The Barrakee Mystery

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Bony Takes Command

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, Australia’s brilliant but little-known bush detective, was walking down the river. His walk would have been more direct had the volume of water in the great channel been normal. Now the channel was marked only by the bordering gum-trees, for on both sides the river overflowed its banks in places many miles out over the flats. Water was sent out into the meanderingcreeks, it crossed the established tracks and cut off direct communication with the towns of Bourke and Wilcannia.

To walk down the river meant, therefore, wide detours round billabongs, gutters, and creeks. Where Bony walked was about four miles west of the Darling proper, and had he wanted to cross the flooded river he would have been obliged to swim some eight or nine miles.

So great was the volume of water that the station of Barrakee, standing on high ground, was surrounded by water, except for a ramp or causeway, sufficiently wide to allow a car to drive along it, which connected the island with the dry land. It proved to be the second great flood which the Western Division of New South Wales had experienced and on the crest of the flood there appeared myriads of wild fowl, water-hens, ducks, geese, and members of the vast crane family.

It was the birds rather than the volume of water which fascinated the detective, but even the fascination of the birds paled before the events of that morning in mid-August. On the disappearance of Ralph Thornton from Barrakee and Nellie Wanting from Three Corner Station, the river from Barrakee downward had been carefully watched at more than one point.

A peculiar feature of the disappearance became intelligible to Bony when it was known that the girl left her employment three days before the departure of the young man. On the face of itit appeared that Ralph had hidden a boat a mile below Barrakee, and had gone down river to Three Corner Station to pick up the gin. On account of the wide detours made by the river it would take him all of three days to get to Three Corner Station, precisely as long as it would take a person to walk the same distance by the track which ran from bend to bend.

These distances and times Bony had quickly learned from two old pensioners camped on the side of the river, who were now sheltering, on account of the flood, in the Barrakee woolshed. It appeared, therefore, that the girl had walked up river to Ralph and his boat; and, since it was not likely that she would do that only to go down river again in the boat, it became obvious that the pair had gone up river past Barrakee.

For two days the half-caste had been searching for indications of the missing couple. The first day he drew a blank, but on the afternoon of the second he saw drifting down a small creek the empty shell of a duck’s egg, and on securing this, found that it had been recently cooked. Even whilst examining the shell the faint report of a shotgun came floating to theboxtrees, and thirty minutes later Bony found a native humpy constructed of green boughs and leaves, half way up a sand ridge at the foot of which lapped the flood-water. Precisely six seconds were spent in discovering that the inhabitants were away, and a further three in reading their tracks. Positive proof lay over the ground that dainty Nellie Wanting and slim, small-footed Ralph were the occupants.

A second report of the gun told that they were away hunting ducks for food, and in retiring Bony threw sand over his own tracks to obliterate them, knowing full well that otherwise the girl would see them, whereupon they would fly in terror of discovery and pursuit. And it was Bony’s wish that they should remain where he could find them for a further forty eight hours at least.

At the homestead end of the causeway one of the men told him that he was urgently wanted at the office; and, arriving there, he was informed by Mortimore that the police at Wilcannia had been ringing for him that morning, as well as the preceding day. He got Sergeant Knowles.

“Ah! I’ve beenwanting you badly, Bony,” the sergeant said rapidly. “I found Clair on Dugdale’s block, and, like a raw recruit, allowed Clair to best me. Anyway, I winged him, and came on him again in Dugdale’s hut just as he died. He left a confession.”

“Ah! Read it.”

The sergeant did so, adding: “You will note that Clair calls himself Sinclair.”

“Exactly. That is his name.”

“You know that?”

“I’ve known it for some little time. Anything else?”

“Yes. I found Dugdale, later, with Clair-Sinclair’s pocket-book in his hands, and when I demanded it in the name of the State he refused to hand it over, saying that Sinclair had made him promise to deliver it to some person, whose name he wouldn’t tell me. We had a tussle, and for the second time I was bested. I’m getting old, Bony, and if I’m not dismissed the service I shall retire.”

“Go on! What more?” asked Bony.

“Dugdale left the hut at daybreak yesterday morning. From his tracks I saw that he was making for Thurlow Lake; and, as I was a sick man, I rode to a hut onYamdan Run and telephoned to our fellows at Thurlow Lake to apprehend Dugdale and relieve him of that wallet. I am sure, Bony, that in that wallet is something of great importance in connexion with the case. Anyway, Blair and his mate happened to be at Thurlow Lake, and they, with Dugdale-chiefly Blair on his own-bested three of our fellows. Dugdale escaped and the senior trooper there phoned to Smith, stationed at One Tree Hut, six miles west of the Washaways. This morning the boundary rider there says that Smith did not arrest Dugdale, who arrived at sundown. Somehow Dugdale discovered Smith there, and bolted towards the Washaways, pursued by Smith.

“This morning the rider tracked them to the first creek of the Washaways, where he saw both men had simply ridden straight into the creek that was running a banker. And on the farther side of the creek, on a sort of island, was Smith, horseless and marooned, because he cannot swim. The creek being too wide for the rider to do anything, he returned to his hut for a wire well rope to get across to Smith with a lighter hemp rope.

“But, before he got back, Dugdale himself rang up Thurlow Lake from Cattle Tank Hut, ten miles this side of the Washaways, having, of course, swum his horse over the remaining creeks, to tell them of Smith’s situation and urge immediate relief. It seems obvious, Bony, that Dugdale is bringing Sinclair’s wallet to someone on the river-it might be someone at Barrakee; and, as all our fellows are west of the Washaways and it is impossible for me to reach Barrakee in time, you’ll have to arrest him when he reaches Barrakee and secure that wallet.”

Bony was silent for a little while. Then:

“I don’t think it will be necessary to arrest Dugdale yet,” he said. “You see, Sergeant Knowles, he is bringing that wallet to me. I expected Sinclair would send it if anything happened to him.”

“Oh! Well, anyhow, Dugdale will have to be arrested for assaulting me, a police-sergeant, and resisting arrest at Thurlow Lake. Blair and McIntosh are under arrest now.”

“Pardon my mentioning the matter, Sergeant,” Bony cut in silkily, “but I must point out that I am the officer in charge of this case. The recent circumstances are peculiar, I know, but I do not advise, and probably shall not advise, Dugdale’s arrest. And, for one or two reasons, which I shall explain later, I think it expedient that Blair and his offsider be released for the time being.”

“Very well,” snapped the sergeant.

“Now, please don’t get angry,” Bony exhorted. “Anger up-settethjudgement. The Emperor knew that, which was why he seldom indulged in the delightful emotion. I can assure you that, as far as the law is concerned, the case ends with the death of Sinclair. His confession rounds it off. Let those extraneous happenings drop; for to do so lets you out from the misfortune which has dogged you, and will save the force from the slight discredit it has incurred. You will agree, I think, that that will be the best way.”

“All right, Bony. Perhaps it will,” Knowles agreed, with less rancour. “Still, if the fool Dugdale had told me to whom Sinclair was sending his wallet, all this hullabaloo would not havehappened, and I wouldn’t be here with a splitting headache.”

“Take some aspirin,” Bony advised.

“Darn it! That’s what Dugdale said.”

“Take it, anyway. I’ll ring you up later. Now I’ll get you through to Thurlow Lake, when you can order Blair and Co’s release.”

When he left the office Bony was smiling. While not positively certain, he was almost sure that Dugdale was bringing the wallet to Mrs Thornton. Had the intended recipient been a person of lesser importance, Bony considered that the young man would not have risked so much, and would have been less hurried.

The men’s lunch gong sounded, but Bony ignored it and decided to wait for Dugdale on the sunny side of the blacksmith’s shop, which was close to the stockyards; and he had been there barely an hour when Dugdale, riding The Devil, came in sight over the causeway.

Bony waited till the young man was dismounting. Then, slowly, he walked over the short distance to him, and said:

“Why, Mr Dugdale, I didn’t expect to see you here today! I quite thought you were settling down on Eucla.”

“I have a little business to transact with Mr Thornton,” Dugdale replied stiffly.

“Well, well! That is none of my affair, I suppose,” Bony said easily, drawing close. “Horse appears done up. Wonder you crossed the Washaways, for I hear they are in full flood.”

The two men stood against the horse, Dugdale with his back to Bony, removing the saddle. Both his hands were engaged, and both his arms were raised. Bony’s hands, however, flickered with movement truly astounding. It was a superb conjuring act; for, with the lightness of butterfly wings, the half-caste’s arms slid round Dugdale’s body and Bony’s fingers found and abstracted from one of Dugdale’s inner pockets Sinclair’s wallet with Sinclair’s letter still inside.

“Yes, I had to swim him,” Dugdale admitted.

“He must be a good horse, indeed. Alas! I am getting too old to enjoy a good gallop,” Bony sighed, drawing away.

“Mr Thornton about?”Dugdaleasked, when the freed horse was rolling in the sandy stockyard.

“I saw him half an hour ago. It must be lunch time. In fact, the gong has just sounded.”

Bony sauntered off towards the men’s quarters. Dugdale walked along to the homestead, where at the double gates Mr Thornton met him.

“Dugdale!” he exclaimed. “Why are you here? Have you brought news of Ralph?”

“Ralph! No. What has happened to Ralph?”