The Barrakee Mystery

Chapter Thirty

Bony Sees the Light

AUGUST2ND was a memorable day in the history of Barrakee.

When Blair was driving his team from the homestead for the daily load of wood, the squatter told him that if he liked he need bring only a small load, so as to be back in time to hear the result of the momentous race. Blair smiled in his grim way:

“Eucla will win, so there is no need for me to worry, or wait for the result I know already,” he said.

So at about three o’clock theThorntons assembled on the veranda and the squatter proceeded to tune in on the expensive wireless set. Very shortly he got Melbourne just in time to allow them to hear the result of the three o’clock race. After that followed market reports and a short lecture on the art of fattening pigs, a subject that interested the station-owner but not the ladies.

Mrs Thornton was sewing, Kate pretending to listen but her thoughts far away, Ralph also was pretending to be interested in pigs, but it was only pretence. Back at the office door stood old Mortimore, watch in hand. Behind him was the telephone, and fifty miles west at Thurlow Lake Dugdale sat with the receiver against his ear. Then, clear as a bell, came the announcer’s voice one minute after the great race. It said:

“Result of Golden Plate Handicap at Mooney Ponds-Eucla, one; Teddy Bear, two; Gentleman Jack, three. Time, one minute thirty-seven seconds.”

The four listeners smiled at one another. The squatter rose and walked to the end of the veranda, and, hearing Mortimore respond to his call, announced the horses’ names as given. And at Thurlow Lake Dugdale put back the receiver and shook hands enthusiastically with the overseer.

“Twenty thousand pounds free of income tax, less two thousand pounds to be paid the owner, is eighteen thousand pounds,” Thornton murmured. “Five into eighteen thousand is three thousand six hundred pounds.”

“What are you going to do with all that money, John?” inquired the Little Lady, a hint of mockery in her voice.

“I am going to divide with you and Kate,” he replied instantly.

“Oh, Uncle! You are a dear,” Kate burst out. “I want some clothes badly.”

“You will be able to buy one or two things with twelve hundred pounds,” the squatter told her gravely.

“And you, Ralph? What are you going to do with your share?” again asked the Little Lady.

“I am going to divide with you and Kate,” he said, mimicking the squatter’s voice.

“But that wouldn’t be fair,” Mrs Thornton urged. “Kate and I would then have double what you and your father had. And it was your money and his that bought the two shares.”

“Well, let us pool our two shares, then, and divide among the four of us, Dad,” Ralph suggested.

Thornton laughed softly and agreed. It was then that Mortimore called him to the office and there he found Dugdale wishing to speak to him on the phone.

“Our luck is right in, isn’t it, Mr Thornton?” the squatter heard over the wire. “About those sheep,” Dugdale went on. “I shall be taking delivery on the 7th, two thousand at fifteen shillings, and I shall pay cash for them, Mr Thornton.”

“But that is not necessary, Dug,” expostulated the squatter.

“Ah, but it is. I rememberyour saying that it was wise to pay cash for everything.”

Secretly delighted with Dugdale’s principle, Mr Thornton still urged his extended-terms offer, but Dugdale persisted and finally won.

“I think, Dug, that it would be as well if you came for those ewes on Friday the sixth,” Thornton said reflectively. “The Paroo is flooded as far down as Wanaaring and the river is rising rapidly at Bourke. We are in for a big flood, and the Washaways are sure to run. Ask Watts to have the sheep in the yards there for certain Thursday night.”

“Very well, thanks. But how will you get those out-back sheep in for the shearing?” asked Dugdale.

“We shall have to muster and get them this side of the Washaways before the flood comes, Dug. I should have had the bridges made.”

Coming up the river road about this time, Henry McIntosh walked beside the bullock-driver.

“Your share of that twenty thousand, ’Enery, works out at about three thousand five hundred pounds,” Blair was saying, certain sure that Eucla would win. “Now, wot I wantter know is, wot are you going to do with all that ’ere cash?”

“I dunno, Fred,” replied Henry, with his usual vacant grin.

“Well, you ought to,” Blair’s beard twitched, and his eyes glared. “People who don’t know wot to do with their money shouldn’t be allowed to ’aveany.”

“Well, wot are you going to do with yours, Fred?” countered Henry, after a full minute’s pause.

“I’m going to git married,” announced Blair, with studied casualness.

“Wot!” Slowly a grin started to spread over Henry’s face. Blair saw it, and uprose his beard; and as quickly as it rose, so quickly did the grin subside.

“As I just said, ’Enery, I am going to git married now that I am a blooming capitalist. And you, ’Enery, are going to be my best man and valet. You are never going to leave me while Bill is dependent on us for a bit of tucker. So there! Don’t you think I am going to allow you to go and git drunk, and tell the whole blooming world where Bill Clair is hidup. ”

“But I am not going to git drunk,” protested Henry.

“No, you are not going to git drunk, ’Enery. I am going to take great care that you don’t.”

They fell into a lengthy argument about this, which lasted till the team drew the load against the wood-heap at the shearing-shed; and later neither of them would tell their fellow workers precisely how they intended spending their fortunes.

Naturally the winning of the sweep was the sole topic of conversation at dinner that night. Rainbow Harry suggested that, as a particular friend of his invited him and several others to Wilcannia on the occasion of winning a hundredpounds, it would be considered the thing for Blair and McIntosh to invite all the hands on Barrakee to spend a month with them at Broken Hill. O’Grady, the station engineer, seconded the proposal; but Johnston, the carpenter, thought that, if the two lucky winners were each to make their friends and comrades a present of a hundred pounds, their illustrious names would be handed down to posterity.

The discussion threatening to become heated at the end of the meal, Bony, an interested but silent listener, rose from his place, and, getting his hat from the bunkroom, walked away past the pumping plant and finally seated himself on a log at the upper end of Dugdale’s favourite fishing pool.

It was growing dark and the air was cold and frosty. Below was the dimming sheen of water; above the shimmering lights of brilliant stars. Other than the far, dull murmur of men’s voices there was not a single sound to disturb the silence.

But of his surroundings Bony was oblivious. His mind was still centred on the fact that Mrs Thornton had the boomerang with which Clair had killed King Henry. The recurring question, which the half-caste worried as a dog will worry a bone, was: How did the Little Lady become possessed of the weapon?

Had it been any other boomerang, at once it would be obvious that it was merely a curio; but it was outside all probability that here on Barrakee there were two boomerangs originally belonging to members of Wombra’s tribe in far-off Northern Queensland. Yet, if it was the actual weapon, which Bony was compelled to believe it was, why did Mrs Thornton have it in her boudoir? If she knew its late ugly history, why had she not destroyed it? And, knowing, what was the connexion between her and Clair?

Assuming that there was such a connexion it was obvious, too, that it was the Little Lady who had warned Clair over the telephone-a timely warning which had enabled him to escape the police.

Bony’s mind travelled backwards to the point when Clair had just set off tracking King Henry. At about that time, Mary, the cook, had died. Mary was Clair’s sister. Was there a connexion between her death and Clair’s vengeance? If so, how did Mrs Thornton come to be mixed up in that, or was the Little Lady’s warning, plus her possession of the boomerang, just feminine sympathy for a wanted man?

It was more than an hour later that Bony thought he saw the light. Subconsciously aware that he was chilled to the bone, the discomforts of his body were nothing in the sudden elation of his mind. He rose to his feet with the suddenness of one who has arrived at a long-debated conclusion. His reddish-black face was lit by the lamp of triumph.

“Ah!” he whispered. “That must be it. It must be. It accounts for all things. I must find that doctor.”