The next morning while Bony was preparing to move out of camp towards the Fence, he was more than surprised to have Needle ride in leading a camel carrying bedding, supplies, tools. Needle laid his camel down and dismounted. He made no reference to his outburst of the previous day.
“Day-ee, Ed.”
“Good-day, Needle,” Bony replied. “What are you doing here?”
“Had a message from Newton when I got back to camp,” Needle explained in his high-pitched voice. “Seems the bloke on the section above mine has been carted off, appendix or something, and Newton says to get you to come along and help. Wants us to spend a couple of days tidying up a bit of the Fence.”
Bony thought rapidly. He did not believe Needle. Newton had mentioned nothing of this to him and Bony could not imagine that the overseer would have him taken away from this area where he knew things were likely to start opening up interestingly. On the other hand, if he refused to go it would not only reveal his suspicions of Needle but give confirmation of the theory buzzing along the Fence that he was a police officer in disguise. As the workman he was pro tem., he could have no legitimate reason for disobeying what appeared to be a direct message from Newton. At the same time he had to take into account that should Needle be mixed up in the murder, perhaps even being one of the cattle duffers, the real basis for his visit could be an attempt not only to remove “Ed Bonnay” from this section, but to remove him permanently at some convenient place and time. He decided he had to take the risk of accompanying Needle.
“Right, Needle. I’ll pack up and get me gear together. What about tools?”
“No need for ’em,” said Needle. “I’ve got some rakes and an axe for any posts we have to cut. Better bring some grub for a couple of days though, and some blankets.”
Bony loaded the Monster with these items and watered George and Rosie, whom he left grazing near the camp site.
“Exactly where are we going?” he asked as they set off.
“About twenty miles north of the gate in the Fence near Bore Ten. Take us a good half-day. We’ll follow the Fence on the eastern side.”
After they had passed the gate in the Fence near Bore Ten Needle seemed to become more affable:
“Reckon I’ll be gettin’ south on leave soon. You know, a bloke gets pretty edgy up here. Sorry I spoke the way I did yesterday.”
“No offence taken,” said Bony. “It’s natural not to want people snooping about. But when you picked on me you chose the wrong fellow.”
“Newton said we’d better take stock and see what fencin’ material this bloke’s got in hand. Talkin’ about stock,” said Needle, “did I ever tell you about a cousin of mine who drove the flamin’ nightcart up in a little country town in north New South Wales?”
“No, I don’t think you did,” said Bony.
“Well,” said Needle with a chuckle, “this was a little place with no sewerage. Me cousin had the game sewn up. As well as collectin’ the pans he picked up the garbage cans, had a cart fitted up for the purpose pulled by an old grey mare. The old girl used to go along from house to house, stopped at the right places and waited for him. She knew the round better than he did. Me cousin never had to say a word, she was such a quiet old thing. Anyway, one day the mare took fright, no one ever knew why, and cleared off down the street, and you can guess what happened. Doors flew open, pans fell out in the road, lids came off—what a stinkin’ mess! Anyway, me cousin caught the mare, tied her to a post, got a shovel and went back and tried to clean the stuff up. Shovelling it back into the pans he was when a nosey old dame comes along and says: ‘I see, my good man, you had an accident.’
“ ‘Accident be blowed,’ said me cousin. ‘What makes you think that? Ain’t had no accident. I’m only stocktaking’ ”
Bony laughed agreeably. “What were you doing before you worked on the Fence, Needle?”
“Shearin’. Out between Warren and Bourke. Times I’ve been so scratched with burrs from hand to elbow you couldn’t have seen me skin. Good money, but thought I’d move on before I was torn to shreds.”
“Did you ever work on a cattle station?” Bony asked.
“Yes. I can do anything on the land. You name it, I’ve done it.”
Bony tucked away the piece of information that Needle would certainly know something about stock.
They stopped for a brew of tea and some food beneath the shelter of a mulga clump and now Needle appeared in no hurry at all to press on. He smoked and talked while Bony grew increasingly distrustful of this sudden affability and increasingly concerned that he was getting farther away from the area where he felt he should be. Eventually, after a third cup of tea Needle announced there was only another hour’s ride to go, so they’d best get on with it.
At three o’clock he declared they had reached the place in the Fence where they were to start the cleaning-up process, working for some five miles north, watching for loose wires and broken posts and cleaning away any debris from the base of the Fence. During the afternoon two posts had to be renewed and by sundown they had covered only two miles of the section.
After hobbling the camels for the night the men made another brew of tea over the camp fire and got more beef and damper from the tucker box.
“With an early start should think we’ll finish the section easily tomorrow. I’m turnin’ in.” Rolling himself in his blanket Needle stretched out near the fire. Bony also wrapped himself in a blanket but he remained upright, his back against a cabbage tree. He was going to make sure Needle was well asleep before he himself dozed off. As the cherry-red embers glowed he gazed thoughtfully into them and wondered about Needle’s motive in being so genial all of a sudden, completely antagonistic one day, co-operative and companionable the next. If it made sense it was that for some important reason Needle had deliberately lured him away from his camp.
Bony rolled and lit one of his abominable cigarettes and smoked it, waiting to see if Needle’s sleep was genuine. After a while an irresistible drowsiness came over Bony himself. He stood up and walked round the fire and threw some more sticks on. Needle did not stir. His breathing appeared to be coming regularly and evenly, but Bony listened to it for some time before he went back to his tree and settled against the trunk. He decided not to sleep at all, but after a while the inevitable happened. He was physically weary after a day of riding and working along the Fence and he dozed off.
He woke with a start. The ashes in the camp fire were cold. The first light of dawning was chill and grey and he knew something was wrong. He looked over to where Needle had stretched out for the night, but Needle was gone, his riding camel as well. The pack camel with the gear was still hobbled with the Monster near by. Inspector Napoleon Bonaparte rose and heartily cursed his propensity for sleeping deeply once he went off.
He got the camels together and made his way back along the Fence as quickly as he could. He passed his own camp site without having seen any sign of Needle Kent and kept going with the idea that he might find Needle at Nugget’s shanty if his companion of the day before had not given himself too good a start.
When he got to the gate near Bore Ten Bony dismounted, and, looking for tracks, walked carefully along the other side of the Fence. Needle might have passed through the gate. If he had there were no signs of it. But there were tracks—of a single horse—and of something else; something that made Bony curse beneath his breath: more tracks, of a considerable number of cattle. And as Bony followed them up the Fence he saw the occasional dropping which verified that the tracks were fresh.
He now had proof that his presence round this area must have been most inconvenient for the cattle duffers. While he was about they had been unable to do anything about moving cattle as they could not know exactly where he would be at any particular time. Either Needle was one of the cattle duffers and had lured him away for the purpose of having more cattle moved, or he had been paid to do the job of transferring Ed Bonnay to a certain fixed site temporarily. As Bony had
suspected when he had allowed himself to be carried off, there was a very good reason for Needle changing his ideas so quickly.
Nugget and his wife and children were near their untidy shanty when Bony arrived.
“Good day, Nugget. Seen Needle?” he asked.
“No. Ain’t seen me sister, either, not since this morning that is. If that crazy beanstalk’s gone off with her I’ll stop his clock, too right I will.”
Bony hesitated briefly. It would seem more natural to tell Nugget of the previous night’s happenings than to conceal them.
“I was out with Needle doin’ some work on the Fence and he just lit out; vamoosed. Woke up this morning and he was gone. No note, no nothing,” he said.
Nugget laughed, though not with his customary mirth.
“Wonder he didn’t cut your throat before he left, the way he hates policemen. You’re lucky he only disappeared. But if I catch me sister with him I’ll make the bastard wish he was a goner for good.”
Bony decided it was best to ignore Nugget’s persisting reference to policemen. His indignation was obviously assumed and he probably knew exactly where both Needle and his sister were, but it was equally obvious that no amount of questioning would ever get that out of him. Moreover, Bony was not in a position where he could risk asking many questions at all.
“Well, beats me,” he said. “Nothing I can do. I’ll just have to wait until Newton gets back and let him know what’s happened.”
“Yeah. That’s it,” said Nugget. “Maybe he’s gone up to join old Looney Pete.” He gave his mirthless laugh again.
“I’ll work close to my camp today,” Bony said, “in case he does show up. If Newton comes down tomorrow would you tell him I want to see him?” He had no intention of disclosing that he knew Newton was away.
“He’s not likely to be down tomorrow,” said Nugget. “But if I see him I’ll tell him.”
“Thanks,” said Bony and turned away.
“By the way,” he turned after going a few yards. “Quinambie must have been shifting some cattle down. Do they bring them out this way when they sell ’em?”
“What d’ya mean?” said Nugget.
“There are tracks along the Fence,” said Bony.
“Could be,” said Nugget shortly. “They’re always changin’ around at these stations.”
Bony was certain the tracks were those of stolen beasts. What other motive could Needle possibly have had in getting him away from the area. Crazy or not Needle was in on the cattle duffing, if not the murder, up to his neck.
The following morning Bony had another visitor. This place was getting like the Hill, so many people gadding about. And this caller was most unexpected. It was Commander Joyce from Quinambie Station, alone and riding a horse, his riding gear immaculate, even a cravat. But Joyce was a very worried man.
“I can see I’ve had my head in the clouds for a long time. I didn’t really believe there was any cattle rustling going on. But now I know for myself I thought I should come and tell you immediately. I had about one hundred and fifty head in one of my paddocks—in prime condition—about ready to send off. Yesterday I took an unexpected buyer out and they just weren’t there. Haven’t told anybody else about this. You’re the first to know … er … Bonnay. Can’t afford this sort of thing. What can you do about it?” The Commander’s back was up now that he’d been pricked.
Bony spoke bluntly. “It is vital we keep them guessing. Go back to your station and say nothing to anybody, least of all to your overseer. And particularly if you see Nugget or Needle Kent say nothing to them about this whatsoever. If you need any explanation for coming out to see me say you brought a message from Fred Newton via your pedal radio that he wouldn’t be able to make his usual inspection this week. You know nothing about your cattle, not even how many head you have. And you haven’t missed any. Have you a clear picture?”
Joyce sat his horse looking down at Bony, respect mingling with righteous anger in his glance. “Yes, I’ve got it. But I hope you’ve got it too. Do you know how much one hundred and fifty cattle are worth?”
Bony’s voice was charming and polite. “I know exactly,” he said. “And I’ve been pushed around by my superintendent, attacked by your natives, had the bone pointed at me, been shot at, had to let myself be made a fool of; and above all I’m doing hard labour in the stress of heat, sand and flies on this accursed Fence. All the same I retain a very personal interest in the whole of this case I have consented to take up. That is why I am here. Don’t worry, Commander. No one is going to get away with your cattle or anything else. I give you my word.” And with this Joyce had to ride away content.
Chapter Seventeen
Bony Pays a Visit
FOR A DAY or so after Joyce’s visit Bony felt elated. Following Needle’s action, which had been transparent to the point of desperation, Joyce’s news sorted out the pieces of the puzzle further so that they were beginning to fall into place neatly. Time was running out for the cattle duffers, if not for Maidstone’s killer, and Fred Newton, Bony felt sure, would bring back from the Hill the remaining information he needed to act authoritatively.
A week later, however, Bony was beginning to give Newton up for lost, resigning himself to a prolonged if not lifelong sentence of toil on the Fence. As one day followed another and he raked and heaved buckbush over the net he mentally compared his lot with that of the innocent but convicted prisoners he had seen suffering on Devil’s Island on one of those rare occasions his wife had dragged him to the cinema. When his thoughts were blackest Newton rode into camp accompanied by a stranger.
“Your Superintendent wouldn’t trust me to deliver those reports you asked for,” drawled the overseer with a grin for Bony’s look. “He’s brought this character up specially from Sydney to act as mailman.”
“Detective-Inspector Wells, CIB,” the character introduced himself. “Always wanted to meet the fabulous Napoleon Bonaparte. The CIB got very excited when the information you asked for began to come through. It appears that a lot of vague rumours have been reaching them and this request of yours hit them right where it helped them add up two and two. They sent me out pronto to Broken Hill, wouldn’t trust the gen through the post or on the wire, so here I am to give it to you.”
“I can see I’m not going to be let in on anything,” complained Newton good-humouredly as the two men kept their counsel in front of him.
“Your assumption is correct,” said Bony. “However, one piece of information I will pass on to you, pal. You need a replacement for Needle. He’s done a bunk, although I have a fair idea where I might be able to find the rascal should I find it necessary to snaffle him.” Bony brought the overseer up to date with events on the Fence while he and Wells listened intently.
“Well I’ll be damned!” exclaimed Newton. “What next!”
Bony accepted the overseer’s remark literally. “What I suggest you do,” he said with a smile, “is prepare us a meal while Wells and I go for a little walkabout along the net. I can show him the kind of torture you’ve been inflicting on a member of Her Majesty’s Forces for the past month.”
“I’ll be damned!” Newton said again. “And who do you think is overseer round here? All right. I’ll do it for you this once.” He threw a few sticks on the fire. “But I warn you,” he observed to the departing figures, “if there’s anything doin’ on the detection front I’m entitled to be first in the know, don’t forget.”
Bony and Wells strode off and when they came to an open stretch of the Fence where anyone approaching could be seen for several miles from all sides Wells handed Bony the reports he had brought with him from New South Wales. Bony squatted on his heels and read the papers carefully. Then he looked up at Wells with a gleam of satisfaction in the blue of his eyes as he handed them back. “That’s it, the missing piece. That must be it.”
“Headquarters certainly think so,” said Wells. “What’s the next move in your opinion, Bonaparte?”
Bony, still on his heels, looked as if he could rest there comfortably till the end of time. “The first thing I propose to do,” he said meditatively, “is to hand in my resignation to Newton. The second, I’m going down to Levvey to see about that job he offered me. There is no doubt in my mind now that it is at Lake Frome Station rather than at Quinambie or along the Fence that the person I have become interested in will have to show his hand. I also propose to see that the necessary publicity is given to my intentions so that anyone with an interest in what I might uncover will be drawn as by a magnet to the spot. But in the meantime I can’t afford to be seen hanging about like this.”
Abruptly he stood up. “Now,” he said to the attentive Wells, “this is what I want you to do.”
When they got back to camp Wells announced that he would leave immediately after the meal and suggested it would be best for Bony if Newton left too. “Any company seen about at this stage could queer the whole pitch, and especially if anyone sees me with you,” Wells farewelled Bony. “They’d certainly tumble to it that I am one of your higher-ups.”
“Right,” Bony agreed.
Newton looked up quizzically as he finished off his tea. “No use askin’ what all the mystery is about yet?”
“No use at all,” said Bony cheerfully as both visitors mounted their horses. “But I take pleasure now in the presence of this witness in telling you that as of this instant one Ed Bonnay is resigning from his exalted position as caretaker of one section of this blasted Fence. I’m sorry to give you such short notice, but on the credit side, I’m not asking for a reference.”
“You wouldn’t get one anyway,” growled Newton, “leaving me in the lurch like this. What if we get another westerly?”
“Cheer up,” said Bony, “all will resolve itself satisfactorily in the end. Tell you what, Fred. Let us meet in Broken Hill for a beer when it is all over and I will let you have the full story then.”
Bony - 29 - The Lake Frome Monster Page 12
