Arthur Upfield - Sands of Windee

“I think it quite probable that Marks was murdered,” Bony replied seriously. “If eventually I discover he is not murdered, I shall be bitterly disappointed.”

Then he laughed at the expression on the sergeant’s face, and went on:

“I have taken charge of perhaps two dozen murder cases during mycareer, and of that number only four were really worthy of my brains. As a general rule, murderers are the most stupid of criminals. Almost invariably they leave a corpse to damn them. A few murderers cut up their victims for the police to discover. Never yet was a perfect murder, but this affair of Marks I am hopeful will come near to it. Consequently I am interested. Nowadays, if there is a corpse in the roadway, or on the doorstep, or lying on the library floor, it fails to interest me. It is too simple-too banal.”

Disappearance of Luke Marks

“I HAPPENED to be at Police Headquarters in Sydney recently on the Cave versus Black cattle-duffing case,” Bony explained in his soft, musical, drawling voice. “There I was shown your report and photograph concerning this Marks affair. Although your report was comprehensive, it failed to answer one or two obviously important questions. Your chief was agreeable to my coming, but my chief ordered me to return to Brisbane.”

“And you’re here?” Sergeant Morris said with faint interrogation.

“I wired my chief saying that I had come across an interesting murder case, and again asked his permission to take it up. Again he ordered me to return. Sometimes, Sergeant, I am annoyed by people thinking that I am a policeman to be ordered about like a private soldier, whereas I am a crime investigator.”

Bony chuckled. Morris was frankly perplexed.

“Well?” he urged.

“I wired my immediate resignation, adding that I would demand reinstatement when I had finalized the case to my satisfaction.”

As a disciplinarian the sergeant was horrified. He wasacquainted, however, with the facts relating to Bony’s joining the detective force of Queensland, which he did with no less a rank than that of detective-sergeant. He was badly needed in Queensland, first for his supreme tracking powers, and quickly afterwards for his bush knowledge and reasoning ability. He demanded the high rank, and his terms were granted, and within a very few years he had justified his rank and on special occasions his services were eagerly sought by and loaned to the police chiefs of other States.

One of the half-caste’s few vices was a prodigious vanity. Yet this vanity was based on concrete results. His record was something to be vain of. His particular vice, however, was sometimes a source of irritation to his chief, for unless a case possessed unusual features Bony refused to take it up. For this reason his resignation had been demanded and tendered a dozen or more times, invariably to be followed by a request to resume his position when the next baffling bush tragedy took place; whereupon his superiors were only too glad to condone his indifference to authority and red tape for the sake of his unique gifts in the clearing up of crime.

“You think, then, your commissioner will reinstate you?” Sergeant Morris countered.

“Decidedly.”Bony laughed gently. “Colonel Spender will turn blue in the face and swear worse than a bullock-driver, but I am what I am because I do not stultify my brains on ordinary police-man’s-beat cases. Now detail to me this Marks affair. I will question as you proceed, entirely forgetful of your report.”

“Very well,” Morris assented. For a few moments he was silent, whilst he drew a rough plan on the red sandy ground with a small stick. Then:

“On August seventeenth a fellow calling himself Luke Marks arrived at Mount Lion in a Chevrolet car, and put up at the only hotel in the place. He gave out that he was a Sydney business-man engaged on a motor holiday trip. He said he was an old friend of Mr Jeffrey Stanton, owner of Windee Station, and would visit Mr Stanton before he went on south to Broken Hill. I saw Marks only once-when I went through the hotel after hours to see that only genuine travellers were on the premises. He was thick-set, about five feet ten, brown hair andeyes, aged about fifty. He stayed at Mount Lion two days before driving off to Windee in the morning. It is only eighteen miles, and he arrived there at twelve-fifteen. He lunched with Mr Stanton, and left at half-past two to go to Broken Hill.”

The uniformed man prodded his stick into the ground. “Here is Mount Lion. Here, eighteen miles south-west of thetownship, is Windee homestead. To go to Broken Hill from Windee it is unnecessary to turn back through Mount Lion. The Broken Hill track branches from the Mount Lion track two miles from the homestead, going direct south-east. The junction of the tracks is ten miles from the south boundary, and about the same distance from the east boundary, of Windee.

“Six days after Marks left the homestead his car was found four chains off the road north of the junction. It was in perfect order. There was no sign of Marks. The country all about is a maze of low sand-ridges on which grow pine trees with a sprinkling of mulga.

“I was notified by telephone and went out at once to the abandoned car. Of tracks there were none, for the ground was sandy and dry, and there’d been two windstorms since Marks was last seen. Nevertheless, I organized Mr Stanton’s men on a wide and thorough search, and took two native trackers from a small tribe camped near the homestead in an effort to pick up tracks near the car. The parties were out more than a week. The blacks could pick up no single tracks. In fact they knew, by the nature of the ground, plus the windstorms, that it was a waste of time looking for tracks.”

“The trackers’ names, please,” requested Bony softly.

“Moongalliti, the king, and Ludbi, one of his sons,” Morris answered.

“Had you ever had occasion to use them before?”

“Yes. Once a stockman’s child was bushed. They found her, but too late. The mite was dead.”

“In comparing their activities on the two occasions, would you say that on the second the trackers were loath to work?”

“Well, yes,” Sergeant Morris admitted. “You see, they knew when Marks left Windee, knew that six days had passed before his abandoned car was found, and remembered those two windstorms. They wouldn’t move and I can’t blame them.”

“Well, well!” murmured the half-caste, rolling his fifth cigarette with slim, pink-nailed, black hands. “Go on.”

“As I stated, the horse parties were out more than a week scouring the country, and they found absolutely no trace of Marks. Considering the nature of the country, ridges of sand a dozen miles all round, excepting in the direction of the homestead, ridges which a windstorm-and there were two of great velocity and of hours’ duration-will move several yards, it would really be improbable for them to have found any trace of Marks.

“Although it was not hot weather, Marks would have circled and circled until he dropped, and if he died at the foot of a ridge on its eastward side, the wind would have blown the ridge on him and buried him beneath tons of sand. Circle he doubtless would do, being a city man.

“To me the only mystery is why he drove his car off the track for ninety yards before he abandoned it. But it may be explained by the fact that he lookedan habitual drinker, and in fact got drunk one night in Mount Lion.”

“What condition was he in when he left Windee?” Bony asked.

“Well-slightly drunk,” the sergeant replied disapprovingly. “At lunch Mr Stanton produced a bottle of port, and Marks drank most of it. Drink, I believe, is the foundation of the whole affair. I think he went to sleep in the car, and it ran off the road, just missing two trees, and was eventually stopped by the heavy sand. He probably slept till dark, woke up wondering where he was, and looked about for the track. Forgetting to turn on the headlights in his muddled state, he lost touch with his car and wandered away in a fruitless search for it.”