Venom House. Arthur W. Upfield
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will leave that to Dr Lofty,” Bony interposed. “Contact him now, and ask him to come and yabber the word being yours.”
Lofty was telephoned, and Bony then asked:
“Is the man Blaze still cooking for the Answerth men?”
“Yes. Been there a very long time. Used to be head stockman. Turned to cooking when age fastened on to him.”
“You examined the van belonging to Edward Carlow?”
“Too right. There were several cut-open sacks in it and a light tarpaulin. Obviously last used to transport meat. Remembering the possum query, I examined the inside of the van pretty thoroughly. Not a single possum hair in it. I did find evidence that coke had been loaded, and subsequently established that Carlow had brought a load of coke from Manton for use at his home.”
“Did you mentioned the Forest Ranger’s suspicions concerning the possum-trapping to Inspector Stanley?”
“No o.”
“Why not?”
“What we thought about that possum angle was just surmise,” replied Mawson before giving the correct reason. “Beside, the Inspector didn’t want co-operation.”
“Still, had you mentioned the matter, Stanley would have had experts sent down from Headquarters to examine the van with meticulous thoroughness. The possum point is important, and I thank you for drawing my attention to it. Where’s the van now?”
“With Mrs Carlow. She took over the butchering business. Alfred does most of the shop work and uses the van to transport carcases to the shop from the slaughter yard. As I said, they employ a man to slaughter for them. Ed Carlow used to do his own slaughtering.”
“The slaughter-man character?”
“Local farmer. Good character. Has an alibi no one could bust.”
“What about the timber cutter ... Foster?”
“Said he was in camp all that night. Couldn’t shake him. But ... His camp is within three miles of the logging stage.”
Bony made another of his cigarettes. Years of practice had not brought skill to his fingers, and his fingers remained careless if tenacious in following one pattern. Every cigarette bulged in the middle and dwindled to a point at either end.
“You have given your facts, Mawson,” he said presently. “Now give your opinions. First, why was Carlow murdered?”
“Personal opinions, mind. Because he owed money for carcases to a cattle or sheep lifter, or owed money for skins to a possum trapper. He tried to put it over a man who would not stand for it.”
“Sound,” Bony murmured. “Who murdered Edward Carlow?”
Mawson slowly shook his head, saying:
“Wouldn’t care to guess.”
“We’ll find out. Sounds like the doctor arriving. How d’you get along with him?”
“All right. Good man with babies, they say. Co-operative with us. Done a lot to get the local hospital on its feet.”
Mawson rose and crossed to open the door. He was there a half-minute before welcoming Dr Lofty, and when the doctor entered Bony was ready to receive him. Lofty had the physical appearance of a jockey, the eyes of a hypnotist, the voice of seduction. Mawson’s introduction of Bony produced momentary shock, followed by keen interest.
“A privilege, Inspector!” he drawled, and produced a foolscap envelope which he dropped upon the desk.
“Good of you to come round,” murmured Bony, and they all sat. “Your P.M. report? Thank you. Before we discuss it, I would be obliged did you concentrate on your post mortem on the body of Edward Carlow. I’ve had small opportunity to study that case as presented by my Department’s Official Summary and other data. The scene at least is common with this last crime.”
“As you say, Inspector, the scene is the same in both murders,” agreed Lofty. “One was drowned, the other strangled.
One had put up a fight for life, the other hadn’t been given even that chance.”
“We begin, Doctor,” Bony said. “You knew Edward Carlow when alive, of course?”
“Yes.”
“Was he ever your patient?”
“On several occasions. For minor causes. Accidents. The man was a perfect specimen ... until he took to drink. At the time of his death the liver was spotted, one kidney was diseased, and he was unhealthily fat. Still, he would have lived for years. My grandfather drank three bottles of whisky every day during the last four years of his life, which ended at a hundred and two. I wanted to look inside him, but the relations wouldn’t have it. Most interesting old chap.”
“You like post mortem work?”
“Love it.”
The little man’s black eyes were bright with laughter. He made himself comfortable on the straight-backed kitchen chair and smoked a cheroot with enjoyment.
“Edward Carlow, I understand, was forcibly drowned. Taking into account his diseased kidney and spotted liver, what kind of man, physically, must the murderer be?”
“A man who could take either you or me between his forefinger and thumb and pinch us in two separate parts, and then sit on each part and flatten it to mere parchment.”
Bony was not amused by being thus associated with the wispy, skinny little doctor. He said:
“Carlow’s body bore evidence of a fierce struggle?”
“It surely did. There were patches of ecchymosis all over him. He fought for his life in the shallow water of Answerth’s Folly, or he was first struck unconscious and then dragged into the water. Mud and weed from the bottom of the Folly were embedded under the fingernails, and weed and organisms were found in the water taken into the lungs and stomach. There were, of course, all the other appearances of drowning.”
“D’you know if he could swim?”
“For years he was the beach guard at our annual aquatic sports,” Dr Lofty said slowly. “There’s no possible doubt that Carlow was forcibly held under water until he was dead.”
“How long, in your opinion, was the body submerged?”
“Eight to twelve hours.”
“Assuming that the body had not been found until it rose to the surface normally, do you think a superficial examination would have disclosed the fact that the dead man had fought desperately before drowning?”
“Are you thinking that the murderer, being unaware of his victim’s injuries, calculated that the superficial injuries would not be evident after the body had been submerged for several days? That he hoped the coroner’s verdict would be death by misadventure?”
“Yes, along that line, Doctor. It’s possible, is it not?”
“Quite.”
“Therefore, the murderer knew something of pathology?”
“He could have learned that much from a medical textbook, but more likely from a published report of an inquest. I’ve read in the newspapers two such reports this last twelve-month. There’s no proof, though, that the murderer intended this.”
“But he drowned the man when he could have killed him with his hands about his throat, or with a stick or a stone.”
“If he wasn’t himself played out by the struggle and had strength only to hold his victim under water.”
“Let us pass to the death of Mrs Answerth. How old was she?”
“Sixty-nine.”
“Therefore, frail?”
“Yes and no, Inspector.