Читать книгу The Dark Highway - Arthur Gask - Страница 10

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WHEN Detective Harker brusquely asked the landlord of the hotel at Broken Bough who would want to kill Barton and Gover, the landlord shrugged his shoulders.

"Eli Barton was a rich man," he said stubbornly, "and his habits were well known. Anyone would guess he'd be carrying a bit of money with him, and he'd be worth holding up, any night."

"But who was going to know, man," asked the detective sharply, "that they would be taking the Coorong track, at night. You yourself told us just now that they said they only made up their minds at midday on Thursday."

"Yes," replied the landlord nodding his head, "I've thought of that point right enough." He looked at the detective rather contemptuously. "But who would know? Why lots of people might have known, of course. The telephone people had been informed, and anyone in the bar here may have heard me talking on the 'phone. Anyone, too, may have caught the message at the other end at Meningie." He shook his head in scorn. "There are always plenty of ears about when the telephone's being used, and someone may have accidentally picked up the information and then got ready to act on it at once." He shrugged his shoulders. "Yes, they've both probably been murdered, and the Jehu's been driven off and hidden somewhere in the sandhills or among the scrub. I hope to blazes I'm not right, but I know I've never felt easy at any time when I've seen old Barton going that way alone."

The two men continued to discuss the matter, and in the end the landlord's misgiving undoubtedly in part communicated themselves to the detective, for when the party left the township the next morning upon their return journey he was most sympathetic in his attitude towards young Barton.

The return search was conducted upon much the same lines as upon the previous day, except that upon several occasions the party explored much deeper among the sandhills.

But, as before, they met with no success at all, and darkness found them, dispirited and disheartened, returning to Adelaide.

Hoping against hope, Stanley looked for news upon their arrival in the city, but beyond the information that the mystery of his uncle's disappearance was now public property, there was, unhappily, nothing to record.

The next day the matter was the sole topic of conversation everywhere, and the newspapers made every effort to ensure that their readers were duly informed as to everything that was taking place.

There was no need, however, for secrecy, and, realising the help that the Press might possibly give him, young Stanley made a candid avowal of all the anxiety he was in.

In an interview with a representative of the Times of Adelaide he explained exactly what had happened, and emphatically gave it as his opinion that it seemed now only possible to explain his uncle's disappearance by foul play.

The public were generally of the same opinion, too, and as day upon day went by without any news coming to hand, uncomplimentary references were made everywhere as to the capacity of the South Australian police.

Two men certainly, the public commented, might easily be murdered, and their bodies hidden away. Dreadful as the idea was, yet that could be readily understood in the knowledge of the sparsely inhabited condition of many parts of South Australia, but for a motor car to get hidden, and a huge, uncommon car like a Jehu at that—well, at any rate some explanation was required there. A car had more or less all the time to keep to roads and tracks, and surely something ought to have been discovered when it was known fairly accurately where it had been last seen.

The Commissioner of the Police swore under his breath, and wondered angrily how many of his critics had been near the Coorong.

A Government aeroplane from Seaton Park was brought into requisition, and for two days, at some little risk to the aviator, it cruised low down, backwards and forwards, over the Ninety-Mile Desert, but nothing eventuated, and no sign of the missing car was seen.

So was everything in complete darkness until the Saturday morning, and then suddenly light came.

It came in a horrible and ghastly manner, and a shudder rippled through the great Commonwealth of Australia.

The big Jehu car was found, with the dead body of Eli Barton in it, and it was known that the old man had been murdered.

The discovery was made in this way:

Two young clerks from the Bank of Adelaide were holidaying in the Coorong, and in a small boat had set out to sail down the whole length of the lake. Taking things easily and amusing themselves by fishing as they went along, they had pulled up the boat each evening and camped out upon the sands.

The third day out from Goolwa, towards noon, they found themselves about mid-way across the lake. And the wind suddenly dropping altogether, rather than take to the oars in the oppressive heat, they decided to land and explore among the sandhills on the chance of getting a rabbit or two for the evening meal.

Accordingly, they pulled their boat well up and, taking their rifles with them, set out upon a voyage of discovery.

Their progress was slow, for they soon tired in the heavy going. One minute they would be in a deep gully and the next they would be toiling laboriously up the slope of a miniature mountain, with their feet always ankle deep in the yielding sand.

Presently they sat down to rest on the summit of one of the hummocks.

Suddenly, however, one of them rose interestedly to his feet. "Now, what's that over there?" he asked quickly—"something bright that keeps on catching the sun. On the other side of that gully, over to the left."

His companion looked in the direction indicated and then he, too, stood up at once.

"Funny!" he ejaculated, "but it looks like the radiator of a motor car." There was a moment's silence and then he burst out. "And, by Jove, I believe it is." His voice rose to a delighted shout. "Come on, quick. Here's something interesting at last."

All thoughts of their fatigue forgotten, they raced down the hummock side and very quickly were within a few yards of the object that had caught their eyes.

Then one of them clutched the other by the arm. "It's a car that's been drifted over by the sand," he said hoarsely, his voice trembling, "and there's somebody dead there, too."

They both halted, and, with frightened faces, stared into each other's eyes.

A dreadful taint was borne towards them on the air.

"Eli Barton!" came an awed whisper. "The two missing men."

A moment's hesitation and they fearfully approached nearer. There was no doubt about it. A big car lay in front of them, but three parts of it were buried in the sand. Against the back and all one side the sand was piled higher than the hood. The wheels and running boards were all covered over, and even on the exposed side of the car only the very tops of the mudguards were discernable.

Holding their breath, they peeped into the car, and then both, as with one movement, darted back.

A man's leg was protruding from the sand that nearly filled the tonneau.

The faces of the two boys went chalk-white in horror and, under the burning sun, they shivered. For the first time in their lives they were in the presence of Death, and the dread majesty of it struck at them like a blow.

"But why did they bring the car here?" whispered one. "And how did they come to die? They must have gone mad or else"—his voice trailed away almost to nothing—"or else, they were murdered."

For a minute neither of them spoke, and then the elder gathered his wits together.

"Well, it's no good our touching anything," he said huskily. "We must go and get help. We must get back to the boat."

Climbing breathlessly upon a high sandhill to get their bearings, they debated in jerky sentences what they must do. That they must get in touch with the police at once was the one idea in their minds, but the difficulty was—how were they going to do it?

It was nearly forty long miles along the track to Meningie, and to return to Goolwa along the lake, as they had come, would take the best part of two days.

Then another idea seized them. They would wait where they were until some motorist came along. The Melbourne—Adelaide track, they knew, ran by the edge of the lake, and no car could pass by except within a few yards of where their boat was drawn up. There was some risk, of course, in waiting for anyone coming, but they reckoned that at that season of the year someone would be sure to pass by long before the time when they could reach Meningie on their own.

So, confident that they were doing the right thing, they put up their tent, and proceeded to wait with what patience they could for help.

But it was a weary and trying afternoon that followed.

The heat got worse and worse, and, after a scrappy and unrelished meal, discarding everything but their hats, they reclined in more or less discomfort in the hot and shallow water at the edge of the lake. Towards five o'clock, and just when they were beginning to despair of anyone coming along that evening, to their almost frenzied delight they heard the unmistakable chug- chug of a motor bicycle coming from the direction of Kingston.

Hastily throwing on a few garments, with palpitating hearts they placed themselves in the middle of the track so that by no chance could they possibly be unseen.

A motor bicycle appeared round the bend and with one accord they waved frantically for it to stop.

A moment's hesitation and the rider pulled up. He kept his distance however. He was a tall, spare man, and he was heavily goggled.

"Well, what do you want?" he asked sharply. "What's up?"

"There's a motor car with a dead body in it," called out one of the clerks, "just over in the sandhills here, and we think it's Mr. Eli Barton. It's a Jehu car."

The man took off his goggles. He showed a keen alert face and he frowned.

"What is it, you say," he asked, "a dead body? Where?"

The clerks told him and related shortly how they had chanced upon the car. "But who are you?" asked the man brusquely.

"We are officers of the Bank of Adelaide," replied one of the clerks, "and we are on holiday here. That is our boat there and we came along the lake from Goolwa."

The stranger kicked the stand under his motor bicycle and proceeded methodically to take off his gloves. He smiled pleasantly.

"Well, your luck's in for once, young men," he said, "for I happen myself to be a doctor. Dr. Stark, of Meningie, at your service. Lead the way and we'll soon see what your find is. About half a mile, you say?"