Arthur Upfield - Murder down under

“There’s nothing funny about that, Bony. Many farmers cut wheat for hay, especially when the straw is long, as it is in a good year. Almost any year it pays to cut hay for chaff, because if the price is low in a good year it is bound to be high in a bad year, and hay will keep several years.”

“I thought that might be the reason. Whilst studying the produce market reports I have been thinking that it would be an excellent money gamble to buy hay now, and have it cut into chaff by a contractor, and stored until a bad harvest comes, when, as you say, the price is bound to be high.”

Hurley laughed.

“You must have a lot of money,” he said.

“I haven’t much.”

“Then I wouldn’t risk what you’ve got,” was the advice instantly given. “If you are going to gamble on hay, don’t cut it into chaff until you are going to put it on the market; otherwise storage costs will more than wipe out any profit-if there is any profit.”

“I am inclined to accept the risk. Do you know any farmers who would sell me their haystack?”

“No, I don’t.”

“What would be a fair price to offer for hay in the stack, do you think?”

“Dunno. Chaff is three pounds fifteen a ton.”

“Do you think I could buy for two pounds a ton?” Bony persisted.

“What the devil are you coming at?”

“Hay, my dear Hurley, hay. I am keenly interested in the hay and chaff market. I want a gamble in chaff. Would you be my buyer, say at a commission of one per cent of the purchase price?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so, if you have made up your mind to chuck your money away. I could ask some of the cockies when I go south next trip.”

“Excellent! I want to buy the haystack on George Loftus’s farm. It contains about sixty-four tons. It is magnificent hay. I would be satisfied with that stack for the present. As a matter of fact, I want to buy that stack very much.”

“That particular stack?”

“That particular stack,” Bony repeated with emphasis. The rider searched the detective’s smiling features.

“You make a good third for a mystery,” he said with conviction. “Now why do you want to buy that haystack?”

“Because it is built with such perfect symmetry that it pleases my artistic eye,” Bony replied without smiling. “I desire that stack, and I have the money to buy it at two pounds per ton. I want you to do me the favour of acting as my buying agent. Forget that I am a crime investigator. You say that you will reach Burracoppin tomorrow. Arrive early in the afternoon. I have spoken to Inspector Gray, and he will have both eyes shut if you get in about three o’clock. You will then be able to set off for the Jelly farm about four o’clock. You will find that Lucy is anxious to see you. Convey to her and Sunflower my regards. On your way call on Mrs Loftus and say that a farmer, who shall be nameless, wishes to buy a whole stack of hay. Ask her if she would sell her stack, as she has no horses to feed. Is that clear?”

“It is, but I don’t know what you’re getting at. I’ll do as you ask, and thank you for working that early arrival at Burracoppin. What are you going to do with the blasted hay when you get it?”

Bony now smiled a little grimly. His eyes were almost invisible behind the puckered lids when he replied:

“Have no fear. I shall not get the sack. Mrs Loftus will not sell.”

The Return of John Muir

COLONEL SPENDER’S reply telegram, a letter from Marie Bonaparte, and Detective-Sergeant Muir all arrived at Burracoppin the next day, Wednesday, 6th December. The telegram and the letter Bony received at nine o’clock, when the post office opened for business. It was the letter Bony opened first. It read:

You must come home, really you must. They are very angry at the office because John Muir introduced you to a case in Western Australia, which they fear will delay you reporting for duty at the end of your leave. By what you tell me of it in your letter, justreceived, it is the kind of case which will hold you until you clear it up. I sigh, because I know that you will not give it up till you finalize it. I think you will never forget how you failed at Windee.

Inspector Todd came out this morning especially to ask me to urge you to return in haste, as there is a particular case they want you to investigate. They are relying on you because there are aborigines mixed up in it and because the victim of a brutal murder is related to the Premier. He is now blaming Colonel Spender and his officers for incompetence.

And, aside from this, dear Bony, your leave is quite long enough, taken away from us, for your absence to be prolonged. I am getting worried about Bob. He has not written for some time. Ed is well and sends you his love. And Charles has passed his examinations even better than he hoped. I am so glad and proud, and know how proud and glad you will be, too.

Wire me to say that you are coming home. You owe a lot to Colonel Spender, and he wants you now so badly.

Everyour loving wife,

P.S.-Igave John Muir a good talking-to for being so silly as to interest you in the wheat-belt case.

P.P.S.-He has not altered a bit. Rushed in yesterday to tell me that he had got his prisoner to Brisbane and was leaving with him the next morning. Danced me round the kitchen and then insisted on making afternoon tea.

Bony read Marie’s letter a second time. He felt proud of her and very proud of his oldest son, Charles. He was conscious of the position; to which his achievement had raisedhim, feeling warmly satisfied that he, a half-caste, was urgently wanted not only by his adored wife, but by a Chief Commissioner of Police. The telegram he opened with a wry smile. It was short-and to the point.

Such a message would have made many men downcast with disappointment, but Bony chuckled, for he could so easily visualize the Colonel whilst he dictated the telegram. With red face and stuttering speech, he would have raised himself and his chair and banged the chair on the floor at least six times. Bony should have reported for duty before that day, and even if he left Burracoppin that night for the eastern States he would have overstayed his leave by ten days. He foresaw the inevitable “sack” then on its way to him through the mails and tentatively considered an original method of gaining reinstatement.

After dinner this evening Mr Poole and he sat on fruit cases outside the boarding-house shop, when the western sky was like a celestial slaughterhouse and the air was coloured like old port. A long goods train drawn by two engines was then halted at the station, while the engines took on water from the huge iron tank high up on supporting staging. Steam escaping from one engine, with a low roar beneath the hissing, beat on their ears so that when eventually the escape was shut off the drooping Mr Poolesighed his relief.

“The old ’un is a bit waxy tonight,” he said whilst engaged in fashioning one of his long, drooping cigarettes. Mrs Black riles her a deal. Theblanky cow was dry again thismornin ’ when I went to milk her.”

“Why not keep the cow tied up all night?” Bony suggested.

“That’s my idea, but the missus won’t ’aveit,” Mr Poole said, going on to talk as a sage of ancient times. “You know there’s been wiser coves than mewot’s tried to understand a woman and give it up as hopeless. To take my missus. I suppose she’s just average woman. Sometimes she’slovin ’ and soft, and at others she’s like one of them railway engines, ready to bust if the steamain’t let out. But wot raises the steam no man yet, or a woman either, can say. Now a man’s about the same all through the piece. You and me can count onbein ’tomorrer night just wot we are tonight, but there’s no telling what a woman will be like one hour ahead.