When his hands fell from his face and he held up his head to gaze vacantly on the littered writing-table, beads of perspiration gathered on his fine forehead. His shoulders drooped as though the load he bore was beyond human strength to carry. And, whilst sitting thus, his eyes rested on a sheaf of letters filed on a long, straight wire with a wooden base.
In spite of his mental preoccupation he could not but be interested by the fact that this table belonged to a woman so methodical that her business letters were kept for possible reference. There must have been fully thirty of these letters bunched on that wire file, and almost at the bottom the edge of one stood out a little from those above, and there was revealed to him in block letters the name of an Adelaide firm of jewellers.
For some while he stared at it uncomprehendingly, and then words formed at the back, as it were, of the thoughts filling his mind, words that became joined as the links of a chain. Almost without conscious volition he reached forward, pulled the file towards him, slipped up the covering mass of letters and read the letter from the jewellers. Then was the cup of his anguish filled to the brim, for there beneath his eyes was the proof that was the corner-stone of the structure he had raised from the past with fine red sand.
If only he had known the direction of his drift! If only he had known, he could have steeled himself against the dark-haired, wonderful white woman with the magnetic personality. If—if he had but known at the very beginning the riddle of Dash leaving his position as jackeroo to become a trapper, at which he now shrewdly guessed! If he could have known this and have had reasonable ground to suspect what the jewellers’ letter contained, he could have thrown up the case much earlier and retired with honour.
But there were those letters to Sydney asking for vital information; there was the sending there of the small silver disk; there was lastly and not least his orders that Illawalli be brought down from the far north of Queensland. How now to explain all that without admitting failure? How at this stage could he countermand the order to Sergeant Morris regarding the arrest of Dot and Dash?
The other point of view he did not then remember. It was not till later that he thought of his duty to the service to which he belonged, his duty to the majesty of justice. For, after all, the man Marks had been murdered, and his murderer still lived. To lay down his cards, to put before his superiors the complete chain of proofs—wanting but the body of Marks—would mean striking down the woman he had come to revere, to whom he had given his word that for her he would do anything.
So preoccupied was his mind that he was utterly unconscious of removing from the file the jewellers’ letter, as he was unconscious of hearing Jeff Stanton’s great car go purring off into the night. So preoccupied was he that he did not hear the door of the room open and close, and did not see Marion Stanton until she stood directly before him.
“Bony—why are you so troubled over the little thing I have asked of you?” she said with a frown.
He stood up and gazed deeply into her eyes, so deeply that she became uneasy, not with fear of him, but because she saw that in his face which reminded her of pictures of St Joan of Arc tied to a stake, and of King Charles standing beside the headsman’s block. It was a look that indicated renunciation, or sacrifice.
“I am no longer troubled,” he told her with a smile she saw was forced. “I promised to do anything for you, and you have asked me to do that something. I will do it. But how I wish I had known you loved this man Dash!”
“Why—why?” Once more he saw the blood dye her cheeks and, guessing rightly what was in her mind, hastened to correct her.
“To me, Miss Stanton, you have been most kind,” he said, and would have taken her hands had not she drawn back. “You have been kind in a way which no white woman has been before. To use a well-worn phrase, yet one very apt, you have stooped to conquer. From an Olympian height you have bent down to one in the mire, and my feeling for you has more of spirituality in it than of earth. I rejoice that you love this man, who is so well known and respected as Dash, the partner of Dot; and not only will I see that he does not fall into the hands of the police, but I will also guarantee to restore him to you.”
“You will? Oh, Bony, tell me, tell me how?”
“That is a question which one day he himself will be able to answer. Then you will understand how it is that now I am unable to explain. I am reminded of a task I must perform at once. Immediately afterwards I will go after him and bring him back.”
“You will, Bony—true?”
“As sure as that I shall be lectured by your father for missing the truck,” he said, with his old smile back once more. “There is, however, a little matter I would like you to explain, if you would be so generous.”
“What is that?”
“Tell me how it was Dash became a trapper.”
And without hesitation she explained the one battle she had lost to old Jeff: how, in spite of the harshness of his decision, she had seen its justice and its far-sightedness.
“The probationary period is over to-day, Bony,” she said softly, “and instead of welcoming him here, I had to warn him about Sergeant Morris. Oh, what could he have done, Bony? Nothing, nothing dishonourable, I am sure.”
“I, too, have grounds for assurance that it was nothing dishonourable,” he cried, with a smile of dawning comprehension, as one who sees a light after a long period of darkness. “Ah, all is clear now. I see—I see!”
“See! What do you see?”
But she saw the growing light of triumph fade from his blue eyes, saw it replaced by an expression of hopelessness, and then again by his old gaiety. It was all so swift that she failed then to analyse these expressions, and said again swiftly:
“What is it you see?”
For the second time he made to take her hands, and this time she permitted him to succeed. In the dim light cast by the shaded lamp she saw his face as it was ever to remain in her mind. His teeth flashed in a laugh, gentle and cultured.
“I see,” he said, quite slowly, “I see that I shall have to get you a wedding present. I will get it to-night.”
And, before she could say a further word, he had bowed with old-world grace and left her—left her wondering wherever he had learned to bow like that.
Chapter Forty-one
Young Men and Young Ladies
IF MRS THOMAS’S outstanding vice was a susceptibility to alcohol, doubtless acquired in the course of “working up” hotel business, she had never permitted it to loosen her tongue regarding matters of business concern. It was a mental make-up of which she was proud. Her body was so inured to the stimulant that it required a very great deal of it in a short space of time to reduce her to the condition vulgarly known as being drunk. She was drunk the night Father Ryan called for volunteers to go with him to Windee, which is to say that she reached the stage when to weep was far easier than to laugh. This being the first time she had reached this stage during her sojourn at Mr Bumpus’s hotel, it fell to Mrs Bumpus to decline to serve her with more, and at first persuade, then command, the guest to go to bed.
Mrs Bumpus, however, was not a woman who could command with assurance of being obeyed. Had she continued her persuasion she might have won the unequal battle, for it was humanly possible to persuade Mrs Thomas, but humanly impossible to exact obedience, especially when she had arrived at the weeping stage, which occurs about midway between sobriety and utter stupor.
Mrs Thomas wept loudly and without ceasing, and told Mrs Bumpus that she would continue to weep even more loudly if she, Mrs Bumpus, refused further to serve her with a drop, just a little drop, of brandy. However, on the point of brandy Mrs Bumpus was firm, and her guest was forced to swallow small glasses of bottled beer, with long intervals between glasses. Mrs Thomas was seated on the barrel at the farther end of the bar-counter, crying softly now, and Mrs Bumpus was glaring at the clock on the wall every half-minute and making up her mind, ever more firmly, to give Bumpus the very devil for leaving her
there with that terrible woman.
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.
“ ’Bout time, too! I’m sick of this, Bumpus,” snapped his lady. “It’s gone 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 is goin’ 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 been drinking 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—always—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 nearly so 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 Bumpus yawning.
“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 a Doch 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 was drattedly 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 later his 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.
Chapter Forty-two
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.
Bony’s explanation, tendered the following morning, was not fully satisfying. He promised, however, to reveal more in the immediate future. He had yet to deal with the inevitable difficulties of disclosing not what really happened, but wha
t was supposed to have happened. Without waiting for Mrs Bumpus to rise and cook breakfast, and declining with thanks Sergeant Morris’s hospitality, he left for Windee in Slater’s car, arriving at the homestead about eight o’clock.
Here he found one of the four men brought out by Father Ryan temporarily installed as cook. The four men were eating breakfast in the homestead kitchen, and Father Ryan, Marion, and Mrs Poulton were at theirs in the dining-room. The previous evening it had been arranged that Slater should take the four men and Father Ryan out to the scene of the fire.
Breakfast over, the little priest came into the kitchen with Marion Stanton and jovially inquired if everyone was ready.
“You go on, Father. I shall be riding a hack,” Bony said.
“All right,” nodded Father Ryan, and after au revoirs to the women he and his pressed volunteers were carried off by Slater.
“Now, Miss Marion, if you will give me a few moments, there is something I want to say,” Bony stated smilingly.
“Very well. Let us go to the office.”
There he said:
“Permit me to be seated at this desk for a minute, will you?” and, Marion consenting, he wrote rapidly some fifty words on a sheet of block paper, folded it, placed with it the paper he had stolen from Mrs Thomas and the jewellers’ letter, sealed the papers in an envelope, sealed the envelope with red wax, and wrote on the envelope: To be opened on the morning Miss Marion Stanton is married. Bony’s wedding present.
Rising to his feet, he approached her and gave the envelope into her hands. For a little while she was silent, reading and re-reading what he had written on it. Then, suddenly looking up, she saw him regarding her with laughter in his eyes.
“Bony—this is not a joke, Bony, is it?” she asked perplexedly.
“Well, no. It is not”—confidentially. “You will remember that recently you asked my advice about a certain trouble which had befallen your father and you. The sooner you become married the quicker will the load of worry be lifted from your father’s shoulders, and consequently from your own. The jack that will lift the load is contained in that envelope, but you are not to use it until the day you are to be married.”
Bony - 02 - Sands of Windee Page 24
