Mr Jelly’s Business

by Arthur W. Upfield

  “Yes. You took candles and box out of the drawer. There were three candles there then.”

  “Well, what does a candle matter more or less? We’re not that broke, surely,” Miss Waldron exclaimed impatiently. “Give me one, instead of looking at them as though they were hundred-pound notes, before I yawn my head off.”

  “That’s very funny,” Mrs Loftus again said, giving one of the two candles to her sister.

  “Don’t let it keep you awake all night,” urged Miss Waldron, laughing and yawning. “Good night, Mavie! Good night, Mick!”

  “Good night!” Bony heard them reply while he slipped back to the north wall angle, round which he saw Miss Waldron emerge from the house, stand for a second looking up at the glittering stars, and then disappear round the south vine-protected veranda on which was her bedroom. Two minutes he gave her before he took the grave risk of her returning to find him at the window.

  When again he peered into the living-room it was to see Landon standing with his back to the stove, smoking a cigarette and looking intently about the room. After a little time Mrs Loftus came out of her bedroom, when they regarded each other steadily for several seconds. It was he who spoke first.

  “Anything disturbed?” he asked.

  “Not a thing. Yet I am sure about those three candles.”

  “So am I. I’ll look round in the morning and see if there are any strange tracks around the house.”

  Bony saw Mrs Loftus’s eyes widen, whilst on her forehead gathered the forbidden frown.

  “Mick!” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “The dogs?”

  “What about them?”

  “Oh, Mick! Where are they? They never met us tonight, and they have always barked and gone mad when we’ve come home late.”

  “By Jupiter! It is strange. I’ll call them.”

  When he strode to the door Bony slipped back round the house corner. Landon came out and with index finger and thumb whistled shrilly. Then he shouted. He came to the corner, and Bony darted back to the west side of the house. Again he whistled, then stood listening for answering yelps, or, perhaps, for a distant bark. He whistled and called again before returning to the lighted room, Bony at the window two seconds after he had entered.

  “I advised you to chain them up before we left,” Mrs Loftus was saying. To which he replied:

  “They were better loose. Gip would tear a prowler to pieces. Their being away is peculiar. I don’t like it. They’ve never cleared out like that before.”

  “And I don’t like it about that candle.”

  Now for fully thirty seconds the two stared at each other across the table. Then Landon laughed and said:

  “We are imagining things, dear heart. There must have been two candles, after all. Who would steal a candle? As for the dogs, they have gone hunting; very likely a fox wandered too near, and they nosed his scent. They’ll come back any time.”

  “I could have sworn——”

  “We are becoming afraid of shadows. There is nothing to be afraid about. Come, let us turn in. It’s half-past three.”

  “Yes, I suppose we are foolish, dear.” Mrs Loftus passed swiftly round the table to the man, who took her in his arms. “I’ll go to bed, but you will sleep lightly, won’t you? I am very tired. You’ll excuse me?”

  “Certainly, Mavis. Kiss me properly, and I’ll go.”

  Bony watched them embrace, thought of the absent Loftus and of Mr Jelly, whose suspicions were being proved fact before his eyes. The nudging he had given Father Time was certainly producing results. When they parted he slipped noiselessly back again to the north wall. He heard Landon utter a parting endearment within the room, and then, when outside the house and about to close the door, Landon said:

  “Good night, Mavis! Pleasant dreams.”

  Waiting no more, Bony darted to the fence-enclosed haystack, in the impenetrable shadow of which he watched Landon leave the house and cross direct to the stack almost on his trail. At first he thought the man saw him and was about to demand reason of his presence there, but he veered to the north end of the stack, climbed a ladder, and from the roof slope pulled away half a dozen sheaves of wheaten hay. On reaching the ground again, Landon picked up the sheaves, one in each hand and two under each arm, and carried them to a small yard adjoining the stables, when the low “moo-o” of a cow explained Landon’s movements. Until all the wheat had been stripped the cows could not be freed from the fenced narrow paddock running back to the rock and in which the grass had been burned off by the sun. From the cow yard the hired man walked straight to his tent.

  During three minutes Bony watched his shadow dancing on the tent walls and low roof. The light was extinguished, and Bony settled himself to wait and see what happened next, if anything.

  What he had seen in the living-room that evening had given him a fine opportunity to sum up the characters of these three people. He was now sure of Miss Waldron on several points. He was sure that she did not know the whereabouts of George Loftus unless he was at Leonora, and he was sure that she did not know about the hidden key and the object in the flock of Mrs Loftus’s mattress, and he was sure that she did not know the intimate relationship between Landon and her sister.

  What he had seen confirmed his opinion of Mrs Loftus. She knew where her husband was and was indifferent to him. She was a hard, selfish woman, sensual and snobbish, but she shared certain secrets with the hired man, who was strikingly handsome.

  Regarding Landon, Mr Jelly was quite right. He was better able to control his emotions than could his lover. His personality was but little weaker than that of Mrs Loftus. He was cool, and, therefore, able to calculate and plan, and, consequently, could become a dangerous man. Despite his easing Mrs Loftus’s fears with laughter which rang true, Bony knew that he was disturbed by the missing candle and worried at the absence of the dogs. He had gone to bed without delay when many men would have searched for traces of the dogs, and it was this point which indicated the probability that the man even then was watching from his tent door, his suspicions still strong.

  Why were both he and Mrs Loftus made so uneasy by the absence of the dogs and by that missing candle Bony had taken on which to make impressions of the secret key? What did they fear? Was it guilty knowledge which made them fearful? Were they afraid of George Loftus, of his vengeance? Was it——

  Bony’s keen eyes saw the shadow distinctly almost at the instant it left the cart shed. What was Landon up to now? Bony had not observed him leave his tent. He was creeping without sound towards the house.

  Glad that he had waited on the chance of this development, his nerves leaping under the thrill of it, he saw a second shadow but a short distance from the hired man’s tent. Who was that man? If it was Landon, then who was the first man? He watched the two shadows draw near, converge. He heard one of them utter a little grunt of surprise; saw a second later a red spurt of flame leave the side of the second shadow and heard the whiplike crack of the revolver and the cry of pain.

  The second shadow shrank downwards, then shot up to its former height. The man began to run towards the road and the rabbit fence, speeding over the stripped stubble between the road and the homestead. Twice in rapid succession the red flame spurted from the man whom Bony guessed to be Mick Landon. Then Landon fell, stumbling over some concealed object, and when he got to his feet, swearing vividly, the other man had vanished.

  Cries came from the house. Miss Waldron rushed into Bony’s vision carrying a candle, which became a dim yellow speck when Mrs Loftus joined her carrying a lamp above her head. There was tense alarm in her voice.

  “Mick! What has happened? Are you hurt? What did you shoot at?”

  “I’m all right,” Landon replied reassuringly. “I waited in the dark, and I saw him sneaking across from the cart shed. I winged him, but he got away, running towards the road.”

  “Was it a man? Are you sure?”

  “Positive, Miss Waldron,” Landon said coolly. �
�But he won’t come back. He got a good issue. Come now. Don’t stay out here in your night things. Both of you to bed before you catch a chill. If you wish it I will make down a bed in the kitchen. Shall I?”

  “Oh I’ll not sleep a wink—I wouldn’t dare!” wailed Miss Waldron.

  “It’ll be all right, sis,” Mrs Loftus said with wonderful command of herself. “Come and sleep in my bed. Mick won’t mind sleeping on the kitchen floor.”

  “Of course not. I’ll run over for my bedding right away.”

  Bony watched him run to his tent and return with mattress and bedclothes in his arms. The last he saw was Landon shepherding the women round the house corner to the only door. He gave them five minutes before he stole away—and his shadow could not have been seen by the keenest of eyes.

  Skirting the stubble paddock, he gained the main road, removing the sheepskin boots when halfway up the long sand rise. The one question that occupied his mind was, where did Landon obtain the revolver? It certainly was not in the tent when Bony searched it. Did the man go armed to an entirely innocent country dance?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Bony Is Called In

  SINCE IT was twenty minutes to five on Sunday morning when Bony slipped into his bed at the Rabbit Department Depot, he made no attempt to rise in time for breakfast at the boardinghouse, even though the meal was not served until nine o’clock. When he was awakened it was five minutes to eleven, and the man who awoke him was one of the last he expected to see.

  “A log of wood is playful compared to you,” Mick Landon said cheerfully. “Did you intend to sleep all day?”

  “I certainly feel like it,” Bony replied, at once mentally alert. “I don’t know what time you went to bed, but I do know that it was a quarter to three when I got back.”

  “You were lucky. It was after four o’clock when I turned in. We were late fixing up about the dance. And there’s been some queer goings on out at Mrs Loftus’s farm. I took a shot at a feller.”

  “You took a shot at a fellow?” Bony echoed, reaching for tobacco and papers. “Did you kill him?”

  “No. But I winged him. Look here, Bony—somebody told me that you did tracking for the Queensland police once. Would you do Mrs Loftus a favour? She’s almost scared to death. Will you come out with me now and have a look round for the fellow’s tracks? It’s not serious enough to report to the police.”

  “Well yes, I could do that,” Bony assented slowly. “I could go out after dinner.”

  “We want you to come out now. Mrs Loftus got me to drive the car in.”

  The detective feigned hesitation, although he felt electrified by this turn of the case. Then:

  “All right. While I shave and dress describe these queer goings on you mentioned.”

  “In the first place,” began Landon easily, “some time last night someone played what at first seemed a practical joke. When Sawyers, who took a crowd of Burra dancers to Jilbadgie, took the crowd home this morning he was stopped at the empty garage by all the town cows, six or seven horses, and umpteen dogs all walking around and sniffing at the place. Being dark and everyone tired out, they didn’t take much notice, but this morning a Snake Charmer was passing, and beside the stock walking round outside he could hear a lot of dogs barking and snarling inside. When I came in I didn’t turn down the garage road, and I thought it strange that several dogs, a couple of horses, and a lot of rabbits were messing about at intervals along the road right from Mrs Loftus’s farm.”

  “It appears that the joker laid a trail, probably of aniseed,” Bony said reflectively, “I remember it being done once in Queensland.”

  “I think there is more in it than a joke,” Landon went on. “They ran the trail from Mrs Loftus’s farm right to the garage and inside it. A lot of dogs that followed it, including the three out at our place, were allowed inside the garage and locked up there.”

  “The trail laid as far as Mrs Loftus’s farm?” asked Bony.

  “Yes, it was. After what happened later I think the trail was not laid for a practical joke. If it was aniseed they used it must have been terribly strong. Why, there were rabbits nosing along the farm track when I came out.”

  “What makes you think it was not a practical joke?”

  “Because the house was burgled while we were at the dance. We got home to find the house upside down, as it were, the furniture moved about, drawers opened, the beds turned up. Strangely enough, Mrs Loftus could find nothing missing, and what the burglars hoped to find she cannot imagine. They were still prowling about after we reached home.

  “Mrs Loftus and Miss Waldron slept together because they were so upset, and I determined to sit up on a kind of guard. After pretending to go to bed I got my rifle and sat just outside the door of my tent. Sure enough, half an hour after, I saw a man sneaking across to the house from the cart shed. I fired a shot at him, but in the dark only winged him, and he got away.”

  “Looks to me like a police job,” Bony said quietly. To which Landon countered with:

  “Well, it is and it isn’t. Since George Loftus cleared out I’ve almost run the place for Mrs Loftus. She has come to rely on me to a great extent. She thinks, and I agree with her, that it is no ordinary burglary. We think that it was Loftus who came back—knowing that we all would be at the dance—to get something important, although Mrs Loftus can’t think what it is he wanted. Not being able to get it, or being disturbed by our return, he hung about waiting for a second chance.

  “Mrs Loftus is dead frightened, but she doesn’t want to go to the police about it. I remembered hearing that you are good at tracking, and we thought it best, in order to create no more scandal, to ask you to pick up his tracks and find out where he came from and has gone to.”

  At this point Bony turned round from the mirror before which he was brushing his fine black hair, to say tentatively:

  “Suppose the burglar’s wound is serious? Suppose he has perished through loss of blood and I find him? That would have to be reported to the police. It would be a police matter.”

  “If you saw him run, as I did, you would know that he wasn’t seriously wounded,” Landon said. “I am not nervous on that score. What we want to do is to find out what his game is. There is someone in it with him, too. He must have had someone to help him, because one man couldn’t have run the trail and burgled the place.”

  Dressed now, Bony sat on the edge of the table and rolled his second cigarette. Regarding Mick Landon, he could not but admire the man’s capacity for cool lying. Without the slightest betrayal he had stated that the burglar had upset the furniture when Bony had done nothing of the kind, and he had said he had shot the prowler with a rifle when Bony knew he had fired a revolver.

  It occurred to him then to proceed slowly. Believing Landon to be a dangerous man, knowing that a man will commit a crime to cover a crime already committed, he wondered if this invitation to the farm was to be the prelude to a regrettable accident. Or were they genuinely anxious to have the affair cleared up, desirous to know if really it was George Loftus that Mick Landon had shot?

  “If you argue that it was George Loftus who burgled the place,” Bony said slowly, “then I have found a flaw in it. If it had been Loftus it would not have been necessary for him to decoy away the dogs, because he knew them, and they would know him.”

  “Then who the hell was it?” Landon demanded with sudden heat.

  “Not I. I can assure you that I’m not wounded.”

  “Of course it wasn’t you. What would you want to burgle the place for? It must have been Loftus, or it might have been someone he sent. He could have sent someone, couldn’t he? Any old burglar would have pinched the several silver photo frames and some jewellery Mrs Loftus left in a drawer.” Bony wondered which drawer. “Anyway, let’s go. You might be able to pick up tracks. Mrs Loftus will be glad to give you dinner.”

  “Very well,” Bony agreed. “Drive along to Mrs Poole’s place. I must tell her I shall not be in for dinner. We can
have a look at the empty garage, too.”

  Landon made no bones about consenting to this procedure. When he stopped the car outside the boarding-house they found Mrs Poole at the shop entrance and Mr Poole seated on a fruit case below the shop-window. Farther along the street a number of men and a small crowd of children were gathered outside the empty garage, shouting with laughter at two horses and several cows walking up and down the road sniffing at the trail. Mr Poole was most cheerful. The eternal cigarette drooped from beneath his drooping moustache.

  “The missus says I played that joke,” he said in his tired voice. “What I wants to know is, how could I?”

  “Joe!” Mrs Poole snapped. “You’re getting a bigger liar every day. I said nothing of the sort.”

  “Perhaps not. But you thought it.”

  “I’ll tell you what I am thinking, if you like.”

  “I like,” stated Mr Poole submissively.

  “I think it’s about time you chopped some wood.”

  “Wood! If it ain’t wood, it’s the cow; and if it ain’t the cow, it’s Mrs Black,” sneered Mr Poole, brazenly winking at Bony. “Why don’t you think of nice-sounding words like love and moonlight and—and beer? If it wasn’t the blank wood, or the blanker cow, or the blankest Mrs Black, it would be the treble blank fowl that’s got to be plucked.”

  Bony laughed delightedly. Even Landon laughed before saying: “Well, we must be getting on.”

  “Yes, I just wanted to tell you, Mrs Poole, that I shall not be home for dinner,” the detective explained.

  Mr Poole pulled himself to his feet by clawing at the shopwindow frame. He said, almost wailing: “Well, for ’eaven’s sake, be home for tea. We got to down the monotony somehow.”

  Bony chuckled again as they slid away, leaving husband and wife laughing at them and contradicting the cat-and-dog life that their constant bickering would induce one to suppose that they led.