Arthur Upfield: Wings above the Diamantina

“So you see, sir, that I fell down on the job,” Bony pointed out to the white-haired, fierce-eyed gentleman sitting in a lounge chair within a comfortably-furnished study. “Had I used my brain properly I could have finalized the case weeks ago and have saved the State the expense of sending that aeroplane for Illawalli, and the expense of sending another back with him. To Sergeant Cox is due the entire credit for clearing up a nice little puzzle.”

“H’rumph!” snorted Colonel Spendor. “Now tell me why you had the effrontery to telegraph me here at my private residence concerning an official matter? And why the devil do you come here to make your report? The office is the place, sir, for all official business.”

“But are you not pleased to see me, sir?” asked Bony with innocent astonishment.

“Of course, but what’s that to…”

“And, sir, have you not been entertained by my story of the stolen aeroplane?”

“I do not deny it,” shouted the colonel. “Bring two of those glasses from the sideboard-and the damned whisky. Hi! We must have that Illawalli feller attached to us for duty.”

“Would you kill an old man, sir?” Bony inquired, setting glasses and decanter on the small table beside the Chief of the Queensland Police Force.

“Why, no! Of course not!”

“Then permit him to return to his own people. He would die soon in a white man’s city. In return for his services, I told him that you would be pleased to present him with a gold watch and chain.”

“A gold… A gold watch and chain! Where the devil am I to get gold watches and chains to present to aboriginal chiefs? Tell me that.”

“I thought, sir, that you might like to buy him one. The Chief Secretary… a special grant, sir. Illawalli would be so proud to have a watch presented by you, sir.”

The colonel glared. He was about to suggest a toast, remembered himself, and glared again at the well-dressed and debonair half-caste.

“Well, remind me about it in the morning. What next?”

“Er… with reference to Sergeant Cox, sir. I hear that a sub-inspectorshipwill shortly become vacant. The Red Tape Worshippers are backing Miller. Now Sergeant Cox…”

Colonel Spendor banged the table, his face growing deeply scarlet, and through the openfrench windows from the veranda came a cool, sweet voice which said:

“Now, Father! Keep your temper.”

“Er…h’rumph. Yes, of course, my dear,” the colonel stuttered. “But this damned Bony feller…”

“Please, Father, vary your expletives. The one becomes so monotonous,” pleaded the sweet voice.

“Your pardon, my dear. I forgot you were there.”

Colonel Spendor glared at Bony. He was very angry. And then slowly anger melted before the sun of a big and generous heart.

“There is a vacancy here and now, of which you know nothing,” he said. “If your report, to reach me to-morrow, coincides with your verbal report this evening, Sergeant Cox shall receive the promotion and a transfer.”

“I will keep the Colonel to his word, Bony,” promised the sweet voice.

“Sir, I know a good policeman when I meet him,” added Bony, referring to Sergeant Cox.

“And I know a damned bad one when I look at him, and I am looking at one this moment,” the colonel flashed.

“Your opinion of me, sir, exactly coincides with my own,” Bony instantly agreed.

The colonel chuckled, and rose to his feet to stand with military stiffness. Together they passed through the windows to the veranda where a little woman sat in the falling twilight.

“Madam,” Bony murmured, bowing, “I thank you for your support this evening.”

“You deserved it, Bony, in return for your most interesting story, well told,” replied Mrs Spendor. “And you need not remind the Colonel of his promise to send to that wonderful aboriginal chief the gold watch and chain. I will see to that, too.”

And when the sound of Bony’s departing taxi died away, Colonel Spendor lit a cigar.

“My worst policeman,” he said.“My best detective!”