The Devil's Steps Page 22

  “And that being so, you and Bisker might be for it,” Bolt said.

  “Let me think,” pleaded Bony.

  “Don’t think,” urged Bolt. “Tell us where Marcus is, if you know.”

  Bony smiled and Bolt felt like leaning over the desk and clouting him.

  “Tell me, how did you come to get O’Leary to make that statement?” Bony asked.

  “Well, after we picked him up on the gag of taking him to Headquarters for questioning, the body of George was put into the mortuary, and I took O’Leary to the mortuary to identify it—if he would. When he saw the body, O’Leary broke down, and I don’t blame him for that. After a bit, he calmed down, and then he said that the dead man was his brother, and that he would make a statement in order that he would himself gain safety in gaol. Subsequently, it came out that he firmly believes that the people who dealt it out to George are members of that secret German ‘Order’ who have been covering Grumman ever since he landed in America.”

  “And he might well be right, Super,” Bony added. “No, we won’t pounce on Marcus yet. Neither will we raise an argument with our Mr. Sleeman. Not yet awhile. We’ll give this torturing crowd a chance to make a move.”

  The huge Superintendent slouched over the desk and glared into Bony’s eyes. When he spoke, his voice was like the sound of tearing corrugated iron.

  “Assuming that they take you for a ride and bump you off good and proper, how do we get to nabbing Marcus? If you know him and where he is, tell us before you get nabbed and tortured and bumped off.”

  Slowly, and returning Bolt’s baleful glare with steady eyes, Bony said:

  “If I am bumped off I shall be astonished, as I’ve never been bumped off before. Now, good night. And you watch that blood pressure of yours.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Revellers Three

  BISKER WAS not the only member of Miss Jade’s staff who was supplied with an alarm clock, the other member being Mrs. Parkes, the cook. Unlike Bisker, she was unable to voice hatred of clocks and Miss Jade and the world in general, for the reason that she never slept with her teeth in her mouth and was in any case speechless until she had moistened her throat with hot tea.

  On opening the kitchen door this particular morning, she was astounded to find the place in total darkness. Not only were the lights not on—there were no fires lit in the range—there was no pot of tea made by the waiting Bisker—and there was no Bisker.

  Following this decided shock Mrs. Parkes thought that her clock had called her much too early. Then she saw by the kitchen clock that her alarm had not played a trick on her. It was, indeed, five minutes past six.

  Five minutes past six! And no fires lit—no pot of tea made—and the boots to be cleaned for forty-odd guests! No tea made! That fool of a Bisker must have forgotten to set his clock and even then was sleeping away what little brain he had left.

  Toothless and now in a towering rage Mrs. Parkes swept across the kitchen, switched on the hot-point of the electric stove placed thereon the kettle and sallied forth to arouse Bisker. She shivered as she advanced through the darkest hour before the dawn, and her arm-muscles tensed and relaxed in preparation for the real work ahead.

  To her astonishment and chagrin, she found Bisker’s bed empty, and because Bisker made his bed once every month, she was unable to decide if he had or had not slept in it that night.

  Back again in her kitchen, Mrs. Parkes noted that the kettle on the electric stove was “singing,” but that encouraging sound failed to have any impression on the weight of fury pressing on her mind. From the kitchen she thudded along the passages to the staff’s quarters and aroused the two maids, who were not due to rise until seven. When they entered the kitchen, Mrs. Parkes had lit the range fires and was drinking tea and smoking her first cigarette.

  “One of you go and tell Miss Jade that the guts ‘as fallen out of the works,” she said with unnecessary vigour, to add: “George still away, and now Bisker’s gone orf, too. The guests will have to clean their own shoes for once.”

  To make the beginning of this day still more tragic for Mrs. Parkes, one of the maids giggled and fled. The vast proportions of the cook, the state of her ensemble, the square white face with the tiddly-winks marker of a nose in the centre of it, and in addition, the cavernous, toothless mouth, and the cup of tea held high in one hand and a cigarette in the other, were far too much for Alice.

  Five minutes later, Miss Jade entered the kitchen. She was wearing a scarlet silk dressing gown and wearing slippers of rabbit fur edged with white satin.

  “What is the trouble, Mrs. Parkes?”

  It took Mrs. Parkes a little more than two minutes to relate her woes. Miss Jade listened without attempting to interrupt the cook, and, when the mechanism ran down, all she did say was:

  “When Bisker does appear, send him to me.”

  From such small events do Empires totter and crash into ruins.

  When the maid with the early-morning tea knocked on Bony’s room door, he slipped out of bed and removed the arrangement of empty tobacco tins forming a booby-trap to announce any unauthorized entry by the doorway during the night, and from her he learned that Bisker had failed to report for duty. Miss Jade sent her compliments, and regret, and would Mr. Bonaparte, under these unfortunate circumstances, clean his own shoes this morning?

  Bony switched on the electric heater, and sat down before it to sip his tea and smoke a cigarette.

  He had not seen Bisker since the previous afternoon.

  In his dressing gown and with a bath towel over a shoulder, Bony left his bedroom before his cigarette was smoked. He strolled along the main passage towards the bathrooms, meeting none of the guests, and eventually passed through the reception hall and out through the main door which had only just then been opened for the day.

  It was a beautiful morning. The risen sun was flooding the trees and the garden with colour. Over the floor of the valley sailed small patches of fog looking like wool scattered upon the floor of a shearing shed. No cloud sailed in the clear and vividly blue sky. No breeze disturbed a tree leaf.

  On arriving at the cinder path leading to Bisker’s hut, Bony read the latest edition printed upon it. He saw the wide imprint of the cook’s slippers. He saw the tracks of Bisker’s boots, the most recent impressions indicating that the last time Bisker had passed that way he had been leaving his hut. There were no other tracks of recent date.

  Bony entered the hut. The blind was not drawn, but there was little significance in that, as Bisker seldom drew down the blind. The bed was unmade, as has been stated, but Bony felt with his hands among the blankets and decided that Bisker had not slept in his bed the previous night. Upon the case beside the bed was Bisker’s alarm clock, but nothing else excepting the pipe which was habitually loaded with “dottles” in preparation for the first smoke of the day.

  The pipe told Bony a little story. The bowl was empty. It would have been filled by Bisker just before going to bed. It had not been filled, so Bisker had not returned to the hut the previous night to sleep.

  Bony circled the hut before returning to the open space before the garages. He had seen no fresh tracks, and here on the path were those left only by Bisker and the cook. As he dressed his mind was not on clothes.

  Had those people who had tortured and killed George now got hold of Bisker? If so, then the outlook for the yardman was, indeed, bleak. There was, of course, the possibility that Bisker had gone to the local hotel and there had stayed overnight. His pal, Fred, who mowed the lawn, might know something of him.

  Bony was far from being easy in his mind concerning Bisker when he went to breakfast to join the artist, Downes, Lee and Sleeman, and another man who had arrived the night before. The newcomer to their table was big and solid and weather-beaten, and Bony wondered if he was one of Bolt’s men sent along in defiance of the arrangement between the Superintendent and himself.

  “Didn’t inconvenience me,” the squatter was saying. “I’m
used to cleaning my own shoes.”

  “Must make life a little difficult for Miss Jade, what with George staying away too,” supplemented Sleeman. “Perhaps he went along to the pub for a bender, and found it too good to leave.”

  Lee recounted stories of bushmen he had employed who, if they merely smelled liquor, simply had to demand their money and rush away to the nearest hotel. Downes listened but said little, offering once the remark that there must be plenty more yardmen to engage.

  After breakfast Bony sought Miss Jade in the office.

  “What’s this about Bisker being absent?” he asked.

  “He’s just cleared out, Mr. Bonaparte, and just when he knew we were short-handed with George being still away and the house full of guests.” Miss Jade was angry, really angry, and he thought she looked more beautiful this morning than he had ever seen her.

  “Perhaps he’s up at the hotel,” he suggested.

  “No. I’ve just been talking with the manager. They haven’t seen Bisker for two weeks.”

  “Has he ever been away before without permission?” Bony pressed.

  “Never. I’ll say this in his favour, that he has never been away in the morning, and he has never overslept.” Miss Jade smiled with her lips only. “The man has a good many virtues, I must say in justice, but all his virtues are now nullified when my house is full and the steward also is absent.”

  “It’s very unfortunate,” Bony murmured.

  “Mrs. Parkes, my cook, you know, is furious,” said Miss Jade. She was in perfect control of herself, but the anger was written plainly in her dark eyes. “Good cooks are hard to get and hard to keep,” she went on. “Men, too, are hard to get these days. I must ring up all over the Mount and try to get a man.”

  “What about Fred?”

  “He might come—if I could locate him. But he goes here and there on day-work.”

  “If you could tell me where he lives, I would go there for him. He might be at his home. If not, then I’ll try and find him for you.”

  “Oh, Mr. Bonaparte, would you?” Miss Jade was genuinely relieved. “You go up to the top gate and turn down the road to the highway. Then you go up the highway to the fruit stall and take the left road towards the gulley. Fred’s little house is on the right-hand side near the gulley.”

  “Excellent. I’ll take a walk down to the place right away,” the now-smiling Bony assured her, and Miss Jade went so far as to press his forearm.

  Bony bowed, saying:

  “Might I use the telephone here before I hunt for Fred?”

  “Of course. Use it as much as you wish. I’ll leave you alone, and go to breakfast.”

  Miss Jade again smiled at him, and again he bowed to her. She closed the office door after her. He rang the exchange and asked for the Mount Chalmers Police Station. The Senior Constable spoke.

  “I want the Sub-Inspector, please.”

  “Sub-Inspector Mason? Who is it speaking?”

  “Never mind the name,” replied Bony. “I’m speaking from the Chalet.”

  The S.C. metaphorically jumped.

  “Oh! Yes, sir, I’ll get the Sub-Inspector at once.”

  The line remained dead for thirty seconds. Then Mason spoke. Bony said softly:

  “Can you hear me?” On being told that he could be heard, he went on: “I want you to communicate with the Super, and tell him he can collect both his friend Marcus and a guest here named Sleeman. Marcus’s latest alias is Downes. Get that? I’m leaving it all to the Super.”

  “Right! I’ll be along with a couple of men.”

  “Wait, Mason,” pleaded Bony. “You will do nothing until you have communicated with Bolt. Remember, the place is full of guests. Remember also that if you lost Marcus, your career would be ruined. None of you know Downes. You’ll have to leave it to me to point him out.”

  “H’m! Suppose I would. All right! I’ll contact the Super. Where can we get you in a hurry?”

  “I can’t make any arrangement,” Bony said. “You remind the Super of Marcus’s pal, what’s his name, who lives at Ridge House, down the highway. I suggest that that place is raided efficiently and with speed. Have you seen anything of Bisker? Wait!”

  The door of the office was opening.

  “Well, thank you,” Bony went on, his voice raised a fraction. Over the telephone he saw Downes standing beyond the opened door. “Yes, I will inform Miss Jade.... Yes, thank you so much!”

  Bony set down the receiver on the instrument and with his free hand reached for the call handle to contact Exchange.

  “Miss Jade has gone to breakfast,” he told Downes.

  “Oh!” murmured Downes. “I came in to use the ‘phone. Didn’t know you were here. Finished yet?”

  “No. But I won’t be long.”

  The eyes of Marcus were slightly narrow. He drew back and the door closed. Bony turned the call handle. He was certain that just beyond the door Marcus, alias Downes, was standing, and that the door was such that Downes could hear what he would say into the telephone in a normal voice. When Exchange answered, he requested to be put through to the Bus Service proprietor, and of him enquired if it was known where the man Fred was working, purposely lowering his voice.

  The information was not available. From the reception hall came the voices of several guests, and Bony became sure that Downes would not remain just beyond the door, if he had done so after leaving the office. Still, he waited whilst rolling a cigarette, and then passed out of the office and, seeing nothing of Downes, strolled out through the main entrance and so up to the top gate.

  On the soft sludge between the Chalet roadway and the macadamised public road he saw the imprints of Bisker’s boots, showing that he was headed down the road to the highway.

  Bony continued at a leisurely pace down the road to its junction with the highway. There he paused to admire the view, now and then turning to glance up that side road he had just come down. He saw nothing of Downes.

  Standing there, he saw no human being either up or down the highway, and continuing to stroll, he walked up along the highway. He was midway between the side road’s junction with the highway and the wayside fruit stall when he heard a car coming along behind him. The car was travelling fast, and before it reached him, he stepped casually off the road and leaned against the trunk of a magnificent mountain ash. As the car approached he stepped farther back, ready to leap behind the great trunk at the first sign of attack. There was only the driver, however, and he failed to see Bony.

  Bony stepped out to the centre of the road, and there with his hands clasped behind him, he stood staring upward at the mighty tree. The dwindling roar of the car was the only sound in the stillness of the sylvan scene. After a little period spent in admiration of the tree, he proceeded on along the highway, now and then turning casually to look back.

  On coming to the fruit stall, not yet opened for business, Bony took the side road falling in a fairly steep gradient and rule-straight. This road was surfaced with gravel, and along its right side there was a path for pedestrians. And there on that path were the tracks made by Bisker’s boots.

  Those marks brought Bony profound relief, for it was evident that when he made those marks with his boots, Bisker was on his way to visit his friend, Fred. Bony began to hum a little tune. He walked a little faster, and had proceeded about halfway down the road when he observed two figures emerge from the bordering trees at its bottom and stand in the centre of the road.

  “Now that would be about where Fred’s house is situated,” he said aloud. “By the manner those two men are standing it would—”

  Again he began to hum, and presently he ceased to hum and began to chuckle. The two men were walking up the road towards him. Now they drew close to each other, and now they moved apart. One was tall; the other short. One was thin; the other rotund. The tall man carried a hurricane lamp.

  The lamp was alight and smoking.

  Bony stopped beside a tree and waited.

  Onward came t
he inebriates. The warm sunshine mocked the tiny flame of the lamp but could not mask the film of smoke issuing from its top. Bisker stumbled, and Fred said, complainingly:

  “Why don’t you look where you’re going? Wot in ’ell’s the use of me bringing a light if you can’t see to step over a bit of a log?”

  “You want to shine the blasted lamp properly,” countered Bisker. “’Ow d’you think I can see the ruddy logs and things if you keep on waving the lamp about like you’re signalling a young tart in a winder.”

  Along the perfectly made gravelled road the pair staggered past Bony, who then left his tree and walked on to the road behind them.

  “Flamin’ good mind not to go ’ome till morning,” growled Bisker, finding great difficulty with his speech. “’Ow many bottles of Scotch left in the kip, Fred?”

  “Four of Scotch and about a coupler dozen of beer,” replied Fred. “They’ll keep, and you can come down tomorrer evening for another bender. Gripes! Wot a night we’ve ‘ad, Bisker. Wot a night!”

  Bisker hiccoughed and then laughed uproariously.

  “The best flamin’ night me and you ever ‘ad, Fred,” he said, and both were unconscious that Bony walked only two paces at their rear. “Y’know, Fred, when I whistled to you on Sat’day afternoon that Black Prince had won, and when I seen you wave your arms, I says to meself, I says, ‘Wot a bender me and old Fred gonna ’ave with the doings. A ‘undred and ten quid ain’t a bad win,’ I says. ‘That’ll buy a lot of the real poison,’ I says.”

  “Too—hic—right, Bisker, it will,” Fred agreed.

  Bisker abruptly stopped.

  “I’m not goin’ ’ome,” he announced. “The old cat can go and take a running jump at ’erself. I’m goin’ back for some more of that grog. Why, we ain’t properly drunk yet.”

  “Yes, we are,” argued Fred. “Look! Look where you’re going! Can’t you see that log a’ead of you?”