Venom House. Arthur W. Upfield
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and mind. Janet takes after her father, or rather her father would have been more like her had he been more balanced. The second Mrs Answerth was the daughter of respectable and affluent pastoralists. She wasn’t happy with her husband.”
“Was she happy with her stepdaughters?”
Mr Harston blinked. His eyes hardened. Yet he spoke with seeming frankness.
“I cannot honestly say that she was particularly unhappy, Inspector. She was not a normally happy woman. Her only son, Morris, was ever a sore disappointment, and her husband never forgave her for that boy.”
“Who now benefits by her demise?”
“No one. Old Jacob left his entire fortune, save for the few bequests, to his daughters in equal shares. He didn’t leave a penny to his wife or son, and Mrs Answerth never took legal action. To murder Mrs Answerth doesn’t add up, does it?”
Bony rose to his feet and the coroner-business-agent followed suit.
“It will, Mr Harston. We’ll talk again, if you will spare me your time. Meanwhile, there’s no hurry for the inquest. I dislike adjourned inquests, you know. Much more interesting when the coroner is able to charge a person with murder, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I suppose it would be, Inspector. We’ll hold the inquest when you are ready.”
This time Bony accompanied the caller to the front gate, and there he asked his final question for the night.
“I heard someone refer to the Answerth house as Venom House. Is it widely known by that name?”
“I’m afraid it is. And by no other,” replied the business agent. “The Answerths have a wretched history. It’s quite a long story. The family began in evil times and evil has clung to it all the way down the years. When you are ready, I can give you the history of it.”
“Thank you. Good night, Mr Harston.”
Assuring Bony that he would delay signing the release of the body till one o’clock the next day, the deputy coroner crossed the street to his house and, pensively, Bony returned to the station office.
“Your opinion of Harston?” he asked, and Mawson smiled faintly.
“He thinks he’s a cut above the bank managers and the parsons,” replied the constable. “He’s chairman of the Bench and a stickler for court procedure. Makes quite a good coroner. Very well off, I believe. Owns property and a couple of farms. Has one son an officer in the Navy and another in business down in Melbourne. Wife’s president or secretary of women’s organizations.”
“H’m! We’ll call it a day, Mawson. You could take me to Venom House in the morning ... be there about nine?”
“Certainly. Should leave at eight-thirty.”
“Make it eight o’clock. I shall want to examine the locality where Carlow’s van was parked. Good night!”
At half past eight the following morning, Bony alighted from Mawson’s car and surveyed the large natural clearing amid the jumble of hills where the van had been parked in the scrub. Mawson led the way into the scrub on the side opposite the old logging stage and pointed out the place where the van had been found. It was impossible for anyone in the clearing to have seen it, such was the massing of semi-tropical vegetation.
“What exactly did Inspector Stanley do about the van?” Bony asked.
“Had it dusted for finger-prints,” replied Mawson. “Steering-wheel gave only Carlow’s prints. Examined the sacking and the tarp inside it. Had the vehicle driven over soft ground and photographs taken of the tyre imprints. Tyre tracks gave nothing. It rained somewhat more than two inches that night Carlow was killed.”
All this Bony knew from the Official Summary, and copies of the finger-prints and the tyre-prints were in his suitcase. He was confident that had he been assigned to the Carlow murder investigation he would have discovered much more from this page of The Book of the Bush than Stanley and his assistants had done. And that despite the hindering rain.
Mawson took a track little better than a green-grey tunnel, for the early morning mist percolated thickly into the massing scrub and hid the upper portion of the trees rising from it. Emerging from the far end of the tunnel, they came to a wide slope of cleared land ending at the base of an opaque wall surmounted by the fairly blue sky and tinted light gold by the still invisible sun.
As the car was driven down the slope, to the left appeared the dark shape of many buildings. These buildings became identifiable: a wood shed, a small shearing shed, the men’s quarters, and other out-houses. Within an open-fronted shed stood the station wagon which Mary Answerth had driven and a smart single-seater coupé.
Mawson stopped the car almost on the edge of the Folly and cut the engine. Immediately there came to them the call of ducks and far-away hooting of swans. The silvered water was like glass, and upon the glass stood, here and there, the grey trunks of long-dead trees.
Somewhere near the men’s quarters dogs barked. Along the shallow shore of the Folly came a duck followed by five ducklings. The old lady deviated to avoid the car and, having steered her brood past it, veered again to follow closely the grass-edged shore.
The tinting of gold sank downward to claim the mist to the glassy surface. The air was cool and pleasurably breathed, and it brought the scents of luscious growth, of cattle, of gumwood burning in a stove. A distant shadow materialized in the mist, became a featureless oblong based on nothing, and both men silently watched as the shadow solidified to a large flat-roofed house. The tips of the taller of the dead trees standing in the Folly were gilded by the sun, and the mist magically thinned to reveal the windows and the great arched porch to the front entrance of the distant house.
“Must be very damp,” commented Bony.
“Stands on a sort of island made by a levee all round it,” Mawson said. “Once there was no water here at all. A river used to pass the house on the far side, but one of the Answerths interfered with its exit to the sea and despite all their efforts the outlet was permanently blocked. Water couldn’t get away and so formed this lake. It’s why it’s called Answerth’s Folly.”
“I would say that the artificial island on which the house stands is one-third of a mile from us. What is your guess?”
“Bit more, I think. From here to there is the causeway, covered by about a foot of water.”
Colour was brushed upon the house. It was built of grey stone and comprised two storeys. Facing them were six windows on the ground floor and seven on the upper floor. All the windows were of a past era, tall and narrow. The house stood upon a green base.
“What does that house remind you of?” inquired Bony, and Mawson was prompt to make answer.
“Buckingham Palace. Very small edition, of course.”
“The green is grass growing on the levee?”
“Must be. I understand that the levee encloses about two acres of land.”
“I’d like to own that house. Unusual. Its history will be interesting. Slip up to the men’s quarters and ask that cook to come here. Meanwhile, I’ll indulge in the wishful spending of a hundred thousand pounds lottery prize.”
“I wouldn’t even get that far,” grumbled Mawson, and departed.
Venom House! Strange name to give a house ... behind its back. What had Harston said? The Answerths have a wretched history. They began in evil times and evil has clung to them down through the years. Yes. ”
Voices recalled him to the approach of Mawson and another man, and Bony left the car to survey the station cook. He was about the same size as Dr Lofty, but his legs were like twin bows bent to speed an arrow to right and left. He wore white moleskin trousers, a white cotton shirt, and slippers. His age? Anything between fifty and ninety. His eyes were dark and screwed to the size of small marbles, and this mannerism, together with the burned and lined face, was a finger-post