Bony and the White Savage Read online

  Signed: Nathaniel Bonnar, Post Office, Timbertown.

  2. 10.12 this a.m. Reply-paid telegram to Mrs Rose Curnow, 13 Tent Street, Geraldton. Message: Having wonderful time. Please inform immediately if you able to spend week with children at my place shortly before Easter.

  Signed: Nat Bonnar, Post Office, Timbertown.

  3. 10.20 this a.m. Telephoned Mrs Luke Rhudder, trunk line, Perth, asking after health of family and saying would be home Friday late.

  4. 3.50 this p.m. Collected two telegrams. 1. From Post Master, Mount Magnet. Message: Telegram not yet received. Leave a fish in the sea for me. Charlie. 2. From Mrs Rose Curnow, Geraldton. Delighted to accept. You name the date sometime. Give love to Dad and Mum. Rose.

  Bony looked up from the report into Sasoon’s quizzing grey eyes, and passed it on to Matt. Waiting for Matt to comment, he rolled a cigarette and applied a light before saying:

  “Messages designed to test my background, obviously. It’s as well that I took pains to create it, isn’t it?”

  Matt required explanation, and was told that Bony now being Nat Bonnar down from the north on holiday, and the friend of his daughter and her husband, had had to take steps to forestall just such a test as this made by Luke Rhudder.

  “Luke’s telegrams prove that Marvin is down there somewhere, or was down there somewhere, and therefore the identity of any stranger must be checked,” Bony continued. “Had the recipients of the telegrams replied asking who the heck Bonnar was then the Nat Bonnar with you must be a police investigator. Naturally, we don’t want them to think such evil of me.”

  “You just said Marvin is down there or was down there,” Sasoon queried. “Are you thinking he’s not there now?”

  “I have thought all along that he might have left before I came. The fact that Luke intends to return to Perth on Friday might mean that Marvin has cleared out, and he, Luke, is no longer needed at home. We must, of course, proceed on the presumption that he is still around.”

  “What about that bloke in the tea-tree?” questioned Matt, his dark eyes intense.

  “I grant that the odds favour Marvin.”

  “Bloke in the tea-tree, eh! So I don’t know everything.”

  “Matt and I have our little adventures, Sam. That coast is crammed full with adventures. You tell of ours, Matt.”

  Matt gave the bare facts.

  “You can’t be sure?” pressed the policeman.

  “No, I only seen a flash of him more than half-way into the scrub,” replied Matt. “And remember, I haven’t seen Marvin for thirteen years.”

  “Was it Luke, d’you reckon? Him and Marvin is the same build. What d’you think, Karl? You saw him on the way home.”

  “Could have been,” responded Karl. “Marvin ain’t lost none of his size. He was taller than Luke, but just as wide. I’ll tell you summat. From how Matt tells it the feller was pretty nippy on his feet. Now Luke’s been livin’ soft in a city job for years, and Marvin’s lived hard and even got a job on a cattle boat where they got to work and be nippy on their feet. I’m gamblin’ on...”

  Karl was stopped by the shrilling of the telephone. Sasoon automatically began to rise to take the call, remembered where he was and relaxed, looking at Bony.

  “You take it, Matt. Everyone else quiet, please.”

  Matt crossed to the instrument and when he spoke they knew who was calling.

  “That you, Jeff? How you doing? Cough better? Good! Yes, I think so. Yes, why not? I’ll ask him.” Matt waved the instrument from his mouth, and to Bony said: “Mr Rhudder. Wants me and Emma and you to run down tomorrow for a gossip and afternoon tea. Suit you?”

  “Yes, and tell Mr Rhudder I appreciate the invitation.”

  This subject ended, Matt and Jeff talked about cattle prices, and Bony printed on the back of Sasoon’s report the words:

  “If Jeff mentions a muster, tell him you and I were out in the paddock this afternoon.”

  This he took to Matt, holding it for him to read until Matt nodded. Sure enough the prompting was needed, for Matt said into the instrument: “Too right, Jeff. Me and Nat rode out this afternoon to see what was good enough to market. Might send in a dozen fats. Prices are high, especially for vealers. Goodoh! See you all tomorrow.”

  Matt returned to his chair, looked at Bony, then at Sasoon for comment. Neither gave it. The two women came into the room, and Emma wanted to know who rang. Seeing their serious expression, she said:

  “Oh, if it’s police business...”

  “Nothing of the kind, Emma,” Bony told her. “It was quite pleasant, actually. You and Matt and I have been invited out to afternoon tea.”

  “Truly? What a thrill. I suppose with the minister and his wife?”

  “No, nothing so exciting. The invitation came from Jeff.”

  “Old Jeff! But we haven’t been down there for a year.”

  “We are going there tomorrow, anyhow,” her husband confirmed.

  “Well, I never! And look, Else, they’ve drunk all the beer.”

  “Not yet,” Sam told her. “I don’t agree with women guzzling beer, so I brought a bottle of sherry. I’ll get it from the car.”

  “The man who never forgets,” exclaimed Elsie.

  “No, and now we’ll have supper. Come on, Else, we’ll get it.”

  Elsie was laying the cloth and Emma was returning with a dish of sandwiches when Sam returned with the wine and bottles of lemonade. The supper, already prepared, was swiftly on the table, and Bony then said:

  “After supper I’ve a little surprise for all of us.”

  “Oh, indeed, Nat. What is it?” exclaimed Emma.

  “The very twin of Pandora’s Box. You and Elsie shall toss for who opens it.”

  “I can’t wait,” pleaded the policeman’s wife.

  “You will,” her husband said, his mind still on the call from the Inlet. “Looks like you passed their test, Nat. Looks like Marvin isn’t hid-up at the homestead, doesn’t it?”

  “The purpose could be to test me further, Sam. Jeff and his sons know much about cattle and sheep. I am supposed to manage a station.” Bony smiled. “I never set a background without proof to support it, give it reality. The visit will be interesting.”

  Emma’s tasty supper was something to behold. The table was loaded with sandwiches and sponge cakes and buttered scones and cake and savouries enough for twenty guests. Sam’s bottles heightened the effect. But after the table was cleared and the coffee set before them, Bony was not left to appreciate it.

  “Where’s that box?” Emma demanded.

  “Yes, where? Produce Pandora’s Box,” ordered Elsie.

  “Who’s going to open it?” Karl interposed, his wide face and grey eyes reflecting their excitement as though all were children at a Christmas party. And Bony looking from one to another was glad that there are unsophisticated people in this world, and desperately hoped that the box would disappoint neither them nor himself.

  Elsie having won the toss, he said he would fetch the box. They heard the garden gate-latch click and looked at each other amused and expectant, even Sasoon in this party-spirit temporarily forgetful of the real business of the evening. When Bony returned the women uttered faint cries of disappointment.

  Bony carried a suitcase by the handle, and Sasoon noticed how careful he was to place the case on the table without the assistance of his other hand. It was of medium size, good quality and brown of colour.

  “A table knife, Karl,” he said, and when the knife was brought he stepped back and beamed upon the company. “I don’t know what is in this Pandora’s Box. You will recall that in the very ancient days the chief god was a fellow called Zeus, and like all modern dictators he was a paranoiac. Someone annoyed him and so he withdrew the blessing of fire from men. A fellow god, named Prometheus, tricked Zeus by making a torch and lighting it at the Sun, then taking the torch down to Earth. This annoyed the Dictator still more, and so he made a very beautiful woman and sent her down to Earth with
a wonderful box in her arms. All the boys crowded around her, as they do even to this day, and when she opened the box all the terrible afflictions mankind has since suffered escaped, leaving behind only Hope. Thus with the coming of the First Woman universal misery was introduced among men.”

  “How awful,” exclaimed Emma, and Elsie giggled.

  “Nothing to laugh at,” Sasoon sternly told his wife. “Go on, Nat. What’s the catch? I’ll buy it.”

  “I found this box in a dark pit at the end of a long and dangerous journey,” continued Bony. “I have taken all care possible with it to preserve as much as possible—fingerprints. So, no one is to touch it. I will open the side fasteners with the point of this knife. Good! Now I’ll use the knife to push to one side the lock, thus.” The lid of the case jerked slightly upward, and Bony presented the knife to Elsie. “Now, with the knife point raise the lid so that it will remain open.”

  Sasoon’s wife accepted the knife, gazing wonderingly at Bony. The others, save Karl, were still and silent. Karl’s breathing rasped through his nose, and his eyes were big. The large woman placed the end of the knife under the edge of the lid and raised it. Then she tittered.

  “Take the shirts and put them to one side without touching the case,” Bony requested, and Elsie removed four washed and ironed shirts. “Now those ties. Thank you. Now shoes. They are soiled aren’t they? The sports jacket and trousers. Now the book. Thank you. Ah, The Plays of Oscar Wilde. The shaving kit. Now what! Leave that large and bulky envelope, please.”

  The envelope measured about eighteen inches by twelve. The flap was unstuck, and with the knife, Bony lifted the envelope by that end, rested it against the edge of the case and raised the flap, then widened the opening with the tip of his other finger.

  “Blimey!” gasped Sasoon. “Oh, Emma, look!” Elsie exclaimed.

  Inside the envelope, banded and wadded, were masses of Australian currency.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Tea Party

  BONY DEPARTED the next morning at sun-up with Breckoff and the two aborigines to establish the camp behind the look-out ridge, and Emma did not see him, until lunch. They hadn’t waited for him, and Karl had just said that the previous evening had been better than the blood-and-gutzers, when he joined them.

  “Must have been working this morning,” Matt said, heavily humorous.

  “Working! I never work! So my Chief insists. Looking forward to the social function, Emma?”

  Emma appeared doubtful and said so. Karl said not to worry about the house and farm as he would be working near by.

  “It’s going to be all right, Emma,” Bony told her. “We’re all going to be nice and gossipy and give them what they hope to get and take what we hope to take. We should leave about two o’clock, meaning that you will be ready at two-thirty, and we arrive at three.”

  “We been wonderin’ where you found that suitcase,” Karl said, hopefully, and Bony burst into laughter.

  “Seems pretty cheerful this morning, don’t he, Emma?” remarked Matt. “Must be sparking on all six. Says nothing about where he found the case, nothing about how he got it out of the burnt tree, and nothing about how he got it home on Black Tulip.”

  “Now, now!” Bony reproved, mockingly. “When I present our friend all nicely manacled for Sasoon, if I told you every little unimportant detail you would not then say: ‘How did you do it, Nat? How clever you must be, Nat. Oh, Nat, you are just wonderful.’”

  “I told you he was sparking on all six,” grumbled Matt.

  Bony was a little more communicative when driving Emma and her husband down to the Inlet.

  “Where I found the case doesn’t matter. I raised it with a length of fencing wire. I carried it by the handle on Black Tulip. No horse ever hated a suitcase more. What a name to give a steed with wings to him. Breckoff says he prefers horses to office work, so he’ll now have the chance to show off. Thanks, Matt, for providing them with horses.”

  “Anything you want, Nat. What are they riding after?”

  “To seek Marvin’s tracks by riding the boundaries of the joint properties. We don’t know yet if Marvin is here or has left. We can proceed only on the hope that he is. Now, here we are, and there is old Jeff Rhudder and his wife waiting at the gate to receive us.”

  Emma did not remember ever having the door of a car or truck opened for her until this day. Now for the second time it was held open for her, and on this occasion the strong brown hand clasped lightly about her arm conveyed a message reminding her to be cautious. Then she was advancing to the couple inside the gateway, and Bony closed the door and followed after her and Matt. She was dressed in a cool green frock. Her face was slightly flushed and her dark eyes were bright.

  “Well, here you are, and a pleasant day, too,” the stout, flamboyantly-dressed Mrs Sarah Rhudder said in greeting. “A long time ago since you were down here last time, Emma. How are you?”

  Waiting for the preliminary greetings to be exchanged, Bony paused to close the gate and note swiftly the garden massed with flowers without the orderliness of plan. Then he was looking into weak brown eyes set widely apart in a heavy pale face, and registering the square determined chin. Sarah offered neither hand, and he bowed slightly, saying how nice it was of her to ask him down. First impression: cold water at the bottom of a well.

  Then he was stepping forward to meet old Jeff. The man was six feet tall. He was gaunt rather than thin. His hair, white and wavy, rose above the high and narrow forehead like that of an aboriginal medicine man who wears a snake-skin to keep it so. The features were spare still, weathered like long-exposed jamwood. He was wearing an old-fashioned dress-shirt with stiff cuffs and a wing collar under the waistcoat which matched his trousers. The tie was black. First impression: a storm-defiant karri tree.

  Jeff Rhudder held forward his left hand, the right about the bone handle of a stick. His grip was firm. He managed a smile, and the smile lit his grey eyes in their frames of pain, and widened his mouth as though smiling had never been spontaneous. Old! At sixty-seven he was as old as Australia’s Front Door.

  “Excuse the left, Nat. Touch of sciatica. Don’t mind us calling you Nat. These parts are out of the Mister Country. Like up your way, I suppose.”

  “Well, if it isn’t Nat it’s the flaming boss, or the chief galah,” Bony responded laughingly. The two women had gone on to the wide veranda steps, and Jeff turned to Matt Jukes, saying:

  “How-ya, Matt?” with a faint trace of diffidence.

  “Not too bad. How-ya, Jeff.”

  Their host led the way along the neat path, walking slowly and obviously lame. He and Matt began to talk of cattle prices, and Bony was able to note what he was now seeing. At intervals on either side the path, sections of a whale’s vertebrae supported large red pots. At the veranda steps the ribs of a whale formed a high arch, and like the pot-stands they were grey and obviously of great age. When Jeff needed time to negotiate the steps, Bony gazed about at the bright garden and the front of the house which had been modernized, seeing how it faced the Inlet and the west wind. To the left of the steps was a bench of blackwood, and either side the bench, affixed to a support, was the figurehead of a ship. They were two magnets.

  “The one on your left came from a vessel named Hesperus. She came ashore in 1838. The other one was brought ashore too. A three-master, full-rigged Dutchman, named Van Doren. Wrecked here in 1818.”

  Old Jeff spoke from the veranda railing above, and looking up, Bony said the relics were indeed unique.

  “Farther back still the East Indian traders often piled up on this coast,” Jeff continued. “Having sailed past the Cape of Good Hope they sailed due east for 2,000 miles before turning north to the Indies and China, but in those days navigation was chancy and they sailed on east to come ashore either side of Australia’s Front Door. Come on up, and I’ll show you something.”

  Mounting the steps, Bony heard Emma say: “Oh yes, we do want rain, don’t we!” And Sarah Rhudder’s re
ply: “But then it never rains but it dampens lovers and flowers.”

  Old Jeff was waiting for Bony and directed him to the wall of the house against which stood surprising items. There were such things as copper cooking-pots, a ship’s bell, a horn-lantern, a cannon, and of all strange things a bird perch mounted on a thin column based in what could be lead.

  “Some of the things picked up by my ancestors,” explained old Jeff. “Mostly found in the caves where the survivors must have lived until the blacks got ’em. That bird’s perch must have a tale to tell. The cross stick is solid gold, the column is made of copper, and the bottom plate is pure silver. I don’t tell that to everyone.”

  “A bird perch of gold and copper and silver!” echoed Bony. “How extraordinary!”

  “My son, Marvin...” Jeff faltered. “My son invented the story behind the perch. Seems that in the days of Captain Kidd and Morgan, and those gentlemen of the seas, one of ’em had a parrot. The parrot was a knowing bird, and it told the captain tales about the mate planning a mutiny. The captain had the mate hanged from the yard-arm, and rewarded the parrot with a golden perch. That sound likely to you?”

  “Quite. In those days precious metals were used, not reburied in vaults.”

  “There’s other treasures inside. You look at them sometime. Excuse me now. I must sit down. You take that chair. Smoke if you want. How’s the country up your way?”

  It was all very pleasant. The light wind came from the Inlet, and the smell of algae was almost banished by the scents of the garden flowers. The three men talked of cattle and sheep, and no personal question was asked of Bony by Jeff, the perfect host. Emma and Mrs Rhudder talked over a tablecloth the large woman was working on, and in the middle of speaking about a plague of kangaroos having dire effect on ground feed needed by the stock, Bony heard Mrs Rhudder say, carelessly:

  “To the ants all grass blades are tall, Emma.”

  Recalling her variation of an old cliché, Bony thought it odd she should be prone to quotations, as neither voice nor subject matter so far gave the impression that she was educated. That she was talking as though against Emma could be attributed to the pleasure of the visit. In fact, the atmosphere on this charming veranda was certainly not supporting the supposition that their hunted son was hiding in the pantry.