Arthur Upfield - Murder down under

“Meaning that she holds the key to the mystery,” Lucy said, laughing. “You see, I haven’t forgotten all my French.”

“Nor have you forgotten anything about cotton,” he added, laughing with her.

Bony was coming to respect Lucy Jelly for her mental qualities. She was so feminine, yet so sure of herself. She was entirely without the frivolity and shallowness of many young girls, so very worthy to receive his confidences. So he said:

“I think I know where Loftus is, and I believe that Mrs Loftus, too, knows where her husband is.”

“Do you?” She was staring at him when she added: “And do you think Father knows?”

“Frankly, I cannot say ‘yes’ to that. Precisely what is the mainspring of his interest in the disappearance of George Loftus I have no idea, unless he is engaged in a little private detective work, thinking that the police have given up the case. Of course there may be something inside the Loftus house which he badly wants, which would explain his visit there the other night. Much concerning him will be made clear when he receives the next telegram, because I shall then know who sent it, and, knowing, can trace the reason of it all.

“I’ll have a quiet talk to Eric about our going to the place on Saturday. We shall want his assistance. Yes, that is a very lovely centre. Hullo, Sunflower! Have you and Eric finished already?”

“It doesn’t take him and me long to wash up. We can talk and work. Lucy and Mrs Saunders can’t talk and work, Mr Bony,” the maid explained, adding when she saw that her sister was about to offer objection: “Look! What did I say? Lucy has put in only five threads since you have been out here together. I said that she couldn’t talk and work at the same time.”

“You have sharp eyes,” Bony said with admiration.

“Have I? I wish they were as sharp as yours.”

“They are, every bit, Sunflower. Eyes become sharp with practice. It is a great asset to be able to use one’s eyes, and that is done only by making observation a habit. What were you both doing down at the dam this afternoon?”

With a pretty blush Sunflower said:

“How did you know?”

“Well, as both you and Miss Lucy went to the dam this afternoon, I assume that you went in for a bathe. There are faint smears of clay on your shoes. The clay is identical with that surrounding the dam.”

When the laughter had subsided, in which Mrs Saunders and Eric were able to join. Sunflower suggested with wonderful tact that Bony might like to play a game of euchre. Quick to see what lay behind this suggestion, he instantly agreed and followed the maid and Mrs Saunders into the living-room-kitchen, leaving Lucy and her lover to stroll away through the fast-falling dusk.

The three played euchre with much concentration for over an hour, when the dogs barked, and a moment later steps sounded on the veranda boards. From the open doorway Mick Landon said pleasantly:

“Good evening, everyone! May I come in?”

“Certainly, Mr Landon. Will you take a hand at euchre?” Sunflower asked politely but not warmly.

When Landon stepped into the lamplight they saw that he was dressed in a well-pressed pair of gabardine trousers, a white shirt with collar laid back and sleeves rolled to the elbows, and white tennis shoes. As usual, he was shaved. Seating himself at the table, he said:

“Really I came over for a word with Eric. Is he out?”

“Yes, but they’ll be back for supper shortly,” Mrs Saunders told him, holding the pack of cards ready to deal.

“If I may, I’ll wait. Please deal me a hand too.”

Coolly sure of himself, Landon picked up the cards dealt him, smiled at Sunflower, and nodded genially at Bony. He asked Mrs Saunders how she was weathering the heat, and of Sunflower how she enjoyed the dance at the Jilbadgie Hall.

“We shall not be having another dance till March,” he said regretfully. “It’s too hot during the summer to have dances, don’t you think?”

“Yes, it is” Mrs Saunders agreed. “And besides, people are too tired to go off to dances after a long harvesting day. There’s the dogs barking again. That’ll be Lucy and her boy coming back.”

The lovers entered a few moments later.

“Here is Mr Landon waiting to see you, Eric,” announced Sunflower, when the two halted just inside the door.

“Evening, Miss Jelly. Hullo, Eric!”

“What do you want to see me about?” Hurley asked, unfortunately, soBony thought, glancing quickly at him.

Laying down his cards, Landon swung round to face the fence-rider.

“Mrs Loftus was saying that you called yesterday to make an offer for her haystack. We saw you pass with Bony this evening, and she asked me to come over to find out if you have found a seller yet.”

“Well, no, I haven’t.”

“You offered two pounds, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Hurley replied stiffly.

“Do you think that your man would go a bit higher?”

Bony’s eyes were engaged with the task of making a cigarette, yet he sensed that once again Hurley glanced at him sharply. All his nerves felt as though tautened by one string, as a violin string is tightened by a musician.

“He might go a little higher,” Hurley admitted after that revealing glance. “What would Mrs Loftus take?”

When Landon next spoke Bony knew that he was bluffing.

“Well, really it is not for her to say what she would take, but rather what your man is prepared to give. She is not at all anxious to sell, but, being a businesswoman, she would feel bound to accept a good offer.” The man paused, then added: “Say three pounds a ton.”

Hurley did not now need silently to refer to Bony. Three pounds per tone for hay in the stack was absurdly high. He did not see, as did Bony, that the sum was set high purposefully.

“A man would be a fool to pay three pounds, Mick.”

“Of course he would,” Landon agreed instantly. “As I said, Mrs Loftus doesn’t want to sell, but she will sell for a really good price. Who’s the man who wants to buy?”

“I was asked not to say.”

“Perhaps I could guess?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Was it George Loftus?”

The detective noted how Landon’s peculiar slate-blue eyes were blazing at Hurley. Instead of prevaricating, as Bony would have done by asking a cross question, Hurley answered Landon’s question in the negative.

“Was it Mr Jelly?”

Bony learned afterwards that at this point Hurley feared that Landon would find out what he wanted to know by a process of elimination. The fence-rider suddenly retrieved his former mistakes by saying in a hesitating manner:

“Er-oh no! It wasn’t Mr Jelly. It’s no use keeping on, Mick. I shall not tell you who asked me to buy hay. Anyway, if Mrs Loftus won’t sell at two pounds, I’m sure I’ll find someone else who will.”

Landon capitulated with a smile. Getting to his feet, he said:

“Very well, if you won’t say.”

Bony could have patted Hurley’s back with approbation, for his hesitant reply removed Landon’s suspicions that the buyer was Bony and centred them on the absent Mr Jelly.

“Your father away again just now?” he said to Lucy Jelly with the calculating eyes of a sensualist. It made Hurley fidget. Bony felt a surge of blood at the temples.

“Yes. He went on Sunday,” Lucy replied coldly.

“What time Sunday?”

“I think Mrs Loftus will be waiting to know about the hay, Mr Landon.”

Once againcame Landon’s easy laughter. It was as though he knew his power over women, knew that he had but to exert himself to conquer Lucy Jelly.

“I seem crammed full of questions, don’t I?” he said. “Mr Jelly is a strange man. One of these times when he goes away he will never come back. If you rear a parrot in parrot country, directly the young bird can fly it will go away with the wild ones for ever-lengthening periods until the time comes when it will stay with the wild ones for good. I’ll be going. Good night, everyone!”