“All right! All right! I’m coming!” he shouted when the knocking continued. Breathing heavily, the old man struggled into a worn dressing-gown, picked up the oil lamp he had lit, and thudded out to the hall and the front door. The wind caused the lamp to flicker badly, but standing outside he saw the burly Constable Lee and the much smaller Joseph Fisher.
“Admit us, please, doctor. I am in need of your services,” urged Bony. The tones of his voice caused the doctor to stoop to glare at him, and then he abruptly straightened and turned to the study door.
“Come in and let me have a look at you. Shut the door, Lee,” he commanded. Within the study, having put down the lamp, he watched the detective lurch into the room, and then gently assisted him into one of the two old but comfortable leather armchairs.
“Humph!” he grunted, not unkindly. “What has happened?”
Bony, looking up into the weather-beaten, pendulous face, stretched his neck.
“I have been within an ace of death,” he said with difficulty. “The Strangler attacked me while on Nogga Creek. Please examine my throat, doctor. Then, perhaps, a sedative. …”
“Ah!” The exclamation was expressive. “Don’t you talk any more till I say so. Know anything about this, Lee?”
Dr. Mulray had unfastened the pin at Bony’s coat-collar and was already examining his neck while he was taking the detective’s pulse.
“No, doctor,” replied Constable Lee. “This man has just roused me out and asked me to bring him to you.”
“Humph! A nobbier of brandy with a plentiful dash of milk, Lee. Brandy in the sideboard cupboard. Milk in the cooler on the back veranda. Get it, please. Now then, Joe! We’ll have your coal and shirt off. The strangling brute got you, did he? I knew damned well that that fool of a Simone arrested the wrong man. Humph! Ah! Yes! Humph! Your coat-collar saved your neck from external laceration, Joe. There is only faint ecchymosis. I doubt that you could articulate if the hyoid bone was fractured, as it was in the cases of Tindall and Marsh. Mabel Storrie’s windpipe was split in two places, so I have heard from Adelaide. I can’t tell the condition of your windpipe without X-rays, but I am hopeful that you have escaped that most serious injury. Mabel had no clothing protecting her throat. Neither had the other two. Ah, good, Lee! Here, Joe, sip this brandy and milk. Take your time. You, Lee, help yourself to a bracer.”
“Thank you,” Bony murmured weakly. “I’ll be better presently. Fright, you know.”
“ ‘Shock’ is the correct word for your mental condition,” argued the doctor. “I know; you don’t. You will stay here today. I have a spare room. You will go to bed now. Think you can walk with assistance? Help him, Lee. I’ll show you the way.”
While the policeman was helping Bony to his feet the doctor rushed out of the room, across the hall and to his own bedroom, from which he appeared a moment afterwards with a clean pair of pyjamas. Taking up the lamp from the study table, he directed Lee and the patient along the short passage to a rear bedroom.
“Did the brandy sting more than usually?” asked Mulray.
Bony shook his head.
“Good! It augurs well for your windpipe. Those neck muscles will be bruised. I’ll foment ’em. Then the needle, my boy, and a long sleep. Lee, hurry out to the kitchen and get the fire going. I want hot water, and plenty of it.”
Brisk, efficient, cool and immense. Dr. Mulray attended to Bony as gently as he might have attended a duke. He had the half-caste undressed and inside his spare pyjamas before Lee could appear with the hot water, and when Bony lay luxuriously between sheets he asked the old man:
“You insist that I stay here?”
“Of course! Think I am suggesting that you run up and down the street? How did you get here from Nogga Creek?”
“Walked—when I wasn’t lying down.”
“Ah! A long way for a man in your condition. About what time did it happen?”
“A little after one o’clock.”
“Humph! Quite a long time ago. And what were you doing on Nogga Creek at that hour?”
“I’ll tell you … I will be happy to explain when Lee returns.”
“All right! All right! Don’t worry. Hi, Lee! Stoke up that confounded fire.”
“Flames are shooting out the top of the chimney, doctor. The water is nearly on the boil.”
“That’s right, Lee. Never mind about the chimney. I always clean it every three months by setting fire to it. And then Mrs. Mumps has a fit and I have to dose her … with brandy.”
Dr. Mulray demonstrated that he was an excellent nurse as well as a good doctor. Lee submissively obeyed his orders, and presently Bony lay with his neck tingling from the application of hot cloths.
“Any pains in the chest or the back, Joe?”
“No, doctor.”
“Ah! Humph! Yes! Lungs not damaged, apparently. You can thank your coat-collar for a lot. Now Lee will want from you particulars about this terrible attack, so you need say nothing more than necessary at this time.”
Bony managed to smile. His neck and throat were feeling much easier, and his nerves were already steadying.
To the worried Lee, he said, “Explain to Doctor Mulray who I am. Doctor Mulray will respect the confidence, I know.”
As the constable told who Bony was and the business which had brought him to the district the doctor barked:
“Inspector! Incognito! Bless my soul! Humph! Ah! Yes! Simone knew nothing? Ha ha! That mountainous fool! That gutter-bred Charlie Chaplin detective! That champion chess-player!”
“In explanation of my absence from the homestead last night, doctor,” Bony took up the tale, “I said that you and I would probably be playing chess the night through to finish a close and interesting game. Let that stand.” To Lee, he said, “Can you manufacture an excuse to visit Wirragatta this morning?”
“Yes. Or rather, there need be no excuse. There is a small matter of a choked bore-drain I wish to see Mr. Borradale about.”
“Very well. Mention to him that I have played chess all night and that I have accepted the doctor’s kind invitation to stay the day. He will probably want to know what a detective means by playing chess all night and then sleeping all day, but no matter. It is important that you find some pretext to interview Donald Dreyton and Hang-dog Jack and note if they behave abnormally—if they show any signs of having been struggling, even of gunshot wounds. If you can overlook all the other men, do so. Then ride across to the Storries’ and have a look at Fred and his son Tom.
“I was attacked on the north bank of the creek under the trees approximately opposite that tall leopardwood-tree growing out on the plain. I made a distinct cross on the clay-pan on which I regained consciousness. I want you to search for my pistol and torch. I was too ill to do so myself. Make a thorough examination of the locality for clues and tracks. Tracks there will be none, I feel sure. You may find a shred of grey flannel cloth. Is that clear? Oh, and you will say nothing to anyone of my adventure.”
“Perfectly, sir—er—Bony.”
“No more,” interrupted the doctor, flourishing a hypodermic syringe. “That’ll do for the present, Lee. Take a stiffener before you leave and tell your good wife to keep her mouth shut. I’ll be having that Mrs. Mumps here in an hour, and I’ll have to explain about the fire being lit so early. And now, Inspector Bonaparte, you are going to indulge in a nice long nap. Where will you have it? In the arm is as good as anywhere. That’s the idea. I like a man with guts, because I have none myself. I wouldn’t have loitered about Nogga Creek at that hour for the price of Wirragatta itself. Bless my soul! And Simone’s arrested the wrong man! Ha ha! Now close your eyes and sleep.”
When Bony awoke, the sun was striking full on the lowered blind. The wind no longer heaved and strained at the roof iron and drummed on the walls. The house stillness permitted the sounds of Carie’s life to penetrate into the room—the not unpleasant sounds of goat and cow bells and a blacksmith’s hammer on ringing iron.
He was feeling much better in himself, and his throat felt much less painful. Save for the stiffness of neck muscles, he had almost recovered from his ordeal, and he earnestly blessed Dr. Mulray—and his coat-collar. He was smoking his second cigarette when the old man came into the room. “Ah! Humph! Smoking, eh!” he exclaimed in noticeably subdued voice. “Mrs. Mumps thinks that we had a night of it together and she is now preparing dinner for us, with plenty of Worcestershire sauce in the soup. Great stuff, that sauce. Her husband always drinks a full bottle after one of his benders in order to settle his stomach—what’s left of his stomach, I mean.”
“I am almost completely recovered, doctor, thanks to you,” Bony said as he swung his legs to the floor and so came to sit on the edge of the bed.
“Good! Excellent! Lee is in the study. If you can manage it, I suggest that you dress and come along. We must not arouse the suspicions of my housekeeper. I’ll examine the neck first, though.”
“Show me the bath-room, or may I use the washstand here?”
“Whichever you please. The shower is on the back veranda. I’ll run out and see if Mrs. Mumps will favour us with a pot of tea.” The ponderous old man rolled away to the door, but before opening it turned and smiled and said, “We can add brandy to the tea if we choose.”
Fifteen minutes later the detective was sipping tea and smoking a cigarette in the study. In his workaday station-hand’s clothes, he did not appear as disreputable as he might have done had Dr. Mulray’s clothes looked better than they were. Lee was in uniform, and the wearing of uniform had a distinctly official effect on both his appearance and his mind.
“I gave your excuse to Mr. Borradale,” he began his report. “He didn’t believe it, but it hardly mattered. He was more relieved with the wind having gone round to the south’ard early this morning, when it lost its power to raise the dust. Dreyton looked all right. Smart as always. As for Hang-dog Jack—well, his eyes were red from lack of sleep and his temper was bad. The others were normal. Fred Storrie is in bed with a mild attack of influenza, which he says he got down at Broken Hill. Tom looked and behaved all right. He’s doing the cooking and looking after his father while the women are down in Adelaide.
“I found your gun and torch at the edge of the claypan you scored with a cross. The torch is all right, but the gun is empty and clogged with grit.”
“So Fred Storrie is in bed with influenza, is he? Did you see him?”
“Yes. He’s got it sure enough. I hope I don’t catch it …”
“Could Storrie successfully trick a layman into believing he had influenza, doctor?”
“He might. He wouldn’t trick me, though,” asserted Mulray. “But surely——”
Bony stood up and sauntered to the window, before which he lingered. The doctor glanced at the policeman, and Lee placed a finger to his mouth, indicating the advisability of silence. Opposite the doctor’s house was the hall and drawn up outside the side entrance was a car and a man pouring water into the radiator. The scene recalled to Bony’s mind the car driver who filled his radiator only after the static electricity had been allowed to drain from his car. When he turned back to the doctor and Lee, his eyes were smiling.
“I am going to take you both into my confidence, not because I love you so much, but because I need your assistance. It is not really the detective’s business to take anybody into his confidence, but then, you see, I am not a real policeman,” Bony told them.
“When I first came here, Constable Lee prepared for me a list of the names of everyone living in and around Carie over the last two full years. I have struck out all but eleven names. Among the remaining eleven is the Strangler. I haven’t proof of it, but I yet believe it. Your name, doctor, is one of the names struck off. I am about to strike off your name, Lee. That will leave ten names.”
Rapidly Bony related all that he had seen and experienced during the night of terror, and the discerning Dr. Mulray came to understand the real measure of Bony’s courage. Lee listened intently, and twice essayed to take his long and narrow note-book from his pocket.
“I never saw my assailant,” Bony concluded. “That he is exceptionally strong in the hands and arms, I was given ample proof. Understand, a man who is strong in his hands and arms need not be strong in his legs and body, and he need not be a big man. What caused him to fling me aside before he had killed me we shall probably never know, unless it is that I winged him with my pistol, or that its reports frightened him. You say, Lee, that all the cartridges were expended?”
“Yes; the gun was empty. It seems evident that we’ll have to put that cook through the hoops. Hang-dog Jack’s the man right enough. Why, he’s strong enough to hold me. Is he on your list of suspects?”
“He is,” Bony admitted. “And yet we will not question him or permit him to think we suspect him. I had you among the eleven suspects, Lee, because you could have killed those two and attacked Mabel. I have taken you off the list because you wear a nine-size boot. Who the other eight on the list are I will not inform you just yet.”
Lee grinned ruefully.
“You’re a strange fellow, Bony,” he said.
“Ah! How many times have I heard that? I wonder now if Dreyton is responsible for the introduction of it into this district. Well, there are quite a number of strange fellows here. Tell me, doctor, can you guess what Dreyton was before he left England? It is sometimes easy to tell a man’s profession from his gait, his eyes, even the cast of his face.”
“Dreyton!” echoed the doctor, and he drew in his breath and distended his pendulous cheeks. “Yes, I can guess with reasonable certainty of being correct. I’d wager a bet that he was once in the Royal Navy. I’d wager ten bets that he was an officer. There is not a great deal of difference between the face-cast of the military and the naval officer, but there is certainly a small distinction.”
“He would be, then, of that class commonly called the ‘upper class’ in England?”
“Yes. Dreyton would belong to the ‘County’ class. Probably, nay, almost certainly, he comes from a long line of naval officers.’ ”
“Thank you. Now would it be too much to ask you to visit Fred Storrie in order to be sure that he does suffer an attack of influenza?”
“Not at all, inspector. I could go along right away.”
“Good! Try to remember, doctor, that to all my friends I am Bony, and I would like to count you among the number. While you are away Lee and I will get to work on the details of a little plan I have conceived. With your permission we will use your writing materials. And then, at dinner—if you will invite me to dinner—we will discuss the moon and madness and static electricity.”
Chapter Seventeen
Dr. Tigue’s Case-Books
“IN THIS COMMUNITY, doctor, there is a man suffering from a brain lesion,” Bony was saying as his host and he smoked and drank coffee after dinner. “This man is not a lunatic to the degree that he could be easily located and as easily certified. Normally he is as rational as you or I or Constable Lee—but you could be the victim of his mental trouble, as I could be, and the other one of us would never suspect it. I believe that his trouble is hereditary, that it did not seriously affect him until a few years ago, that it is now becoming rapidly worse and will inevitably reach the stage when normality will have ceased altogether.”
“There’s sense in what you say,” conceded the doctor. “I have myself thought along those very same lines.”
Bony rolled himself another of his interminable cigarettes, stretched his neck muscles, lit the weed and gazed solemnly at the medico.
“When a young man, doctor, I committed a grave mistake. Through a broken love-affair I threw up my post-university career and went bush. It was a mistake I have always regretted. Certain friends of mine wanted me to study for a medical degree and take up work among the blacks. Had I done that I would have known today more about the human mind than the average layman.”
“B
ut you would not have been a detective.”
“Perhaps not.” Bony sighed before smiling. “The greatest evil of life is the shortness of its duration. We are not given time enough to learn anything before we must prepare for death. The older I become the more clearly do I see that the creation of a man’s brain is almost wasted effort, because the mortal span does not allow him to develop it. The more he learns the more clearly he understands that what he has learnt is but a drop in the ocean of what he could learn did he live for, say, a thousand years. I am repeatedly faced with a problem which would be no problem at all were I the master of all learning.”
“And your present problem?” asked the entranced Dr. Mulray.
“This—does static electricity affect the human brain, and, if so, to what extent?”
“Help!” cried the pendulous man. “You would have to be an Edison and an Einstein, not an ordinary doctor, to answer that. On that subject I, like you, am a layman.”
“Well, then, let two laymen tease it a little by discussion,” Bony urged, and then proceeded to relate the phenomenon of static electricity stored in the car he had met in the dust-storm. “That day there was no thunder, no manifestation of electricity in the atmosphere. The driver said that it was produced in his car by the incessant bombardment of sand particles, the dry tyres providing almost complete insulation. It appears to me to be quite a reasonable theory and, if correct, would account for several mysterious air accidents when the aeroplane is disintegrated. There must be a point when the charged object cannot carry more electricity. As you say, it is a problem for an Edison. Where it more closely concerns us is the probable effect on certain types of human beings of this singular electrical manifestation.”
“What the devil are you driving at?” asked Dr. Mulray.
“You will see in a minute. I have been told by many old people that the weather, or, rather, particular phases of it, affect their rheumatism. Can you tell me why?”
“Not with any authority,” confessed the doctor. “That the weather does affect rheumatic sufferers is, of course, correct.”
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