Sands of Windee b-2, page 28
part #2 of Bony Series
“The day after the killing of Marks they proceeded to the scene of the fire, near where Dot shot three kangaroos, and, after the ashes had been thoroughly sifted for bones and metal, over the spot were burned the carcasses of the kangaroos. Thus was hidden the spot where the body of Marks had been destroyed, for in the same locality these men had burned all the kangaroos they shot so as to leave no breeding-grounds for the blow-fly.
“The metal salvage they dissolved in nitric acid, purloined by Dot from the station workshop. The burned bones were very carefully pounded to dust in a gold-prospector’s dolly-pot and scattered to the winds.
“Thus was accomplished what is almost the perfect murder,” Bony continued after a pause for rolling and lighting a fresh cigarette. “The body of Marks was destroyed beyond identification by human intelligence. These men were aware that, with no body or identifiable portions of it in existence, the likelihood of their being charged with murder was nil. For my part, as a criminologist, I doff my hat to them, Father Ryan. To them are due my sincerest thanks for the entertainment the problem they set up has afforded me. As a minister of God you may not believe in luck, yet in this case luck played a momentous part. Perhaps I should say more definitely bad luck, for it was very bad luck for everyone concerned that I, Bony, became interested in it.”
Chapter Forty-eight
Bony’s Choice
THE FACE of the priest, absorbed in Bony’s narrative, was indicative of astonishment, but at the oral evidence of Bony’s stupendous vanity he was compelled to smile in his benignant way.
“Wait one moment before you continue,” he said tersely, and set about producing a bottle of wine and two glasses. With these filled he selected another cigar, and, having lit it to his satisfaction, he again seated himself opposite to his visitor, saying: “Well, go on, man. You’ve made me impatient for the rest.”
Bony then related how he had seen the official report of Marks’s disappearance and what he discovered in Sergeant Morris’s snapshot of the abandoned car. He described his arrival at Windee, his finding the sapphire, the silver disk, and the boot-sprig.
“It was only recently that I cleared up the mystery of the sapphire, which Miss Stanton lost from her ring at the homestead of Windee, and which I found being used by ants to keep their eggs warm,” the half-caste went on. “I found a letter from an Adelaide firm of jewellers, addressed to Jeffrey Stanton, junior, and in effect saying that they did not think the sapphire they had set in the ring would be in any way inferior to the accompanying stones, but if the stone which Mr Stanton had found and had lost should be found again they would be pleased to replace their own stone with it at a nominal charge, or to buy it at a fair market price.
“I knew then, of course, that it was young Jeff whom Ludbi had seen fighting with Marks in the car. This fact had eluded me always, because Ludbi died before I could question him, and when, through a North Queensland aboriginal chief, I had Moongalliti-er, well, hypnotized, I found that Ludbi had not told his father the name of this man. I suspected Roberts on account of events that occurred, notably Roberts warning Miss Stanton, who warned Dot and Dash, that the police were there to arrest them, and afterwards prompting the men to put up a strike in order that no driver should be found to man a pursuing car. I was mystified by Moongalliti’s stupidity when asked to track about Marks’s car, and the reason why he threatened the pointing-bone to any of his tribe who talked about what Ludbi had seen. Whilst Ludbi had not seen Dot, Dot had seen him and saw the danger in that quarter. It was Roberts who bribed Moongalliti to silence with tobacco and food. This I discovered through Illawalli. When I found that someone had ridden a horse about the scene of the crime I thought it was Roberts, but it was young Jeff. And I thought Roberts was in love with Marion Stanton. As a matter of fact, he was merely loyal to the Stanton family.”
“Maybe,” interjected Father Ryan, adding dryly: “Nevertheless, Roberts proposed to Marion a year ago.”
“Ah, then love did prompt loyalty, Father. Anyway, that aspect was cleared up. The other mystery that held my attention was the little silver disk I found in the fork of a tree. I could not understand for what purpose it had been made until I received Marks’s dossier from Sydney, which informed me that when on active service he had received a head wound. Knowing-who does not?-the war services of the great Sir Alfred Worthington, who probably was concerned in all the trepanning operations-not too many-required by the Australians in France, I sent him the disk, believing it possible to have come from the head of Marks. I gave Sir Alfred the date of Captain Green’s, alias Marks’s, head wound.
“Sir Alfred Worthington replied in a letter that according to his war diary he inserted a plate like the one submitted in the skull of Captain Green the day after he received the wound. He stated further that, in his opinion, it was most unlikely it would fall accidentally from Captain Green’shead, and that without it fixed thereto he would at the least suffer from excruciating headaches.
“The agreement of name and date settled that matter for me. In that small disk, Father, I had proof that Marks no longer lived. The otherwise perfect murder was marred by one flaw. One oversight was committed by the killer, yet no one could blame either Dot or Dash for not knowing that Sir Alfred Worthington had carried out a trepanning operation on Green. The clue was given by Dot when he fired at Marks with Dash’s rifle, for the bullet from the high-powered cartridge smashed the man’s head and carried away the plate in it. It was just that little trick of Fate which ruined a perfect crime.”
“Maybe the clue which actually spoiled it-may I be forgiven for saying so?-was not the silver disk, but Ludbi’s sign revealed to you by Morris’s photo,” objected the little man with twinkling eyes.
Bony laughed at the gentle reproof of his vanity. Then he went on to explain how he had learned of the stolen bride case, and how he had despoiled Mrs Thomas of the potent paper she held-an incident over which the priest chuckled heartily. Bony had doubts of the validity of this document, obtained by intimidating a sick man, but it was in safe hands now, and Mrs Thomas could do nothing without it. He went on to describe his adventures when pursuing Dash, and the final revelation of Dot’s death by snake-bite.
“It seemed, by what Dash was persuaded to tell me,”he said, “that when Dot learned from Miss Stanton that Sergeant Morris was at Windee to arrest them, he wanted to take the whole thing on his own shoulders and face it out by flat denial. Dash would not consent, because I was suspect, as Ned Swallow remembered seeing me in Queensland, and, too, because of the danger of Jeff Stanton, junior, being brought in. Although of opposite temperaments, in spite of wide diversity of education and social upbringing, these two men were cemented by a bond of friendship exceedingly rare and, therefore, a beautiful thing.
“Even now I am inclined to the belief that, had Dot prevailed on his companion to allow him to face it out alone, no judge or jury would have convicted him-especially in these days, when wholly circumstantial evidence is discredited. We could have charged Dot with theft of Marks’s money, which he would have explained by saying he picked it up while hunting kangaroos where, obviously, Marks had thrown it down or lost it during his search for the car. For that he might have received one year’s imprisonment, possibly three. Recent Australian criminal history records a case where a murderer has got off with eighteen months’ imprisonment. It is possible to commit a crime against humanity with impunity, but any crime against capital is invariably dealt with severely.”
Bony suddenly ceased speaking. After waiting a few moments for him to go on, Father Ryan said gently:
“Although you have interested me exceedingly, you have not explained why Dash is not arrested as an accomplice, and young Jeff with him. Behind this question, I fancy, lies your trouble. My son, have no fear of anould priestwid the love of God in his heart.”
For the first time that evening Father Ryan had fallen into the brogue of his country. He saw the effect his words had in the expression of Bony’s blue eyes, he saw the look of hurt perplexity, and at once his great heart went out in sympathy.
So Bony slowly told of his meetings with Marion Stanton and of the conversation between them in Marion’s sitting-room. He explained his upbringing, and attempted to explain the duality of race constantly in turmoil within his soul.
“I do not believe I suffer from an inferiority complex,” he said, with his head bent to the task of cigarette-making. “I am a proud man, and take pride in my accomplishments and my civilized state. I loathe the dirty, the bestial, the ugly things of human life, and adore the beautiful. In the art gallery in Sydney there is a painting of a dead knight who lies on a bier in full armour, and beside the bier is a great dog looking up at its dead master. Every time I am in Sydney I spend two hours looking at that picture and marvelling at the expression on the dog’s face and the calm majesty of the masklaid on the dead man.
“In Miss Stanton I found beauty of a different order which affected me as does that picture. She represents my ideal of womanly beauty. Sex has nothing to do with my ideal. I do not love Miss Stanton as I love my wife. Not knowing that she and Dash were in love, I ordered the arrest of Dash, who I knew was implicated, in the hope of bringing the whole truth to light. Miss Stanton was surrounded by her relatives and her friends, yet it was to me she turned. Father, I am not a callow youth, I am not a fatuous man seeking a woman’s favours, but when she made her appeal I could not-simply, I could not refuse.
“I suspected strongly that the killing of Marks was not done with forethought and malice. I knew he was that most loathsome of all creatures, a blackmailer. And I saw in the moment of her appeal that inevitably she would suffer by the revelation I was there to make and was being paid to make by the State. Even my sympathies were with Joseph North in the affair of the stolen bride, which was the precursor of Marks’s death and the tangle which I have unravelled.
“There remain now two courses, one of which I must adopt. I can render my report wholly based on lies which will place the blame of Marks’s death on the shoulders of Dot, and attribute to him as motive the passion to gain money, thereby blackening his character as he would have done himself had he lived and had Dash permitted him. Or I can return to Sydney and admit failure to find evidence of murder. I have not told Morris everything, and what I have told him is consistent with Dot’s concealing Marks’s money, which is proved, and is all that can be proved. Dash need not be implicated, and Dot’s death would finalize the case.
“One moment!” he said hastily, when Father Ryan was about to speak. “I have been a member of the Queensland Police for sixteen years, and I have not once failed to complete a case successfully. I am a man without a failure against him. They have given me cases on which other men have failed. They now send me out on a case believing without a shadow of doubt that I shall bring to justice the criminal.
“My superiors believe me to be infallible. I know I am infallible. Arrived here, I found myself faced by a crime carried out by clever men, having at their disposal plenty of time. It was, I say, almost the perfect murder, and I did not start my investigations until two months had elapsed and all traces about the scene of it had been wiped out by wind and sand.
“And I won, Father-I won the greatest case that any detective ever had given him. Now I can only create a fabrication of lies, calumniate a dead man who was lovable and honourable, or else admit that I, the infallible Bony, have at last met my Waterloo.
“You see, Father, do you not, the quandary I am in? You see the cup that is offered me? Can I set it aside and, now that a snake has placed Dot beyond reach of human justice, can I raise my structure of lies and save my reputation?”
Father Ryan beheld Bony’s appealing expression with a sad heart. The look in the blue eyes of the man, torn between vanity and honour, weighed him down with the knowledge that here was no ordinary problem. Without a word he rose and brought a volume from one of his shelves, and in a moment had found a page and a paragraph he needed. Softly yet clearly he read:
“ ‘Methuselahlived nine hundred, sixty and nine years and begat sons and daughters-and what then? And then he died.’ That is what Daniel Defoe wrote on the occasion of the death of the Duke of Marlborough. Again of him Defoe wrote this, Bony: ‘All his victories, all his glories, his great projected schemes of war, his uninterrupted series of conquests, which are called his, as if he alone had fought and conquered by his arm what so many men obtained for him with their blood-all is ended, where other men, and, indeed, where all men ended: he is dead!
“It appears, Bony, that you are confronted with the choice of telling lies about another man or telling lies about yourself. Without my advice I know precisely which choice you will make. Remembering all the circumstances, knowing that the innocent will suffer more than will the guilty, knowing that the killing of Marks was legally justifiable to prevent his committing murder, I must concur in your choice.”
“Father Ryan, it will be a hard path to tread,” pleaded Bony.
“A lesser man than you, Bony, could not tread it.”
“Itis hard. Can you not think of a third way?”
“There are only the two, my son. Let us again refer to Defoe, who in effect so aptly says: ‘Men remarkable for all the virtues and all the vices, famous men and infamous men, they are but mortal clay.’ Death is the end of them, although I know it is not the end of their souls. What is a man’s reputation? Merely a manifestation of vanity. Pride is vanity. Vanity is the spur of success. Next to love the greatest humanvirtue is-sacrifice. But it takes a big man to make a big sacrifice-the bigger the sacrifice, the bigger the man. I believe you are a big man, my son.”
The little priest held out his hands and, rising, Bony took them with tears in his eyes.
“I will try to be big, Father,” he said with a tremor in his voice.
“Youare big. Also you have won your case, and a little old foolish priest in Mount Lion knows you won it.”
Bony sighed. Father Ryan smiled and gripped his hands the more tightly.
EPILOGUE
COLONEL SPENDER, Chief Commissioner of the Queensland Police, looked up at the entrance of his secretary.
“Detective-Sergeant Wills has reported from Toowoomba, sir. He states that the money and securities stolen from the bank have been recovered in the cashier’s garden, and the cashier arrested.”
“Good! It is about time that matter was finalized,” growled Colonel Spender. The secretary then made a further announcement:
“Ex-Detective-Inspector Napoleon Bonaparte has called to see you sir.”
Very deliberately Colonel Spender laid down his pen, his face becoming ominously red.
“I will see him-at once,” he snapped.
When Bony entered, the police chief was writing rapidly, and when Bony stood before his desk, he continued to write.
“You appear, sir, to be very busy this morning,” Bony murmured. “Shall I call again?”
The pen scratched horribly. Ink spattered over the document. The pen was flung down on the desk. A fist crashed after it.
“What the devil do you want?” Colonel Spender roared, lifting up his well-nourished body and with it the chair. The chair banged on the floor. Colonel Spender glared.
“I have to apologize for not reporting sooner,” Bony explained gently. “I was detained.”
“Well, as you like New South Wales, you had better get back there quick. There is nothing for you to do here.”
“I was not detained in New South Wales, but in Toowoomba, which, as you know, is in Queensland. You see, sir, as Toowoomba lay in my way, I thought it as well to stay there a day or two and clear up the little difficulty of that bank robbery.”
“But Sergeant Wills-”
“An excellent man, sir,” Bony cut in; “methodical and sure. However, he lacks imagination. His methods plus my imagination achieved results. I took over the case two days ago-last Wednesday. I presume that my reinstatement will date from Wednesday morning, sir?”
Bony was smiling. His blue eyes beamed benevolently on the red-faced colonel. Again Colonel Spender bumped his chair. He tried to snort, but failed. He could only glare.
“The New South Wales Commissionerwill doubtless report to you my failure in the Far West case,” Bony went on. “Paradoxically, I succeeded, yet failed. I have admitted failure in Sydney. I shall admit failure to my colleagues in Queensland.”
“Fail! You fail!” gasped the astounded chief.
“Yes, Mr Chief Commissioner, I have failed for the first time in my career.”
“Damn you! I don’t believe you, Bony.”
“Officially, sir, that is my report.”
“And unofficially?”
“Sir, we have known each other for many years,” Bony said gravely. “Will you permit us now to meet as private individuals? I have lost or shall lose the respect of my colleagues, but I want badly to retain yours. I owe it to you and to myself.”
“I knew there was something behind your insubordination,” Colonel Spender said more calmly. “Lock the cursed door and tell me the yarn.”
Bony told “the yarn”. He told Colonel Spender what he had told Father Ryan. He explained that the death of Marks was not really murder, but justifiable homicide. He described how he had found Dot, the American, dead of snake-bite, and how he found he could not drag out from the past all that was best left buried there because a white woman had been kind to him.
And when he ceased there sat in the Chief Commissioner’s chair a very kindly looking white-haired, white-moustached old gentleman who at that moment felt humbled by the gentle soul of the half-caste within whomwarred the impulses and complexities of two races.
“You see how it is,” Bony concluded. “This case turned out to be the perfect murder. It would have remained unsolved had it not been for a wholly extraneous incident in the victim’s past-that head wound received in the war which necessitated a trepanning operation. Dot and Dash in combination were very clever men, clever because they were calm, calm because their consciences were clear. Markswas a bad man, and the world certainly is no poorer by his exit.”
