Arthur Upfield - Wings above the Diamantina

“Not long ago hypnotism and psycho-analysis were regarded by medical men as outrages on the ethics of your profession, Doctor,” Bony said quietly. “I know the type or class of drug which was given the patient, and this is the antidote.”

“It cannot make the patient worse,” Knowles cut in impatiently. “I’ll give it her.”

“The responsibility will be yours, Knowles,” Stanisforth said stiffly.

“And mine,” Bony added. “And mine. Don’t forget that!”

Illawalli was standing apart with arms folded, his majestic face calm in repose. Elizabeth and Hetty gazed from the doctors to him and back again. Abruptly Knowles turned to the bed.

For several minutes he endeavoured to induce the unconscious girl to swallow, and presently he looked up, defeat written in his eyes. Then Illawalli strode round the bed to reach the opposite side of the patient, whose head was cradled in the doctor’s right arm. Taking her hands into his, he said softly:

“Drink! Drink! Drink! You hear ole Illawallitalkin ’? Hesay drink. You drink, white woman! You wake! You hear ole Illawalli talk. You do what ole Illawalli tell you.”

For ten minutes they watched and waited, Knowles giving the liquid in the basin drop by drop, keeping her mouth slightly open with the tip of a little finger.

“How much, Illawalli?” he presently asked.

“All, whitefeller doctor.”

The minutes passed. The empty basin was taken away by Hetty. They now stood about the foot of the bed. The silence was absolute. Illawalli continued to sitcrouchingly, holding the girl’s hands, and then he cried softly, triumphantly:

“She comes. White lubra she comes back from the darkness. My hands know it.”

“What!”Knowles exclaimed in hissing whisper.

“Hist! Wait!”

The tension grew: became unbearable and yet had to be borne. Illawalli turned partly round to smile at the watchers. Now they found no incongruity in the tweed trousers and the cheap cotton dress shirt and the flying helmet. In Illawalli’s triumphant smile they saw the personality of a man they were never to forget. From him they stared at the marble face still cradled in Knowles’s right arm.

“My hands talk. Put her down, whitefeller doctor,” Illawalli requested.

Knowles obeyed. Darklay the hair, and dark lay the lashes on the marble face, so dreadfully devoid of expression. Then Elizabeth bent forward over the bed-rail, and Knowles drew in his breath with a sharp hiss. Elizabeth thought then that the lashes were trembling, and it was the first time she had seen them move. A moment later the miracle happened.

The face of the girl seemed to dissolve. The cold whiteness and the soullessness of it sank away, to be replaced with life and an expression of calm peace. It was as though a statue was coming to life, was alive and sleeping. About the tender mouth hovered the ghost of a sweet smile.

“You wake, white lubra!” cried old Illawalli. “You open your eyes. You see all whitefeller friends and ole Bony and ole Illawalli. You wake, wake, wake! Open your eyes, your eyes, your eyes!”

Quite abruptly the girl’s eyes were wide open. The smile became more emphatic. The large blue eyes slowly moved their gaze from one to another, taking them all into their orbit.

“You better now, eh?” Illawalli said. “Now you eat plenty tucker, eh? Then you sleep long and wake up strong and goodo, eh?” To Knowles he said: “Quick! Give her tucker. She hungry. Sheeat. Shesleep. Bimeby she goodo.”

“He continued to hold her hands, and Knowles held a consultation with the specialist.

“All goodo, eh?” queried Illawalli. “Me fine feller black-feller doctor, eh? Bimeby you eat plenty tucker. You get strong as buffalo.”

He continued to hold her hands and to murmur about eating and sleeping, and presently Dr Knowles came with a bowl of beef tea and a little toast. And the patient willingly opened her mouth and swallowed.

“Now you sleep,” suggested Illawalli. “You sleep, eh? Sleep is good! Sleep is good!”

And lo! The girl lay sleeping, on her warm face still the sweet smile.

Knots Untied

FOR THE FIRST TIME for weeks a cheerful atmosphere brightened the sunlight falling on Coolibah. Two parties were gathered on the wide south veranda of the spacious house, two parties of happy people taking afternoon tea. One party consisted of the perfect number-two-the patient and Dr Knowles; the other was larger, comprising Elizabeth and her father, Sergeant Cox and Bony, Ted Sharp and Captain Loveacre.

“Bony, before you go, you really must tell us everything,” urged Elizabeth. “I’ve tried the pump-handle on Sergeant Cox, but he clamps that stubborn jaw of his and simply won’t speak.”

Bony regarded her fresh beauty with twinkling eyes. Then he said solemnly:

“I am almost as tongue-tied as Sergeant Cox.”

“Go on, Bony, there’s a decent sort,” urged the airman, one eye still hidden by the bandage covering his nose.

“Very well, then!” assented Bony. “As a preface, I have to assure you that this case has given my vanity a severe shock. Sergeant Cox has done infinitely more important work than I. In this matter I have been a mere amateur, and the only credit I can take is that I guessed the reason for the conspiracy against the patient’s life. Sergeant Cox gathered the proofs.

“Well, the beginning dates back before the war. At the close of 1913 old Mrs Kane was dead, her husband still ruling atTintanoo. Beside that station he owned considerable property, which he then intended to leave equally to his two sons, John and Charles. That was the year when Golden Dawn was a town ten times larger than it is to-day, when a Miss Piggot was teaching at the school, and a Mr Markham, a solicitor, was living there with his wife.

“Early in 1914 Charles eloped with Miss Piggot, and they went to Sydney. Old man Kane called for Mr Markham, and he made a new will, leaving the whole of his estate to John. Thencame the war, and, defying the old man, John joined theA.I. F., went overseas, and eventually obtained a transfer to the Royal Flying Corps. That caused the old man to send for Mr Markham again, and to make a fresh will, leaving everything to his four nephews.

“The old gentleman appeared to have a mania for will-making. In 1920 he made yet another will, in which his two sons were made equal beneficiaries, to the total exclusion of the nephews. Shortly after that John, the son, again quarrelled with his father and went off with a missionary into York Peninsula. He was, strangely enough, keenly interested in anthropology, and when north he heard of Illawalli and his remarkable powers. Once again the old man cut him out of his will, leaving everything to Charles and his heirs.

“Towards the end of this year, 1920, both Charles and his wife were killed in a motor accident, and their tragic deaths materially hastened the death of the old man. Shortly afterwards, Mrs Markham left Golden Dawn to live in Sydney-and to care for Muriel, a daughter born to Charles and his wife, and of whom neither old Kane nor his son John Kane knew anything.

“Old Kane being dead, the son returned to Tintanoo, and it was then made manifest that the old man had been extremely remiss in not himself destroying the wills he had made when each new one was signed. Markham coolly produced the last will, making Charles and his heirs the beneficiaries. Charles was dead, but Charles’s daughter was still living. Markham produced the birth certificate. He then produced the previous will, leaving everything to John, and he suggested that in return for a pension of a thousand a year he would put that will forward for probate and withhold the last one. Having obtained an official copy of the birth certificate of Muriel Kane, John Kane surrendered to the blackmail, or rather concurred in the conspiracy.