Arthur Upfield - Wings above the Diamantina

“No, worse luck.”

“Then we must make this one a stepping-stone for your promotion out of Golden Dawn. Tell me all about it-from the beginning.”

While Sergeant Cox related the facts in proper sequence, now and then assisted by the report he was writing when Bony arrived, the detective smoked cigarettes he took from the pile he had made and sipped several cups of tea, munching buttered scones between the cigarettes.

“Analysis showed that the brandy beside the girl’s bed was doctored with approximately one quarter of an ounce of strychnine reduced to liquid form by boiling in vinegar,” Cox wound up.

“You have a map of the district?”

“Yes. It is there on the wall.”

They rose to stand before the large-scale map, and the sergeant pointed out the places he had mentioned.

“Thank you,” Bony said, turning back to the table. “You have put the case in a manner both concise and clear. I understand that to date the people who have seen that girl are: yourself, this Dr Knowles, the Coolibah housekeeper, and Nettlefold and his daughter. And not one of you recognized her?”

Cox shook his head. “She is a complete stranger to us.”

“At the time of the theft of the monoplane was there any one else in this district able to fly an aeroplane other than Loveacre and his companions and Dr Knowles?”

“Yes. There is Mr John Kane, the owner of a station north of Coolibah, called Tintanoo. He was in the Royal Air Force during the war, but as far as I know he hasn’t piloted a machine since his return from France.”

“Where was he the night that the machine was stolen?”

“Here in Golden Dawn.”

“And the next night, when the machine was burned?”

“At his home at Tintanoo. You may be sure, Bony, I convinced myself that he could have had no hand in it. Besides, although he is a fast liver, he is otherwise well respected. Tons of money.”

“Hum! It is obvious that there is more than one person concerned in this matter, unless, of course, it was possible for one person to burn the aeroplane-if it was destroyed by human action-and then travel nearly seventy miles to poison the brandy at about four o’clock. The latter fact gives us every excuse to assume that the machine was wilfully destroyed. Now this Dr Knowles! Tell me about him.”

“He came here in 1920 from Brisbane where he had lived without practising from early in 1919. He, too, was in the Flying Corps. In fact, he and John Kane were for some time attached to the same squadron. They met again in Brisbane, and it was due to Kane that Knowles came to practise at Golden Dawn.

“Naturally we all welcomed the doctor. He has proved himself a good man. He doesn’t get overmuch work, and yet his fees are reasonable. Private income, I think. Five years ago he bought his first aeroplane. We expected him to break his neck, but he soon showed that he can fly as well as he can doctor. He is, of course, known to us as the flying doctor, but he has no connexion with the Australian Aerial Medical Service, which is responsible for other flying doctors.”

Sergeant Cox regarded Bony steadily when he paused.

“We can forgive a man much when he will fly anywhere in all weather to attend a case. We can overlook his heavy drinking, because I have never seen the man drunk in the ordinary sense. To use a common phrase, he drinks like a fish, and he sticks to spirits, too. The effect of alcohol on him is peculiar. It weakens him from the belt down while having no visible effect from the belt up. And the more he takes the better he flies. He has never given me any trouble. He has always behaved like the gentleman and the man he is.”

“Dear me!”Bony exclaimed. “And how long has this drinking been going on?”

“Ever since he came here, to my knowledge,” Cox affirmed.

“Where is he now-to-day?”

“In town. He came in this morning from Coolibah.”

“Then I think we will go along and see him. By the way, would Mr Nettlefold be kind enough to put me up?”

“Yes, I am sure he would be only too pleased,” Cox said warmly. “He’s worried, of course, about thatpoisoner. He wanted to have the patient moved to Winton hospital, but Miss Nettlefold would not hear of it.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes. Jolly fine girl that. About twenty-six years old. Came home from school to look after the old man when, I hear, she wanted to go in for science. Told me the other day-or at least didn’t tell me, but let me guess-that she had been bored stiff with the dull life at Coolibah, and welcomed the job of nursing. She does the night shift, and the boss stockman out there roams around all night. You see, we half expect another attempt to be made on that girl’s life.”

Bony rose and took up his hat. Once again he stood before the wall map. Then, when he turned to Cox, he said: “I believe, Sergeant, that this case will interest me. I am particularly pleased that the weather has continued fine. Now for Dr Knowles. On our way I will call at the post office to dispatch a telegram to Colonel Spendor.”

Together they walked to the post office, the only brick building in Golden Dawn. Outside, Sergeant Cox stopped to talk with Constable Lovitt, and Bony entered.

The postmaster was writing at a table beyond the counter. Through a glass-built partition could be seen the telephone exchange. The glass door was wide open, and through the doorway Bony noted the young woman who turned to observe him. Cold, appraising eyes of blue regarded him with what in a less attractive person would be a rude stare.

Bony’s message, addressed to Police Commissioner, Brisbane, ran:

Delighted with prospects. Weather has been splendid. Have met exceptionally keen colleague in Sergeant Cox.

StingraysAmong Fishes

ON THE MAJORITY OF Australian sheep and cattle stations people are divided into three grades or classes; for, even among Australia’s most democratic portion of her alleged democratic population, class distinctions are rigidly maintained. Heading this class trilogy on the average station is the owner, or the manager, and his family. They reside in what is termed “government house,” the main residence on the property and the centre from which it is directed. On a great number of stations there is another and less pretentious building housing the apprentices or jackeroos, and the overseer or boss stockman. They are provided with a sitting-room and a dining-room. The “lower orders,” comprising the station men and the tradesmen, inhabit a hut, and their dining-room adjoins the kitchen ruled by their own cook.

At Coolibah there was no separate establishment for jackeroos and the boss stockman. Normally Ted Sharp would have been a member of this middle class, and when Nettlefold asked him if he would live at “government house” for a few days, and carry out night guard while the aeroplane girl was a patient within it, he gladly agreed to the guard duty, but expressed a desire to live with the men.

“I work with them, and when on the run I eat with them, and, as there are no jackeroos’ quarters, I prefer to live with the men here,” he said.

To this, however, Elizabeth would not listen, not that she was more democratic than others of her class, but because Ted Sharp was no ordinary bushman, and… well… just because…

“If you are good enough to keep guard over the house all night and every night,” she told him firmly, “you are good enough to live with us. Don’t argue, Ted, please.”

“All right!” he agreed, sighing, but secretly pleased.

Thus he fell into a routine. All day he slept in a cool room at “government house”; he ate his meals with the manager and his daughter, and at night he roamed about the house or sat on the veranda outside the patient’s room. Elizabeth never saw him after she went on duty, but she knew he was never far away, and consequently felt no anxiety.