Arthur Upfield: Sands of Windee

“Well, as you like New South Wales, you had better get back there quick. There is nothing for you to do here.”

“I was not detained in New South Wales, but in Toowoomba, which, as you know, is in Queensland. You see, sir, as Toowoomba lay in my way, I thought it as well to stay there a day or two and clear up the little difficulty of that bank robbery.”

“But Sergeant Wills-”

“An excellent man, sir,” Bony cut in; “methodical and sure. However, he lacks imagination. His methods plus my imagination achieved results. I took over the case two days ago-last Wednesday. I presume that my reinstatement will date from Wednesday morning, sir?”

Bony was smiling. His blue eyes beamed benevolently on the red-faced colonel. Again Colonel Spender bumped his chair. He tried to snort, but failed. He could only glare.

“The New South Wales Commissionerwill doubtless report to you my failure in the Far West case,” Bony went on. “Paradoxically, I succeeded, yet failed. I have admitted failure in Sydney. I shall admit failure to my colleagues in Queensland.”

“Fail! You fail!” gasped the astounded chief.

“Yes, Mr Chief Commissioner, I have failed for the first time in my career.”

“Damn you! I don’t believe you, Bony.”

“Officially, sir, that is my report.”

“And unofficially?”

“Sir, we have known each other for many years,” Bony said gravely. “Will you permit us now to meet as private individuals? I have lost or shall lose the respect of my colleagues, but I want badly to retain yours. I owe it to you and to myself.”

“I knew there was something behind your insubordination,” Colonel Spender said more calmly. “Lock the cursed door and tell me the yarn.”

Bony told “the yarn”. He told Colonel Spender what he had told Father Ryan. He explained that the death of Marks was not really murder, but justifiable homicide. He described how he had found Dot, the American, dead of snake-bite, and how he found he could not drag out from the past all that was best left buried there because a white woman had been kind to him.

And when he ceased there sat in the Chief Commissioner’s chair a very kindly looking white-haired, white-moustached old gentleman who at that moment felt humbled by the gentle soul of the half-caste within whomwarred the impulses and complexities of two races.

“You see how it is,” Bony concluded. “This case turned out to be the perfect murder. It would have remained unsolved had it not been for a wholly extraneous incident in the victim’s past-that head wound received in the war which necessitated a trepanning operation. Dot and Dash in combination were very clever men, clever because they were calm, calm because their consciences were clear. Markswas a bad man, and the world certainly is no poorer by his exit.”

“And you will suffer the stigma of failure to protect that girl’s happiness?”

Bony inclined his head.

“She is a great woman, sir. I-I am only Bony, after all.”

Colonel Spender cleared his throat violently. Once more he was Chief Commissioner of the Queensland Police.

“As from last Wednesday you are reinstated without loss of rank or privileges,” he said. “As a subordinate you are a damned nuisance, yet I can’t do without you. Go up to Longreach and find the murderer of that station-hand. And don’t come back here and admit failure because of a pair of eyes.”

“Very good, sir,” consented Bony, smiling in his old frank way. “I shall take Marie, my wife, and little Ed. and Bob, who is so restless, and we’ll go there on a walkabout. My wife’s eyes are grey. I shall see no others. Good-bye, sir!”

The door closed.

“Well, I’m-well, I’m-” Colonel Spender snorted. He blinked his eyes and banged the desk bell for his secretary. “Thank God, he’s a policeman and not a scoundrel!”