“Thank you. I hope I am not disturbing you.”
“No of course not.” Miss Philps smiled for the first time. “You see, I am used to being interrupted in my work. How do you like Mount Chalmers?”
“Very much. It’s the most beautiful place in Australia, and I have yet to walk down into the fern gullies which, I am told, have a beauty all of their own. So different, you know, from my own part of the country. There, it is all open and flat and sun-glary and hot.”
Bony was beginning to describe Western Queensland when Miss Jade came in with a bowl of warm water and a large cardboard box bearing a red cross on the cover.
“I’d just love to go out into the real outback,” she said, brightly. “I’ve never been farther out than Mildura. You must love it, Mr. Bonaparte.”
“Yes, I suppose I do,” admitted Bony. “There’s plenty of space to move about in, and one hasn’t to wear dinner clothes and a starched collar and be extra polite, and all that kind of thing.”
“Don’t you like being polite?” asked Miss Jade, pouring a few drops of antiseptic into the bowl.
“Perhaps the word was not quite the one for me to use,” he countered. “Formal would have been better. You see, Miss Jade, were we outback—er—after an acquaintance of four days you would be calling me Bony and I would be addressing you by your Christian name.”
Miss Jade advanced to him with cotton wool saturated with the antiseptic. She laughed softly:
“If anyone on Mount Chalmers were to hear me calling you Bony, and you calling me Eleanor, it would immediately go around that we were lovers,” she said, half seriously. “One has to be so careful, you know, in a place like this. Now, this might sting just a tiny bit.”
“Pleasure is often born of pain,” murmured Bony. “No pain, no expert administration by you, Miss Jade. When my man friend gave me the box of salve, he said, ‘Here, shove it on.’ ”
“It’s what a man would say.” The antiseptic did not sting, neither did the ointment which Miss Jade applied with the tip of a little finger. The ointment at once soothed a wound which was beginning to ache, and then with gauze and a narrow strip of plaster Miss Jade completed the operation and requested Bony to look at it in a wall mirror, saying:
“It won’t make you unsightly at dinner, Mr. Bonaparte, and it will keep the air from the cut and heal it more quickly.”
He turned to see her withdraw her fingertips from the bowl of antiseptic, and begin to dry them on a towel.
“I thank you,” he said gravely. “I look, and feel, quite presentable. Next week, should I go off in a friend’s car, I’ll arrange to gash the opposite cheek. A cigarette?”
Miss Jade glanced at the office clock, and then accepted. It barely reached her lips before the lighter was held by a brown hand in service, and above the tiny flame she gazed into the blue eyes whimsically regarding her. During that flash of time she decided she would like to call him Bony.
No proprietor of a guest house is dull in psychology. Miss Jade was aware that the least travelled people were the most difficult with whom to deal, and that the loud-voiced people were those acutely suffering from an inferiority complex. All her guests at Wideview Chalet were in comfortable circumstances, and her high tariff secured a high degree of selectivity.
The soft and clear enunciation of this outback man both charmed and mystified her, mystified her because she had thought that people who lived far beyond the railways were hoarse and coarse. She sensed the mental power behind the wide, low forehead, the power which in a rare flash became visible, and after her cigarette was alight, she turned to say something to Miss Philps that Bonaparte might not read her mind.
“I hope that you are quite happy in your dining companions, Mr. Bonaparte. I am asking Mr. Sleeman to sit at your table, and also two guests who arrived today, a Mr. Downes and a Mr. Lee.” Swiftly Miss Jade smiled. “There will be no ladies at your table. Mr. and Mrs. Watkins especially requested to be given a table to themselves.”
“I shall find that arrangement entirely satisfactory,” Bony agreed, adding in his grand manner: “Madam, there is but one lady in this house who interests me.”
To which Miss Jade countered, really charmed:
“I am glad there is only one gentleman from Queensland here at the same time.”
“I find that extremely gratifying, Miss Jade. And thank you for attending to my slight injury. Au revoir!”
Miss Jade herself arranged the seating at Bony’s table and introduced the new guests to Bony and Mr. Sleeman and another man who had been staying at the Chalet for several weeks, a Mr. Raymond Leslie.
Leslie was an artist who knew every inch of Mount Chalmers and much of the mountains beyond the valley. He appeared to find pleasure in occupying the chair so recently occupied by Mr. Grumman, and he lost little time in announcing that fact to the two new guests at this table, Mr. Lee and Mr. Downes, eulogizing Grumman’s brusque manner of speech and his forceful descriptive power. He appeared to think little of the reticent Bonaparte, and still less of the even more reticent Mr. Sleeman. Bony covertly watched the two new guests, of whom Lee appeared the more transparent. When this large and weather-beaten man stated that he owned “a small place in the Riverina,” it was evident that he spoke the truth. He was unmistakably a pastoralist.
Downes was slight with hair turning grey, although he did not appear to be beyond forty. It was difficult to guess his profession and he showed no inclination to announce it. His moustache was short and smooth and dark, there were tiny pockets under his dark eyes, and his hands were long-fingered and white. Seated on Bony’s left, he was content to listen to Raymond Leslie talking about Mr. Grumman, and complaining of the treatment he had received from the detectives, who suspected everyone.
On Bony’s right sat Mr. Sleeman who, Bony had been informed, was the representative of an English firm of engineers. He was quiet-spoken, interesting, and possessed of a little weakness during the evenings, a weakness in which George took a most prominent part.
“Seem to be settling down again, don’t we?” he murmured to Bony beneath the rapid-fire of Raymond Leslie’s talk. “Did you clear out last night to get away from the atmosphere?”
“Hardly that,” replied Bony. “I was down the road and by chance saw some friends of mine in a car. Hadn’t seen them for a couple of years. They took me to their home near the city for the evening.”
“Was that where the war was?” Sleeman asked, his eyes glinting.
“Oh, no! It was quite peaceful down there. I was getting out of the confounded car. My friend who was driving had switched off the dash lights and my cheek came in violent contact with a projection from the windscreen. Only five guests here last night?”
“That’s all. Elder left this morning. The place is better to live in now, more peaceful now those chattering, screaming women have gone.”
The girl, Alice, waited at table. Bony observed her thoroughly for the first time. She was tall, vivacious and efficient. Too young, he thought, to have had any direct part in the murder of Grumman, but not too young to have gone through his own kit whilst he was away. In her statement to the police, she had said that she was a native of Barnsdale, single, and had been employed by Miss Jade for four months. Her duties had included the cleaning of Grumman’s room, and she had every morning emptied the water carafe, washed it and re-filled it. In the mornings she had noticed that Grumman had used about half the water contents. Grumman had kept a bottle of tablets on his dressing table, but just what they were she did not know.
The artist was saying:
“Yes, the police thoroughly examined poor Grumman’s room. Took all his luggage off, too. At least it was all gone when I passed along the passage to my room this afternoon and was able to look in through the open door.”
“I didn’t see ’em carting it away,” interjected Sleeman.
“Oh, they must have taken it,” objected Leslie. “What else would they do with it? Becomes State property until the next of kin is estab
lished.”
“Well, you may be right, but I saw the police cars depart both yesterday and today, and I did not see Grumman’s luggage taken away.”
“They probably got Miss Jade to store it,” volunteered Downes.
“Maybe! But that doesn’t seem to accord with their usual procedure,” Leslie argued, for the first time this evening experiencing opposition, and obviously not liking it. A brown-bearded man who apparently believed that people engaged in art should ever appear arty, he was naturally endowed with a temperament.
“Well, we’ll ask Miss Jade about it,” Downes said mildly, and went on eating.
The matter was put to Miss Jade later on in the lounge, the subject being raised by Leslie. It was then about nine o’clock. The Watkins couple had gone out for a walk despite the rain, Mrs. Watkins having announced to everyone that her husband suffered “frightfully” from indigestion. Leslie and the squatter from the Riverina were talking in one corner of the spacious room. Sleeman was writing letters, Downes was reading, as was Lee. Bony was lying full length in a chair.
“Mr. Grumman’s luggage!” Miss Jade echoed. “I don’t know what the police did with it.”
“There you are, Sleeman!” cried the artist. “What did I say?”
Bony raised himself a fraction that he might observe the others. Miss Jade was standing near the artist and Lee. Downes had lowered his book to his knees and was regarding Sleeman with obvious interest. Sleeman said, with strong conviction:
“I stick to my guns. I am sure that Grumman’s gear wasn’t taken away by the police. As I said at dinner, I saw all the police cars depart, yesterday and today.”
“Well, then, where the devil is it?” demanded Leslie. “It isn’t in his room now.”
“No, the room is vacant,” Miss Jade said in support. “It was unsealed this afternoon by Inspector Snook just before he left. One of the maids has cleaned it since then.”
“The police said nothing to you about Grumman’s luggage?” pressed Leslie, with what seemed unwarranted heat. Miss Jade shook her dark head.
“Give in, Sleeman,” ordered Leslie.
“I can’t change my conviction,” Sleeman said, firmly.
“All that I know,” contributed Miss Jade, “is that yesterday morning I was told that the room had been sealed and would not be made available to me again until the police had completed their investigation of it. And, as I have told you, Inspector Snook said I could enter the room just before he left this afternoon.”
“Very strange,” remarked Downes from his chair. “Perhaps one of the staff saw the luggage being removed. Ah—here’s the steward.”
“George!” called Miss Jade. “Did you see what became of Mr. Grumman’s luggage?”
George was crossing the room, carrying a tray on which were a bottle and a glass and water for Mr. Sleeman. His mind must have been wandering, for, on being addressed, he tripped slightly, and then came to stand in the centre of the lounge and faced his employer. The water in the glass jug, Bony noted, almost spilt out onto the tray. In his soft and precise voice, George answered:
“No, marm.”
“Perhaps Bisker carried the luggage out for the police, or saw them take it away. Would you run out and ask Bisker?”
“Very well, marm.”
George presented his tray to Mr. Sleeman, and Sleeman helped himself to a liberal nobbier of whisky, added water, and settled himself further into his chair. George carried his tray back to his pantry.
“You know, that’s mighty strange,” Leslie burst out. “I’m not disbelieving you, Sleeman, when you say that you saw all the police cars, but, you know, they must have taken the stuff. What did Grumman have, Miss Jade?”
“Oh, there were two large steamer trunks, and several suitcases,” replied Miss Jade. “I remember seeing Bisker and George carry them from the car which brought Mr. Grumman. They carried them past the office off the hall, and I was standing at the open door of the office. I remember——”
Miss Jade’s voice was slowly cut off as the scream rose in pitch and volume. It was a scream from the throat of a badly horrified woman. It began on a high note, and rose to a note still higher, the last note drawn out to an unbelievable length. Abruptly it was shut off. Miss Jade became a Junoesque statue. Bony rose to his feet, but Mr. Downes got to his with remarkable alacrity. He was near the door leading to the reception hall and the office. Bony was near that door through which George had appeared and had departed. Then the scream began again. It began on a high note, rose and fell into a pulsating gurgle, then burst once again into a long-drawn ear-torturing shriek.
The sound of it came through the door by which George had gone and which had been left open. Bony leaped from the standing position beside his chair. Leslie and Lee remained just where they were. Downes was even quicker in his actions than was Bony, but Bony was first through that door. He heard Leslie roaring behind him. He heard Miss Jade cry out.
The door led to a passage midway along which were the double doors giving entry to the dining room. At the far end of the passage another door stood wide open, and through that Bony could see the kitchen range. The scream had stopped, and now was beginning again. The terrified woman was undoubtedly in the kitchen.
Chapter Thirteen
The Kitchen Party
WITH THE scream ringing in his ears Bony raced into the kitchen of Wideview Chalet, closely followed by the dour Mr. Downes, Sleeman, Lee, Miss Jade and the artist.
Beyond the large cooking range, Bony saw the rear vision of Mrs. Parkes. Her large body was clothed in black, neatly halved by the white bands of an apron. The sleeves of her blouse were rolled above the bends of her arms where, in normal persons, elbow joints would be visible. One arm was raised and in the hand of that arm was gripped a flat-iron.
Upon the table where the staff ate, the girl Alice was kneeling. Her hands were resting upon her bended knees, and her head was tilted back. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, and from that mouth issued another long-drawn-out shriek. In the instant that she paused for breath, Mrs. Parkes snapped:
“Shut your trap, Alice! Leave him to me!”
A moment, two, three of paralysing inactivity held everyone in the kitchen. Then Mrs. Parkes said, conversationally:
“He’s coming out!”
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” cried Alice in an ascending octave, and began all over again her scream of horror.
Slowly, reminding Bony of a show figure revolving in a shop window, Mrs. Parkes began to turn in the direction of Alice on the table. As she turned so did the girl’s shriek rise up the scale. Then, like a classical javelin thrower, Mrs. Parkes threw the flat-iron. The missile thudded upon something on the floor, skidded and crashed into the wall.
“Got him!” cried Mrs. Parkes. “Now then, Alice, come down from that table and stop behaving like a young gal wanting to be kissed.”
The cook moved forward, and Bony, with the company behind him, also moved forward after Mrs. Parkes, who came to a halt, glaring triumphantly down upon the mangled body of an enormous rat.
Miss Jade assumed command.
“Mrs. Parkes,” she exclaimed, “what are you doing?”
Mrs. Parkes turned, and the motion of her body was not unlike that of a crane swinging a load from ship to wharf.
“I’m not doin’ nothing, marm—at the moment,” she said. “I have just killed a rat what must have come in through the scullery door what must have been left open by George when he went out a minute ago.”
Running feet sounded on the floorboards of the scullery, and George rushed into the kitchen, followed by Bisker. The steward’s face was dead white and his eyes were big. Bisker’s moustache and eyebrows appeared to be standing straight out. Mrs. Parkes crossed to the girl on the table whose eyes were still shut and whose mouth was still open and about to utter another shriek. Bony, who had turned slightly, was able to observe the reactions of all the others.
The brown moustache and beard of Raymond L
eslie seemed to lie flat beneath his bulging eyes. The squatter was the least affected. Sleeman’s eyes were winking rapidly, and Downes was standing utterly still, and upon his face was no expression. His eyes were fixed in a wide stare, and his arms were bent, with the fingers of both hands extended like the legs of crabs. When Miss Jade again spoke, animation was resumed. She was the first to regain composure.
“Alice, stop that noise!” she commanded.
The girl, however, appeared to be wound up. Mrs. Parkes rolled over the three yards of tiled floor to the girl. She smacked her face—hard. Then she picked the girl off the table as though she were a vase and enfolded her within her arms against her prominent bust, saying:
“Now, now, dearie, hold your tongue. Here’s Miss Jade wanting to know what all the fuss is about. It’s all right! I killed the animile. There, there, now. …”
“George, did you leave the scullery door open?” demanded Miss Jade.
George began to breathe. His eyes blinked.
“No, marm,” he replied. “The door was open when I went out to ask Bisker about the luggage belonging to Mr. Grumman.”
“Bisker, did you leave the scullery door open?” demanded Miss Jade.
Bisker’s moustache twitched. Then his eyebrows twitched, and Bony wanted to laugh, for he wondered what the effect would have been had eyebrows and moustache twitched at the same moment. Like the others, he was experiencing reaction following those terrible screams.
Bisker said that he did not recall having left open the outer scullery door, and he stood like a wilted toadstool beneath Miss Jade’s withering condemnation of him, condemnation which Bony considered unjustified, as others in addition to Bisker doubtless passed in and out through that particular door. It was Mr. Sleeman who offered a suggestion which gained Bony’s approval.
“Well, all’s well that end’s well,” he broke in, the several drinks already presented to him on George’s tray that evening having mellowed him. “Miss Jade! I seek your favour. Will you be so kind as to permit me to call upon George to bring us all a dose of nerve-steadier? Our nerves have been subjected to great strain, and a little bracing fluid would restore them to normal.” Miss Jade’s anger was melting. “In view of the circumstances,” went on Mr. Sleeman, “I’d like to suggest that George wait upon all of us here that we might do honour to Mrs. Parkes. It was the most beautiful shot with a flat-iron I have ever witnessed.”
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