Arthur Upfield - Sands of Windee

The two ladies had the bar to themselves for over an hour, a seemingly endless hour for Mrs Bumpus. At half-past eight Sergeant Morris came in to inquire if Fred Slater was about, and. since Mrs Thomas said never a word whilst he was present, he did not interfere with her enjoyment, but left in search of the desired Slater and his car. Half an hour after that, when Mrs Bumpus was preparing to shut the door, eject Mrs Thomas with the help of the yardman if necessary, and close the bar, she heard her husband’s car coming bumping along the miniature hills and valleys forming the main thoroughfare of the town. She knew it was his car because of the metallic screech made by a loosened mudguard.

The car stopped before the front entrance for precisely two seconds, and then was driven round into the shed in the yard behind the building. After a further thirty seconds her husband appeared behind the counter.

“Back at last!” he said, cheerfully snatching up a glass and swooping down on the bag-covered bottles of beer.

“ ’Bouttime, too! I’m sick of this, Bumpus,” snapped his lady. “It’sgone time and the sergeant’s in town, so close up and let’s get to bed while there’s a chance of a night’s rest.”

“You can go on, Ethel,” Bumpus said after he had drunk and sighed with ineffable satisfaction. “That half-caste fellow Bony came in with me from Windee. Says he’s got a cheque and isgoin ’ter spend it.”

“Give me a drink, Bumpus,” demanded Mrs Thomas, fumbling with her handbag.

Surveying her, Bumpus was on the verge of refusing, but just before then he had been examining the contents of the till. It had been a poor evening financially. And Mrs Thomas threw down before him a florin.

“What’ll you ’ave, Mrs Thomas?” he asked familiarly.

“Brandy and soda, quick! I beendrinking coloured water. Your missus got no idea of running a pub, ’deed she hasn’t. Have one yourself.”

Mrs Bumpus vanished, leaving with her husband an impression that she would deal out the beans later, probably when he was comfortably tired and was about to fall asleep. He and his guest were toasting each other for the second time, when Bony entered the bar and, after one swift glance round, smiled broadly, glanced at the clock, and closed and bolted the public entrance. Then:

“Good evening, Mrs Thomas! I thought you were spending Christmas at Windee.”

Mrs Thomas sat up more regally on her barrel, regarded Bony with slightly bemused eyes, and, without pause between words, said in welcome:

“Good-evening-Mister-couldn’t-stick-Windee-girl-stuck-up-ole-man-a lways-grumbling-no-comfort-come-here-for-merry-Christmas-have-a-drink- with-me.”

“With pleasure,” accepted Bony, walking to that end of the bar which appeared to have become Mrs Thomas’s favourite corner. “A glass of beer, please.”

“Brandy ’n’ soda-haveoneyourself.”

With laughing good humour Bony drank, and ordered the glasses to be re-filled. He laughed gaily at and with the suddenly rejuvenated Mrs Thomas, and noted with satisfaction that the task he had set himself would not be nearlyso difficult as he had expected. For be it noted that he had come to Mount Lion with the intention of getting Mrs Thomas very drunk.

He now beheld Mrs Thomas already very drunk. He observed, too, with interest, that Mrs Thomas, although very drunk, could speak distinctly and knew what she was about when producing money from her handbag. Without her hat, with the marks of tears running vertically down her powdered and rouged cheeks, swaying slightly on her barrel, the woman presented a striking contrast to her appearance on the first occasion he had beheld her. A drunken man is a disgusting sight; a drunken woman is a tragic one.

Still, Bony had his plans. He drank beer and Mrs Thomas drank brandy but whereas Mrs Thomas drank to the last drop, Bony drained most of his into the long trough of sawdust at the foot of the counter. And whilst he drank and slyly wasted his liquor, and “shouted” and watched Mrs Thomas drink, he marvelled at the command she retained of her speech, even as he marvelled to see by perceptible degrees her eyelids become heavier. It was to him a fresh manifestation of the effects of alcohol on the human brain-a subject that interested him both scientifically and professionally.

Finally the point was reached when no longer could Mrs Thomas keep open her eyes, although her mind was still active and her speech clear and sensible.

“Well, what about bed?” inquired Mr Bumpusyawning.

“The word has a good sound,” Bony agreed. “What’s my room?”

“Number four.”

“Good! Now, Mrs Thomas, permit me to escort you to yours,” Bony murmured gallantly.

“All right! Give us aDoch and Doris, Bumpus, and a half-bottle for the morning,” and Mrs Thomas fumbled blindly in her bag and produced a pound note. She held out her right hand gropingly, and Bony placed the full glass within the clutching fingers. She drank with her eyes shut.

“That will do me,” Bony said colloquially.“My arm, Mrs Thomas. What number is your room?”

“Seven, Mister Bony. Seven it is. Where’s me reviver?”

“I have it here safe.”

“Righto! Good night, Bumpus! You’re all right, but missus, missus no business woman. Yes, I mind the step. Got me reviver? Yes? Blessed dark-can’t see a dratted thing!”

Raising the flap in the counter-top, Mr Bumpus winked at Bony in a manner supposed to be devilish significant; and Bony, pretending to be slightly muddled, winked back quite in the generally approved manner.

Although she stated that the world wasdrattedly dark, Mrs Thomas came to be aware of the darkness of the passage leading to the bedrooms. In a tone of voice startlingly like that of a girl of seventeen, she giggled, and Mrs Bumpus, lying awake in her bed, heard her say:

“Only to my door, Mister Bony. Young men only escort young ladies to their doors. Ah, naughty young man! Well, if you must, just one!” And, to Bony’s horror, she made a loud sound with her mouth indicative of kissing.

Too busy in the bar counting the day’s takings, Mr Bumpus failed to light his guests to their rooms, so that with his free hand Bony was obliged to strike a match to find room No. 7. Fortunately they stood outside it at that moment.

“Bed! Lead me to it, Mister Bony,” commanded the astonishing woman. “You brought my reviver? Good! Set it on the table with a glass so that I’ll find it in the morning.” Bony had got her to the bed. She felt for it with her hands and rolled forward on it. “Good night, dear friend!” she cried. “Well, if you must, just one,” and again she made that most suggestive sound.

Bony fled, feeling hot all about his ears, but he withdrew and pocketed the key before he closed the door loudly. And a second or so laterhis own door closed as loudly.

He gave the inmates of the hotel two hours to fall asleep, and at the end of the third hour he had discovered the confession of one Fred Sims relative to a dead baby being buried by Joseph North.

At seven in the morning he was interviewing Sergeant Morris, and after cunning argument got that official to countermand the order for the arrest of Dot and Dash. Sergeant Morris was also persuaded that Mrs Thomas was an undesirable visitor to Mount Lion, and that her departure by the mail-car which left at ten-thirty that morning would be of service to her.

Bony-and a Map

BONY HAD arrived at Mount Lion just when Sergeant Morris was about to leave for Windee in Fred Slater’s car. He had then informed the official that the arrest of Dot and Dash was of no further importance to his plans, and that he would explain how that came to be in the morning. By no means satisfied, Sergeant Morris had yet given up the prospect of a long night’s work with a thankfulness he did not admit openly even to himself.