Arthur Upfield - The Barrakee Mystery

The Little Lady took a few sips from the glass held against her lips by the kneeling Kate, from whose white face slow tears fell on Mrs Thornton’s dress. When the Little Lady again spoke, her voice was low and tired, so low that Bony drew his chair nearer her.

“The months and years passed quickly after that, and every day I felt more secure,” she went on. “With indescribable happiness I watched my baby grow and heard him lisp his first words. I used to cry for very happiness. The years were just wonderful, and as he grew up into a splendid young man I came to believe that Mary was mistaken, that she had named the wrong man, or made some mistake when her mind was clouded by the approach of death.

“And then one day I saw a man working in the garden. It was just after Martha told me that King Henry had come back to the Darling and was coming to Barrakee. Imagine my relief when I was told that the new man’s name was Clair, and instantly guessed that he was Sinclair. There he was working in the garden, my protector, my son’s guardian.

“King Henry came back. He sent word through Martha that he wanted to seeme, that I was to meet him near the station boats after dark that evening. I made Martha go and tell Sinclair that, and he sent her back to say that I must not be there.

“But at half past eight Martha and I went and waited between the boats and the billabong. It was very dark. Sinclair joined us. He told us to get on the house side of a gum, and keep still. He was angry at our presence, and would have sent us away had not it been too late. We could hear someone coming along the riverbank.

“Indistinctly, I saw Sinclair throw the boomerang. It hit something, and I heard it fall between where he was and us. King Henry sprang upon Sinclair and bore him to the ground. Now, though Sinclair was a heavy man, King Henry was much the stronger. How it happened I don’t know, but I found myself beside them as they fought on the ground, the heavy boomerang in my hands.

“In spite of the darkness I saw that King Henry had both his hands about Sinclair’s throat. I saw with horror my protector’s face grow ghastly and horrible. I was shocked by the knowledge that Sinclair was being killed, that when he was dead there would be no one to stand between my Ralph and his terrible father. I saw my love destroyed, my hopes, all my care, my plans.

“Upon the level of my waist I saw King Henry’s white head, and with such strength as I have never felt before, I struck it with the weapon in my hands.”

The tired voice suddenly ceased. A stupendous silence fell upon the room, unbroken by a breath. Then:

“It was Martha who helped Sinclair to his feet. The man fought for air and staggered, but, recovering, bent over the black fellow and felt his heart. Then he took me by the arm and, with the trembling Martha on my other side, he led us quickly to the garden gate.

“ ‘Remember,’ he said, ‘whatever happens, remember that it was I who killed King Henry. You must live free to love your son. You are free now.’

“I remember the lightning. It flared as Martha and I stood before the gate. I almost ran to my room, and when there I found the boomerang still in my hands.”

“It was you, then, who warned Sinclair at the Basin?” Thornton put in quietly.

“Yes. I went into the office on my way to the store that morning,” Mrs Thornton said softly, her voice hardly a whisper. “I could not have Sinclair caught. He might, I considered, tell the truth at the last; but I misjudged him. Sinclair was a gentleman. I wish you-I am feeling ill. Please-please, take me-to my room. Tell Ralph-to-come quickly.”

The Midnight Visit

THE BRILLIANT sun hung over the western sand-hills and already the air had become appreciably colder. To the east a vast sheet of water shimmered under the gentle south wind, and reflected dully the foliage of the box trees growing on the submerged flats. The flood was at its highest point and about four miles north-west of Barrakee it lapped against the foot of a steep clean hill of sand.

Midway up the hillock the wind had scooped out a wideledge, and upon this was built a circular humpy of tobacco-bush. Smoke rose slanting northward from a small fire of boxwood, and about this fire Nellie Wanting was busy preparing the evening meal. Occasionally she stood to her slender height and gazed steadily out among the box trees, through which she knew Ralph Thornton would row the boat back from a fishing expedition.

He came presently, sitting in the stern and propelling the boat forward with one oar; and she waved a scarlet handkerchief in greeting, and showed her pearly teeth in a smile of welcome.

From the summit of the sand-hill Bony waited, hidden by a clump of tobacco-bush. He had been waiting there for an hour or more, and he waited yet while Ralph backed the boat and climbed to the ledge with a string of fish and a tin of swans’ eggs in his hands. The half-caste saw the youth lay his catch beside the fire and then, turning, hold out his arms and take Nellie Wanting within them; and whilst they stood toe to toe, he slid quietly down the hillock to them.

“Bony! What do you want?” was Ralph’s challenge, even before he released the girl. Instinct prompted her to hide within thewhirlie, leaving the two facing each other: anger on the face of the younger, genial friendliness on that of the older.

Ralph was dressed in plain tweed trousers and blue shirt open at the neck. He wore neither boots nor hat. Even during the short time Ralph had been away from Barrakee, Bony saw how much darker had become his complexion.

“I have come to speak to you on a matter of importance to yourself,” Bony said in his graceful manner. “I have been waiting for you for some time. Could not your wife provide us with a pannikin of tea whilst we talk?”

Ralph hesitated, then nodded and called to Nellie. They seated themselves near the fire, and Bony rolled himself a cigarette. Not until the cigarette was made and he was inhaling the smoke did he speak. Gently and slowly he told the story of King Henry’s murder, and then revealed the motive of it. He explained with wonderful tact how Ralph was not Mrs Thornton’s son, but the son of King Henry and Mary Sinclair. And when he had finished the young man sat with his face hidden upon his arms, resting upon his hunched knees.

Bony expected a wild outburst against the fate of his birth, and a feeling of remorse for having deserted the Little Lady, and for having broken his troth to Kate Flinders. When, however, Ralph did raise his head, his face was quite calm and his eyes, if a little misty, quite steady. He said:

“Then that accounts for my being here. I have been wondering why I am here. I am glad you have told me, for now that I know my mind is at rest. How does the Little Lady feel about it?”

“Badly, Ralph, badly,” Bony murmured, rolling his fourth cigarette. “In spite of it all she still loves you, still wants you with her. She is expecting you. I told her she might expect you.”

Again the young man’s head sank to his knees. “You have told me,” he said, “how when a young man you were white of skin. I suppose I shall not remain white much longer?”

“A few years at the longest, Ralph.”

“A few years! Somehow I am not greatly sorry for myself. My thoughts now are of Mrs Thornton, to whom I was and am so necessary. You would think, wouldn’t you, that such a love would keep a fellow back from this-this-And yet what you find here is irresistible to me.”

“Of course it is,” Bony agreed. “But it seems no reason why you should wholly desert Mrs Thornton.”

“It is an all-sufficing reason. I could never look into the eyes of anyone at Barrakee again. I would see shame in those of my foster-father, contempt in those of Dugdale; in Katie’s eyes I would find horror and loathing.”