Arthur Upfield - Wings above the Diamantina

Loveacre had received a severe blow to his head and another to his face. He came round to reality to find himself lying on wet ground with heavy rain beating down on his upturned face. In his throat was the fire of raw whisky. Quite oblivious to the elements was a little, round-faced man standing beside him.

“Do you think you could walk across to the road where I was obliged to leave my car?” this man had asked. “You’re too heavy for me to carry, but you certainly require surgical attention.”

“I’ll try,” Loveacre assented. “How’s my passenger?”

“Passenger? I’ve seen no passenger!”

With the assistance of Mr Gurner, Captain Loveacre had looked for but had failed to find Illawalli. The storm was intense. Gurner was anxious to reach St Albans before the heavy rain sank far into the ground and produced bogs on the road, and the captain was really too ill to be much concerned about the disappearance of the old chief. He fainted once before the car was reached, thereafter suffering periods of unconsciousness while being taken to the bush nurse stationed at St Albans. Not only was St Albans Gurner’s destination: it was nearer to the scene of the crash than Coolibah and Dr Knowles.

Gurner stated that he had left his hotel two miles behind when the biplane flew over him. He did not actually see it land, but, having passed through the Tintanoo boundary, he saw the tail showing above a line of tobacco bush right off the road. Gurner had crossed to the disabled machine to find Captain Loveacre hanging head downward from his seat. He had not seen a second man. The storm broke while he was getting the unconscious airman clear of the machine, and only after a considerable time had he been successful in bringing Loveacre to his senses.

Gurner and the St Albans constable had been met by Bony the next morning at the scene of the unfortunate landing. The detective had with him both Shuteye and Bill Sikes. The storm had obliterated all possibility of tracking Illawalli, and no signs of him had been found then or subsequently. Havinglearned who the passenger was, the constable offered what Bony had to accept as a sound theory. The flight and the crash had so frightened Illawalli that he had run away, and, doubtless, even now was making his way back to his own country.

All night through Bony had crouched over a little camp fire, now and then pushing together the ends of four or five sticks in order to maintain a low flame. Near by stood the utility, and beside it slept the two blacks. He had spared neither them nor himself. Tintanoo, theMartells and Coolibah had contributed horsemen to muster miles of surrounding country for Illawalli. All effort had been without result.

It was supremely urgent to finalize this case, to secureone, if not more, vital links of the chain he was forging. The evening before he had learned from Dr Knowles that Muriel Markham now was rapidly sinking. Dr Stanisforth had arrived to join forces in the fight to prolong her life. It was the physical condition of Muriel Markham that placed the detective in a dreadful quandary. Should he order the arrest of John Kane without having the proof that Kane was at the head of the conspiracy?

If he ordered the arrest of John Kane, and despite luck and bluff failed to obtain a confession of complicity, his fine reputation would be blasted. People like John Kane cannot be arrested on flimsy evidence. Morally certain that Kane had been behind the whole matter of the stolen aeroplane, Bony toyed with an idea this early morning-an idea that was nothing less than conscripting his two aboriginal companions, kidnapping the squatter and taking him deep into the bush where means might be found to force a confession from him.

It was, however, only an idea-an idea he knew to be beyond possibility of being put into practice. It was not that the execution of such an idea would ruin him, but rather that it might prove to be fruitless. Without proof he could not move against the squatter.

The sun slipped above the horizon, and still Bony crouched and pondered what his next move was to be. Shuteye awoke and called Bill Sikes, and presently they crossed to the fire, their coming arousing Bony to the reality of the new day and the desire for food.

“You bin sit hereorl night, eh?” Shuteye exclaimed with wide eyes. “Now, you buck up, Bony. All thing goodo bimeby.”

His brain aching, Bony looked up into the big, round, jovial, black face, and then at the other, ugly and scarred, that came into his vision beside the fat one. When he did not speak, Shuteye did.

“Me, I don’t reckon ole Illawalli run off back home at all. Suppose he was frightened blackfeller when aeroplane came downsmasho! At first he run and run, and then bimeby he remember good feller Bony and he stoprunnin ’. Hesay: ‘Bony, he fix me up goodo. Hegimme plenty tucker andtobaccer.’ Then ole Illawalli, him come look-see ole Bony. P’haps hesee homestead, and he tell people he look-see Bony and they telephone.”

“Well, he has not returned, nor has he got any station people to communicate with us,” Bony pointed out, adding: “And this is the beginning of the third day since he vanished.”

“P’haps he notrun away any time,” Bill Sikes put in. “P’haps he’s hid up somewhere. That Jack Johnsonlook like he know something. When we were there I talked to him about Illawalli and hekeeplookin ’ on the ground. Jack Johnson no good feller. He’s crook.”

“You mean the yardman at Gurner’s Hotel?”

“Too right! I bet that that Jack Johnsonknow where ole Illawalli is.”

“We go find out, eh?” suggested Shuteye. “P’haps Jack Johnson he pretty fine feller and know nothing, but we grab ’imand take ’imaway into bush and make him talk, eh?”

Black eyes no longer reflected a humorous soul.

“Hum! There lies a possibility I have not considered. You should have spoken like this the day before yesterday,” Bony said slowly. Gradually his lack-lustre eyes regained their old keen brightness. He expelled his breath, breathed deeply. He felt as though he was emerging from a dark cavern into brilliant sunlight.

Self! He had thought only of himself, of his career, of his unblemished reputation. What was all that weighed in the balance against that young woman’s life? It was as air. The fact was that he was becoming old, too cautious, too prone to follow the civil service gutter marked out by red tape. Red tape had never been any assistance to him. Daring and the contempt of established authority, on the other hand, had more than once enabled him to bring to a brilliant close a difficult investigation.

Still crouched over the fire, he offered no assistance to his companions, who now were preparing the breakfast ofjohnny -cakes and grilled kangaroo steak. The depression that had enchained his mind was giving way to the growing strength of a clear resolution.

Bluff! That was it, bluff! He had to bluff! Bluff offered a chance to dig from the ground of obscurity a nugget of fact. Time was on the side of the opposing force, and this was the first of his cases in which it had been. Formerly time had been on his side. Patience had been the chief factor of his success. Patience! He had been too patient!

The investigation was like a machine he was laboriously building-a machine that would never work until he possessed all the component parts. Well, he would heave a crowbar into the machine, smash it, and then see what parts he had with which to begin again. He would order the arrest of Owen Oliver on suspicion of having destroyed Captain Loveacre’s aeroplane. Oliver might talk, and, if he did not, then he would have to be made to talk. In addition to this move he would search Gurner’s Hotel for Illawalli without the formality of a search warrant. Bluff! It would be a gigantic bluff. He would either smash his career or discover the person who drugged Miss Double M. Into his world of thought entered the pleasing voice of Shuteye.