An Author Bites the Dust. Arthur W. Upfield
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a particular bond of sympathy between them, as my sister’s husband, who was a forestry man, was caught in the fires of ’38.”
“M’m! Makes a difference. I understand that she didn’t like Blake because he threw stones at her cat.”
Simes chuckled. “She told him he was the illegitimate offspring of a shanghaied drunk. She told him that if he threw one more stone at Mr Pickwick, she would get through the fence and kick his face down to his backside.”
“Dear me!” murmured Bony. “I would never have believed it of Miss Pinkney.”
“I understand that she used once to sail with her brother, who owned his own ship.”
“Was the unpleasantness about the cat the reason the Blakes were never friendly to her?”
“Not the real reason. They would not associate with anyone here at Yarrabo. They stood well with the local store and garage, and Mrs Blake often subscribed to the vicar’s various funds. But that was all.”
“Mrs Blake subscribed? Not Mervyn Blake?”
“Mrs Blake’s name always appeared in the vicar’s lists.”
“Tell me more,” urged Bony. “Tell me from the time they came here.”
“They bought the property slightly more than two years ago,” Simes proceeded. “They managed to get the place renovated and that writing-room built despite the chronic shortage of materials. It took—”
“Did they find the money for the purchase or was the purchase financed?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know that,” admitted Simes.
Bony made a memo.
“We will establish the point,” he said. “Go on.”
“Well, what with the scarcity of materials and the shortage of labour, the work took something like five months,” Simes continued. “After it was done, they began to entertain, having several people staying over the weekend, and sometimes having a house party for a week or more. The visitors were mostly literary people, I think. Very often they were mentioned in the papers, according to my sister, who reads the social pages.”
“M’m! Did you ever contact the Blakes?”
“I spoke to Mrs Blake several times. She owns the car. Seemed all right to talk to, but wouldn’t relax, if you know what I mean. She might have been different had I been an inspector, or a sergeant. Blake himself was supercilious. Had a high opinion of himself. Spoke as though I were the village constable and he the squire.” Simes grinned. “Might go down in England, but not in Australia.”
“He was English, was he not?”
“Yes. Came to Australia shortly after the First World War—at least, I think so. I’m not quite sure about her.”
“She was born in Melbourne,” Bony stated. “Do you know the reason why they came here from Essendon?”
“Yes. Blake suffered from gastric trouble. I have the idea that the trouble was eased by the change.”
“You have the idea!” Bony echoed.
“Yes, only that. I think my sister spoke of it.”
Bony made another memo.
“He seemed to be quite well?” was his next question.
“Quite. Used to walk a great deal. Swung along as well as I. He was a well preserved man. In fact, I was surprised when I learnt he was fifty-six.”
“He didn’t look the suicide type?”
“He did not.”
“The post mortem revealed that he suffered from stomach ulcers. Also that his heart was not strong, and that his system was saturated with alcohol. Not one of these conditions is thought to have been responsible for his death. Neither is it thought that all three in combination could have been responsible. The Government Analyst was puzzled by the condition of the dead man’s liver and other organs. Did you know that?”
“No,” replied Simes.
“Very well. Let us assume that you did know the Analyst’s confidential report. Does it support any theory you have that Blake was murdered?”
Simes regarded Bony steadily for a full three seconds before he answered the question in the affirmative.
“I’ve always thought that murder was most likely,” he added.
“On what grounds?”
“On something that Inspector Snook would not accept seriously,” Simes answered, a dull flush stealing into his face.
“I noted that the date of your report was five days after the date of Blake’s death. Blake died on the night of 9th November. It is now 4th January. Since you wrote that report you have had opportunity to review all the data you then set down, and also to review your opinions held during those vital five days, opinions you did not express in your report but doubtless did express to Inspector Snook, eh?”
“No, I expressed no opinions, Bony. I was not invited to.”
“In fact, you were discouraged from giving opinions. Well, having met Inspector Snook on another case, I can understand that. Now tell me what you did, saw, and heard following the summons by Dr Fleetwood. Relate your reactions, your own opinions. Forget that I have studied your official report. Light your pipe and let your mind relax. Begin with the weather that morning. I suppose there are more murders and suicides influenced by the weather than the detectives wot of.”
Simes smiled slightly and relit his pipe.
“I can begin with the weather easily enough,” he said. “It had rained the night before, and I was very pleased because the garden was suffering from a long dry spell. The morning that Dr. Fleetwood rang me was bright and, compared with the previous day, cool. I reached Blake’s house about ten minutes to nine that morning, and I went straight in as the front door was open. Dr Fleetwood was in the hall waiting for me Also in the hall were Mrs Blake and a woman I knew subsequently as Mrs Montrose. Both were crying.
“The doctor led me through the house to the back veranda, where there were several people, then down to the lawn and so to the writing-room. The door was closed. I saw that there was no handle and that it was fitted with a Yale lock. The doctor took a key from his pocket and opened the door, which I then saw opened outwards.
“Blake was lying with his head almost touching the door when it was closed. He was dressed in pyjamas. I stepped over the body and the doctor came after me and reclosed the door. He spoke for the first time and said, ‘There’s something about this affair, Bob, that I don’t like.’
“The doctor and I have been a little more than acquaintances for several years,” explained Simes. “He told me that when he reached the house he was met by a guest named Wilcannia-Smythe who stated that when Blake didn’t turn up for breakfast at eight twenty he went out to the writing-room. Finding the door closed and being unable to open it because of the lock, he knocked twice and received no answer. Then he went round to the window, which was also closed and fastened, and looking through it saw Blake lying just inside the door.
“He returned to the house and asked the maid if there was another key to the writing-room, and she gave him a spare key, which she took down from a hook in the hall. Wilcannia-Smythe then collected another guest named Lubers, and together they went to the writing-room. Wilcannia-Smythe opened the door. Neither went in. First one and then the other tried to rouse Blake and found that he was dead. They then shut the door and returned to the house where they told Mrs Blake and advised sending for the doctor.
“The doctor reached the house shortly after eight forty. He was taken to the waiting-room by Wilcannia-Smythe, who remained outside the building while the doctor made his examination. The examination didn’t take more than two minutes, and immediately after it, the doctor left closing the door, and he and the guest went