Arthur Upfield: Murder down under

“There is none whatever. I solved another little mystery this morning. I found out that your father and Eric have just paid the deposit on that vacant farm south of your own home. Eric must be leaving the Rabbit Department. I remember the farm they have bought. There is a very nice little house on it, isn’t there?”

“Oh, Bony! True?” sheasked, the fingers of one hand now at her lips.

He nodded. “And I’ve another piece of information,” he said.

“What is that?”

“Sunflower says that she will never marry anyone because she cannot marry me,” Bony explained gravely, and then laughed in his low, attractive manner. The expected visitors appeared at the farther end of the ward. Quickly Bony leaned over the patient. He said:

“Don’t tell them that we know about that farm deal, will you?”

Again Lucy sighed, her soul strangely at peace.

Bony’s twinkling eyes beamed upon Mr Jelly advancing towards them. The cigar-shaped figure and the halo of grey hair above the farmer’s ears made of him a picture of benevolence. Hurley smiled and nodded at Bony before falling on his knees beside the bed. Little Sunflower drew close to Bony, took one of his brown hands, and squeezed it.

Landon AnswersThe Riddle

MICK LANDON had not slept well. He awoke when the last day was full come. He lay with his eyes open for a long time whilst his mind struggled to dispel the terrible nightmare during which he had tried to flee from the monster, unseen and beyond the power of his imagination to create.

Presently his eyes became focused on a blot of discoloration in the centre of the whitewashed ceiling above him, and this mark, no larger than a crown piece, first puzzled him and then brought, with ever-increasing swiftness, realization of his situation. Now the familiar mental lethargy swept over his brain once again. It was a struggle against physical lassitude to rise from his bed. Dully he stared at the uniformed Recording Angel seated beyond the door grille of his cell.

There was a table there, and a warder had sat at it day and night for nearly three weeks, writing down every word spoken by him and to him and describing every action. Three warders took up the duty in timed shifts, and these Landon now knew to the individual wrinkles on their stern faces. Landon opened his mouth to speak, knew that the man on duty there would not answer him, refrained, and dressed slowly.

The chaplain came. The grille was unlocked to admit him and immediately relocked. He spoke of “Our Lord” and “Christ”, and of the “salvation of souls”. He suggested prayer, and, like an automaton, Landon sank on his knees beside the minister. He heard not a word of the plea to Christ to intercede with the Father for mercy on his soul. Without knowing what he said, he muttered the words of the Lord’s Prayer.

It was strange how he felt that he was sleepwalking while being fully conscious of it, as though his mind was living one life and his body living another, the two lives running parallel, inseparable. His mental entity thought how strange it was that the minister’s face was so haggard, whilst his bodily entity pointed out that the chaplain wanted badly a long holiday. When the minister reached the grille, and the warder was about to open it, Landon touched him on the shoulder. He said with effort: “Is it-is it today?”

Shocked by the knowledge that his spiritual charge had failed to understand the purport of his recent prayers, the minister could only nod his head in a helpless gesture before quickly making his escape.

A few minutes later a warder appeared with a tray and was admitted. He set the tray on the small clamped table.

“Your breakfast, Landon,” he said kindly when Landon looked at him almost stupidly. “Come and sit down to it. We managed to wangle some nice crisp bacon and an egg. And a pot of strong coffee.”

Before he sat down on the stool clamped to the floor like the table the wretched man leaned over the table and touched the warder on the coat sleeve. He said: “Is it-is it today?”

As the minister had done, the warder nodded. Then Landon sat down and mechanically ate his last breakfast. He ate slowly. He had utterly lost the sense of taste. Even the coffee was tasteless. The warder produced a carton of cigarettes, offered them to him, struck a match. Landon found, too, that he had lost his sense of smell. He saw the smoke which was expelled from his lungs but could not smell it. The warder withdrew, and Landon began to pace the cell.

His back was towards the grille when the doctor arrived. Hearing the lock click back, Landon swung round with suddenly flashing eyes, which quickly became lacklustre when he saw whowas this visitor. “Well, Landon? How do you feel?” the medico inquired briskly.

“All right, doctor. Is it-is it today?”

With the ball of his index finger on Landon’s pulse, the doctor nodded as the minister had done, as the warder had done. “You’ll want a bracer,” he said less briskly. “I’ve brought you one. It will make things easier.”

When Landon had drunk the draught in the aluminium tumbler he said:

“What is the time, sir?” To which the doctor replied:

“Don’t know. My watch has gone bung. Don’t worry.”

When the doctor had gone Landon leaned against the grille, his fingers clenched round the bars. The recording warder looked stolidly at his book-or appeared to be so doing. “What’s the time, warder?” Landon asked.

The warder made no reply. He was writing in his book.

Presently to Landon came the sound of quick steps of several men in the passage beyond his line of vision. The many footsteps were timed like those of a squad of soldiers. The warder stood up. The man’s eyes appeared as though fixed, even though the lids almost obscured them. He did not look at the prisoner.

Beyond the grille two men appeared dressed in civilian clothes. Things they carried gleamed like polished steel. Behind them stood several warders, the chaplain wearing his surplice, the doctor, the governor.

Whilst the two civilians passed into the cell Landon’s gaze was fixed on theweatherbeaten face of the taller, who walked forward towards him. With the coming of this man, whose face he remembered so well, every weight hanging to his muscles was lifted. He became buoyant with life. The lethargy vanished. He wondered why the tall man regarded him with frozen features. The other man slipped behind him. The tall man gripped Landon’s wrists. He said: “It is a time for courage.”

Then Mick Landon knew. He was not a friend, this tall, powerful man with the halo of grey hair resting on his ears. He was-! He was-! Landon screamed.

“Mr Jelly! Mr Jelly! I won’t go! I tell you, I won’t go, Mr Jelly!”