Rockaway was thought to be an Australian who emerged as a financier and company promoter in London in the year 1910. Shortly after the war he failed, but made a comeback in 1924, rising to rocket heights in three years. Unlike so many of his kind he chose his own time to get out—with a sum estimated at a round million. His confidential valet, David Marsden, disappeared with him and his daughter in 1927.
Superintendent Ericson, then inspector, was assigned to the Rockaway case, and his prolonged examination of Rockaway’s activities revealed close association with a firm of blackmailers having branches in all European capitals. The managing director of this firm was a Mr Lumley-Saunders, whose hobby was safe-breaking, and his partner was a well-known character known by the cognomen of Canadian Jack.
From data supplied by Inspector Bonaparte, Scotland Yard was confident that Rockaway was the financier and company promoter named Elson, Marshall was his valet named Marsden, while Malone was Canadian Jack. The London people inquired about Lumley-Saunders, asking if he was under suspicion and carefully describing his appearance and habits. His appearance tallied closely with Tatter, and Tatter’s expedition to break open the Bermagui hotel safe indicated him to be Lumley-Saunders.
Messages from London revealed that Scotland Yard was gravely anxious about Tatter, issuing warnings to the New South Wales Commissioners that Lumley-Saunders was wanted for homicide in several countries. He was known to be a shoot-at-sight, a cold and deliberate snake of a man, whose apprehension would require care and efficiency. Hence Allen’s growing anxiety lest Tatter had somehow received warning of the raid, his chagrin that, not having followed the private road from their cars hidden in the scrub off the Coast Road, they had missed him. Further, when informed of Tatter’s expedition it was too late to go after him, too dangerous to bail him up at the hotel. The wise course, it was thought, was to await Tatter’s return.
Reduced to a cringing wretch by Bony’s unorthodox behaviour in his study, Elson, alias Rockaway, had confirmed the information supplied from London and admitted that Tatter was Lumley-Saunders. He was vehement in his assertion that the original plan to prevent Ericson betraying them after he recognized him on the Dolfin was to confine him and his launchmen until such time as arrangements could be made for the gang to transfer to another country. He swore that Tatter and Malone would have overruled his objections to the killing of the two launchmen had it not been for his daughter who threatened them all with disclosure if murder was done. She on her part agreed not to visit the prisoners in the cavern or arrange for their escape. She had not known of the abduction of Bony, and she had been persuaded to leave on an extended holiday.
When the clocks announced the time as four o’clock, Allen was intensely worried. By now, of course, Sergeant Lester would have warned the police in all towns to watch for Tatter on his motor-cycle and to stop all cars passing through towns in the hunt for him. Constable Telfer being here at Wapengo Inlet, Bermagui was without police protection, whilst only one man was on duty at Cobargo.
“We’d better get along to Bermagui and find out what’s happened there,” Allen said. To this Bony objected.
“Wait for daylight,” he advised. “Should we meet Tatter returning to Wapengo Inlet we will have light to stop him and capture him. In the dark he would have a greater chance of escaping us. We will leave here on the truck in the garage, transfer to your police car and in that proceed to Bermagui. Even had Joe and Wilton remembered to tell us about Tatter’s destination before they went out to bring the Dolfin back to the jetty I would have counselled waiting here for him. When we did learn from Rockaway the object of Tatter’s expedition, after assuring the safe removal from the cave of Spinks and Garroway, it was too late.”
“Well, he must have received warning somehow or he’d have been back by now. You’ve done all right, but I’m likely to get it in the neck if Tatter kills anyone or gets clear away.”
“I shall smooth that over, my dear Allen, but you cannot smooth over a matter concerning me. I can but express regret for what has happened. Although probably you and Lester will be sufficiently generous not to mention in your reports the condition of mental degeneracy you found me suffering from when you burst into Rockaway’s study, I myself will never overlook it or cease to regret it. Of course, I was unaware that Joe had listened to a conversation between Telfer and Blade in the latter’s office, and that in consequence of that and my conversation with Joe the preceding evening he and Wilton had arrived at the Inlet via the sea. Nor did I know you and Lester were nearing the house via the land, or that Wilton and Joe had accounted for Marshall, and I myself for Malone—for I was not sure I had killed him. Even in spite of the fact that I thought I was faced with the task of overcoming the entire gang, there is no excuse for my primitive attack on Rockaway. No, not even when my very natural indignation at the treatment received by Spinks and his mate is taken into account.
“I am entitled to credit, and I am going to see that Telfer is given credit to the furtherance of his career. Before even Mrs Spinks told me that Ericson and Rockaway had met at the Bermagui jetty and recognized each other as enemies, I was sure that the genesis of the Do-me affair was to be discovered in Ericson’s professional career before his retirement.
“It has not been an easy case, Allen, and one wrongly begun by you who did not give sufficient attention to the locality of the crime”—Allen shuddered at memory of his sea-sickness—“I hope, at a later date, that from my papers you will clearly see how important it is to reconstruct the crime and its background. Even on unstatic water objects can be traced and their movements established. For me, however, the satisfaction gained from success has been spoiled by my own extraordinary exhibition of loss of personal control, proving that, despite everything I am a savage.”
Bony’s gaze fell to the task of making another cigarette, and Allen brazenly winked at Telfer who had been a silent listener.
“A savage with guts is a better man than a civilized man like Rockaway who becomes a yellow craven when his number goes up,” Allen said quietly. “I would have acted as you did, knowing that I was alone against a gang and that the sound of a gun-shot would have brought the others on me. Darn it! I can’t see that you’ve anything to reproach yourself with.”
Bony sighed.
“You cannot understand me, Allen,” he said softly.
After Bony had made certain arrangements with Wilton he left with Allen and Telfer and two constables, for Bermagui. Nothing was seen of Lumley-Saunders, alias Tatter, and the arrival at Bermagui found Allen greatly depressed.
It was five o’clock when he reached the end of the single street, to observe Mr Blade standing nonchalantly in the doorway of his office. This abnormality in the life of Bermagui was emphasized by the appearance of Mr Parkins outside his garage, and several men and women outside the hotel farther along the street.
“Here’s evidence of Tatter,” moaned Allen. “Pull up, driver. We’ll interview the club secretary.”
Blade declined to leave his doorway when the police car halted opposite it, and Bony and Allen with Telfer alighted and walked to him. He was freshly shaved and as neatly dressed as always. He smiled at them, and then with concern said:
“You have been hurt, Mr Bonaparte! Badly?”
“I could have suffered worse,” answered Bony. “Have you by any chance seen or heard anything of Rockaway’s butler, Tatter?”
“Yes, Mr Bonaparte. I have both seen and heard of him. I first heard of him about one o’clock when he stopped his motor-bike about a mile down the coast road. I knew it was his machine by the sound of its engine, and I wondered why he was coming to Bermagui at such an hour, and why he stopped his machine a mile out of town. Being annoyed because Sergeant Allen and Constable Telfer left me behind after I was promised a front seat at a certain show, I dressed and prospected the town, as Joe would say. I saw Tatter enter the town by the back, and I followed him to see him break into the hotel. …”
>
Blade purposely discontinued his narrative on the pretext of lighting a cigarette. The cigarette seemed difficult to light.
“Well, what did you do then?” asked the anxious Allen.
Blade casually lit his cigarette, and then, as casually, he said: “Oh, I followed him into the hotel.”
“Go on, man, go on,” implored Allen.
“As I said, I followed Tatter into the hotel. I was still feeling much annoyed at being left behind by you and Constable Telfer. I came on Tatter kneeling before the hotel safe. His hand-torch was switched on, and beside him was laid out an array of implements. So, you see, I collared him.”
“Did you? Good man!” shouted Allen. “Where is he? Don’t say he got away.”
“He didn’t get away. It’s only secretive, sly policemen who get away from me. Tatter, on seeing me, drew a gun and fired but missed. He had a gun in a holster under each arm-pit—automatics. I took them from him and held him until the barman came and assisted me to secure him.”
Telfer was actually gaping. Sergeant Allen merely stared with eyes like a child’s glass marbles.
“You caught him—Tatter?” he said, doubtfully. “What did you do with him?”
Mr Parkins, who had come to stand close, chuckled.
“What he done with him isn’t so important as what he did to him,” he interjected.
Mr Blade smiled.
“You see, before I suffered a long illness I was a wrestler,” he explained. “I caught Tatter with a flying tackle. Then I picked him up and gave him an aeroplane spin, and finally I applied an Indian deathlock. As he had fired at me, and as you had left me behind to twiddle my thumbs, I didn’t give him a sporting chance. I had him brought here, and you can now take charge of him.”
He stepped aside to disclose Tatter lying on the office floor, efficiently bound and gagged.
“I gagged him because of his language,” Blade said apologetically.
At seven o’clock a small boy came racing from the headland to give Bony certain information. Four minutes later Bony knocked on the door of Nott’s Tea Rooms. The street was deserted.
“May I come in?” he asked Mrs Spinks, who opened the door.
“Why yes, of course,” replied Mrs Spinks. “You’re Jack’s angler, aren’t you? What’s happened to your poor head?”
“Nothing of much importance. It got in the way of something,” Bony said. “Is Miss Spinks at home?”
Mrs Spinks called loudly for Marion, and again Bony had to make light of his head injury.
“It’s a little early, I know,” he said quietly, “but I rather want you both to accompany me to the headland where I want to show you something of great interest.”
“The headland! Yes! I was up there last evening looking for the Do-me,” said Mrs Spinks. “Oh, why doesn’t the Do-me come back?”
“Your son and young Garroway will come home one of these days,” Bony predicted, to add brightly: “But today I’ve something fine to show you. I’m not going to tell you now what it is. I want it to be a surprise. Come along! Leave everything, and come along with me.”
The street was still deserted when he escorted them past the hotel, where no one stood, past the Zane Grey shelter-shed, and so up the little path leading to the grass-crowned headland that had witnessed the agony of a distraught woman. He led them to the seaward edge of the great rock barrier protecting the town, hoping they would not notice the unusual activity of cars down in the street they had left.
“Why, it must be late,” explained Mrs Spinks. All the launches are coming out.”
“Yes, so they are, Mother,” agreed Marion.
“And look! Here’s the Marlin coming up from the south, Marion.”
“That’s so, Mother. There’s old Joe Peace standing against the mast. Is Jack bringing him a big swordie, Mr Bonaparte?”
“Something of the kind,” Bony evasively replied. “Just wait a minute and you’ll both see my surprise.”
The Marlin was coming close to the foot of the headland, her bow gently pushing aside white water. The sea was carpeted with cavorting white horses running over bars of blue and green.
“I can’t see a swordie on the Marlin’s stern,” Mrs Spinks said disappointedly. “I can see that worthless Joe Peace against the mast, and I can see Jack Wilton standing on the gun’le and steering with a foot.”
“And I can see—” Marion turned round to face Bony who was standing a little to the rear. Her mother was too interested by the oncoming Marlin to notice how she stepped close to Bony and impulsively clasped his arms above the elbows. The girl’s face had become milk-white, her lustrous eyes great black opals. Her lips were parted slightly, and there was a catch in her breathing. She fought to speak, gained control of her voice and was about to say something when Bony gently pressed the tips of his fingers against her mouth.
The Marlin was within three hundred yards of them. Bony stepped to the side of the elder woman and softly offered her a pair of binoculars. With the eagerness of a child she accepted them from him, raised them to her eyes, and then out over the dancing water rang her loud cry:
“It’s Bill! It’s my boy, Bill! Bill! Bill! Bill!”
Back to them came the response.
“Mother! Marion! We’re coming home!”
Mother and daughter were clinging to each other as the Marlin rounded the headland to be met by every launch at Bermagui and escorted across the inner bay to the river bar.
“Come!” urged Bony. “We must be at the jetty to welcome them.”
Mrs Spinks began to run, crying loudly: “It’s Bill! It’s my boy coming home!”
Bony accompanied them to the little path leading down to the road. Mr Parkins waited there for them with his car. Bony stopped and watched. He saw Mr Parkins urge them to get into his car. He saw them drive off along the single street. He saw Mr Emery’s tub move away after it, and other cars and trucks appear to form a long procession which rushed at unlawful speed down the street and along the curving road to the jetty. Bony watched the Marlin go in behind the promontory protecting the river’s mouth. He watched until the last of the sea procession disappeared behind the promontory. The road beyond the jetty was blackened by cars, the jetty was blackened by people. He could hear the people cheering.
He was happy because he felt he had atoned for that fall from the height to which his pride and natural gifts had lifted him. But, when he turned to face the glittering sea in time to watch, far away, a beautiful fish dancing on its tail, memory of his temporary fall was expunged from his mind and his delicately shaped nostrils quivered.
Bony - 07 - The Mystery of Swordfish Reef Page 23
