort to conceal his tracks till he reached a main road two miles away. Once there he kept close to the crown of the road, where the wheels of passing traffic would obliterate his tracks.

“I had to examine every foot of eleven miles of one side of the road and seven miles of the other side before I found where he had left the road in his socked feet. In his socks he walked fifteen miles, taking every advantage of hard surfaces and several watercourses. It was ten o’clock in the morning when I started, in company with three mounted policemen, and it was six o’clock that evening when I pointed out to them the murderer’s hiding place.”

“Where was he hiding?” simultaneously demanded the women.

Bony, looking from one to the other, laughed softly, a little triumphantly, for he had captured their interest. His gaze fell to his plate, on which he began to butter a piece of bread.

“WhenMetters saw us crossing his paddocks he barred himself into his house, which, like this one, had only one door. He was armed with two rifles, and not only refused to surrender, but threatened to shoot anyone who went in to arrest him.

“Many of the neighbours came in their cars. A cordon was drawn round the house which at night was illuminated by the headlights of motor-cars. The fifth dayMetters rushed out, firing a rifle and killing one man before he was shot dead.”

“How dreadful!” exclaimed Mrs Loftus.“Didn’t the police give the man a chance so that he might stand this trial?”

“I think it was as well he was shot dead,” Bony said quietly. “At the time he came out there were more than two hundred very angry men, and only seven policemen, surrounding the small house. Police reinforcements were on their way. The crowd knew that. They wanted to fire the house. Metters knew it was but a matter of time before the crowd would burn his place down, and that when he did run out and was not killed the crowd would throw him back into the flames. When he was killed the police were hustled away until it was established that he was really dead. It would be impossible to imagine a more disappointed crowd.”