Venom House. Arthur W. Upfield
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down on the Carlow murder.”
“Thanks,” Bony returned, now thinking that on arrival at Edison he would surely be given a public reception.
Cross-cut and wedges, parcels of bread and meat, one letter and several newspapers were placed on the road. Mike accepted payment, having to raise the hem of his shirt to thrust it into a hip pocket. There were further “gud-dees”, and the horseman was left standing by his horse and cutting tobacco from a black plug with a knife like a cutlass.
“Bit of a character, Henery Foster,” Mike remarked. “Got his camp in the bush a mile and a bit off the track. Terrible good axeman. Cuts fence posts and sleepers for the railway. Does pretty well.”
The track began to fall away round the bends until it came to flat country where grew bigger trees and the scrub was thick and verdant.
“A bit further on is where they found Ed Carlow’s van,” Mike said. “It’s where three tracks junction at an old logging stage.”
Bony recalled the details of the sketch map attached to the Official Summary of the Carlow Murder Investigation, but to pursue the subject taken up by this nonchalant young man, he asked:
“About a mile from Answerth’s Folly, isn’t it?”
“Yair. Three mile to Edison. Seventeen and a bit to Manton. Can’t get what Ed Carlow was doing with his van at the logging stage. There was nothing on it when old Mawson found it.”
“You have been to Answerth’s Folly, I suppose?”
“Usta sneak a bit of fishin’ in it with the other kids,” replied Mike. After a prolonged chuckle, he added: “Had to keep wide of Miss Mary Answerth, though. She wouldn’t have no one inside their fences.”
“Ever go to the house?”
“No, never. Water all round it. Leastways, water all round the sorta island it’s built on. There’s a causeway to the island, but the water covers it now. You can wade over the causeway if you know where the holes in it are.”
“The Answerths use a boat, of course?”
“Yair. But they keeps it locked to a tree stump this side, and don’t never use it unless specially. They wades over the causeway. Funny lot, them Answerths.”
Shortly after giving that information, Mike Falla drove his service car into a large clearing. On the far side was a car and a station wagon. Beside the car stood a man and a woman. Compared with the woman, the man was puny.
Chapter Two
The Misses Answerth
The man was of average height, raw-boned, of sandy colouring. His mouth was large, his nose prominently bridged. The steady eyes were granite-grey. The manner of his walk, as he advanced, and not the clothes he wore, betrayed the policeman. The woman was not noticeably tall, due to her cubic proportions. She was watchful, suspicious, her pose having something of the explosiveness of the rhinoceros and something of the ponderability of the elephant. With her fists punched against the belt about her cord breeches, she epitomized leashed force. Bony’s gaze merely flickered about the policeman: it was held by this woman with the brick-red complexion, the light grey eyes, the Roman nose, the great mop of black hair.
“Inspector Bonaparte?” the advancing man queried, and Bony’s attention reverted to him. “I’m First Constable Mawson. Hope you understand, sir, not being able to meet you.”
Bony acknowledged the salute and nodded. Mike Falla called from his car:
“You coming on to Edison with me, Inspector? Can’t wait ... long.”
Mawson accepted Bony’s cue and told Mike to go on. He moved stiffly, and the tint of his face wasn’t wholly due to wind and sun. Then the woman was confronting Bony, and her greeting reminded him of the horseman who had met the service car.
“Gud-dee, Mister ...”
“Bonaparte ... Inspector Bonaparte,” Bony returned suavely.
“I’m Mary Answerth,” she said, and would have edged Mawson behind her had he not stood his ground. Again the hands were clenched hard to the leather belt. The feet encased by riding boots were planted wide apart and like century-old trees, giving the impression that nothing human could topple her over. “I take it you’ve come from Brisbane to investigate my mother’s death?”
“That is why I am here, Miss Answerth,” Bony agreed, still suavely.
“Then I hope you do better than those fools who came down to find Carlow’s murderer,” she said challengingly. “No one here expects anything from Mawson. As he says himself, he’s a policeman, not a detective. I shall expect better from you. These killings must be stopped.”
The dark brows were met above the eyes no larger than farthings. The constable intervened:
“Now, Miss Answerth ...”
“I tell you ...”
What she intended to add was blanketed by the roar of Mike’s engine, and when speech was again possible, Mawson was ready to employ further placation.
“Naturally, sir, Miss Answerth is much upset by last night’s tragedy. She insists that Mrs Answerth be buried tomorrow, and I have explained that the formalities may not be completed to permit that.”
“Now, look here, Inspector,” the woman snarled, for her large square teeth were bared. “They took the body to Edison early this morning, and Doc Lofty’s had it all day. There’s no sense in keeping it after the post mortem.”
“Please accept my assurance that the delay will not be protracted one minute longer than is necessary,” Bony said. “I have yet to examine the known facts governing the lamentable tragedy, receive the post mortem report and confer with the coroner.”
“Leave the coroner to me,” commanded Mary Answerth. Constable Mawson opened his mouth to speak, but was cut out by Bony’s voice, now low and yet metallic. The words were icily distinct.
“I have been assigned to investigate the circumstances surrounding the death of the late Mrs Answerth. I will leave nothing, or anyone, to you, Miss Answerth. You will be notified by the coroner in due course. The matter is entirely in the hands of the police. I am the police. If you wish to make a statement concerning the death of Mrs Answerth, Constable Mawson will take it down in writing, when you can sign it.”
“I’ve already told Mawson what I know about that. Now look here ...”
“Pardon me, Miss Answerth.”
The flat stomach sank inward as the vast bust expanded. The woman’s square chin jutted like a doorstep and her eyes flashed. She stared into the blue eyes of the slight man she confronted, tried to stare him out, slowly realized that in this she would never succeed. Abruptly she turned away and strode to the station wagon. It rocked when she entered it, and silently the two men watched it being driven swiftly away. Sighing with relief, Constable Mawson said:
“Quite a tartar, sir. Lives too late, in my opinion. Should have lived a couple of hundred years ago when the scum knuckled to their betters.”
“The body is at Edison?”
“Yes, sir. I had it conveyed to the morgue at 8.50 this morning. The doctor hadn’t completed the post mortem when I left the town at three o’clock this afternoon.”
“Then we had better run along and hurry him.” A minute later, when they were on the track, Bony said: “What accommodation does the local hotel offer?”
“Not so good, sir. I was thinking that perhaps you’d like to put up with my sister, who sometimes takes paying guests. She’s a good cook.”
“I’ll try her cooking. We must pick up my case from the service car. However, first things first, Mawson. Relate to me the happenings of today.”
“At 7.57 this morning