Читать книгу The Shadow of Larose - Arthur Gask - Страница 6

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After a good shave and dusting my clothes and making myself as respectable-looking as possible I set off about noon at a smart pace down the mountain side.

I had put away my fears, and it was just in my mind that I was setting forth upon some new adventure. I had steeled myself to expect the worst, and therefore, if anything but the worst happened was prepared to return thanks and be truly grateful. But at the same time I was determining that the worst should not happen, and with every ounce of resource in me, was prepared to meet every move of my enemies with a better one.

The first thing, I told myself, was to establish an alibi. It must never be able to be proved that I had been upon the Port Augusta—Port Lincoln track at all. I must double back to Adelaide somehow, get out my push bicycle and trek off somewhere to the south for the rest of my holiday. Then I would make out I had been south all the time, and knew nothing of these northern tracks. If they traced the motor cycle back to me then I must say that it had been stolen from Teddy's garage the very day after I had bought it, when I was out at lunch, and that I had been so sick of the rotten thing that I had not troubled to inform the police. No one that I was aware of had seen me with the motor cycle except those painters on the lorry, and they had had so brief a glimpse of me that they would surely, I thought, be unable to identify me, even, indeed, if called upon to do so.

Yes, I must get back to the city at once, but my journey should not be by the direct way. I would avoid Port Augusta like the plague, and would cut across country about fifty miles, and take the train from Orroroo, instead. Then no one at Port Augusta would have seen me, and I should be safe at all events from identification there.

So I comforted myself, and with brisk and swinging steps made my way over the plains to cross the Adelaide track, hoping almost that my resource would be tried speedily and that adventure should come to me soon.

And indeed I had not long to wait.

I was making for the little township of Wendover, which, as the stranger had pointed out to me, was lying about twelve miles from the foot of the range, and right upon the Adelaide track. I was obliged to call in there, for I had to get provisions and cigarettes.

It was rather heavy going over the rough ground, but I kept up at a good four miles an hour, and it was about three o'clock when I reached the track. Wendover was then only about a couple of hundred yards away, and I was quite close to the little straggling line of houses that composed the township. I was just turning in their direction when suddenly I heard the sound of a motor car in the distance, and I ducked down behind a clump of bushes on the side of the track.

I had reasoned it all out, and people in motor cars, I was of opinion, were the ones most to be feared. They came from the city, and the city meant detectives and police and men of inquisitive minds.

The car passed within a few yards of me, and its passengers, I saw, were four burly men. Policemen all over they looked, and I was glad that I had hidden away.

I let them pass right through the township before I got up, and then seeing that the coast was quite clear I walked leisurely to locate the general Store.

The township was certainly a very small one, and there were only a dozen buildings at most, but they included, I saw, an inn and a motor garage with a kerbside petrol pump. In front of the garage a big motor lorry had evidently just finished refuelling, and the garage man and the driver had got their heads close together as if they were enjoying some good joke. The driver was leaning out of his seat, and the garage man had got one foot upon the lorry step. They both laughed heartily, and then the driver jerked his head in the direction of the little inn. The garage man nodded, and stepped on to the footboard, and the lorry gliding forward, in a few seconds came to rest behind a large hay cart that was standing just in front of the inn door. The two men then went inside.

I walked briskly forward to find the village store, when suddenly I heard a motor car again, and turning round saw to my dismay that it was the same one that had just passed me, coming back.

I was on the open road now, and this time there were no bushes to get behind, but I was exactly opposite to the garage, and seeing the door open after a moment's hesitation I walked boldly in. As an excuse, I thought I would ask for a refill for my electric torch.

But the garage, I found, was empty. It was only a one-room affair, and a glance told me that it was untenanted.

Congratulating myself upon my good luck, I crouched down behind the window and waited for the car to pass by, but to my horror on approaching the garage it slowed down and then pulled up directly opposite the door.

A man with an inner tube over his arm got out, and for a moment stood talking to the others inside.

I looked round in desperation. There was nowhere possible to hide. Half a dozen or so of empty packing cases standing by the wall, an untidy bench upon which were strewn a lot of greasy tools, a small cupboard about 3 ft. high, and that was all. Not room even for a cat to tuck itself away, much less a good-sized man.

Then suddenly I saw a dirty overall hanging upon a nail and an inspiration seized me. Off came my knapsack to be bundled down like lightning into one of the packing cases, with my coat following next in the twinkling of an eye. Then into the overalls I almost jumped, and picking up a dirty piece of cotton waste I ruffled up my hair and smutted over my face and was ready forthwith to receive customers.

I was only just in time, too, for the man with the inner tube came into the garage at the exact moment when I turned round. He was a stout, thickset man, and he fixed me with a pair of steely blue eyes.

"Want puncture mending," he said brusquely, "and look slippy, please. We're in a hurry."

With hands that I was proud to notice did not tremble, I took the inner tube that he held out and proceeded to examine it.

"The rubber's perishing," I said gruffly, not relishing the idea of having to mend a puncture when at any moment the garage man might return. "You want a new tube and I haven't got one this size in stock. You'll get it in Port Augusta."

The man glared at me malevolently. "Perishing, be damned." he sneered, "there's two or three thousand miles more in it yet. Vulcanise a patch on it, man." He jerked his head. "I'll take the risk."

I looked casually round to see where the vulcanising patches were kept, but searched no further, when I saw a new one-minute vulcanising outfit exposed for sale in the window. I got it out without any haste, and undoing the package proceeded to deal methodically with the puncture.

"You can't mistake it," growled the man, "there it is. I took a nail out of the tyre and marked the place at once."

Now I always flatter myself that I made a fairly neat job of that puncture. Although my nerves should really have been on tender-hooks the whole time, strangely enough they were not, and after the first shock was over, even a confident obsession held me that all would go well.

So I did not slur over my work in the slightest, and did not mind either the searching glances that I could feel my customer was putting over me while I worked.

Presently he spoke, and in a manner almost as if he were considering it his duty to cross-examine me.

"You're not the boss?" he said sharply.

"No," I replied, "he's out."

"I knew you weren't," and there was a sneer in his voice, "because you opened a new tin of those damned things, and there are plenty others, back on the bench."

"These ones are fresh," I said coldly. "We've had trouble with the others."

There was silence for a moment, and then he said curiously. "You keep your hands well, young fellow, for a motor mechanic."

"Have to," I replied. "I play the violin."

"Oh," he grunted, and then his next question was harsh and peremptory, and I sensed the true policeman touch.

"Seen any strangers about here lately?"

I pretended to be stupid. "Always seeing them," I replied. "We live on them. You're one."

"But a man on a motor cycle," he asked me, and I saw that he was frowning when I looked up, "on the afternoon or evening of Wednesday last."

A feeling of delightful warmth surged up into my heart. So they had not found my bicycle obviously, and I was safe as yet!

"Not that I remember," I replied offhandedly, "but I've no doubt plenty passed."

At last the tube was finished, and I handed it over with a laconic "Three and sixpence, please." I was anxious for him to go. My good fortune had been splendid up to now, but with every minute the danger was becoming the more pressing, and I was unwilling to tempt fate even a second longer than I could help.

But indeed he might as well have been in co-operation with me, too, for with just a curt nod, he handed over the money, and with the tube over his shoulder returned to the car.

The car moved off before even he had closed the door, and in less then half a minute it was disappearing down the road in a cloud of dust.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.

"Whew!" I exclaimed. "Comedy instead of tragedy after all. But what an escape! He was a policeman right enough."

Swiftly I peeled off the dirty overall and restored it to its proper nail. Then I resumed my coat and knapsack, and as a last thought, repacked the one minute vulcanised outfit and returned it to the window. For a moment I was in two minds about leaving the three and six behind, but then realising that the presence of the money would only create mystery, and raise speculation, I kept it in my pocket and stepped blithely out into the road. There was no one in sight, and I made once more for the general store.

I drew level with the motor lorry, and the bright crimson color of its body-work caught my eye. It was obviously new, and looked indeed as if it had just come out of the factory. "Canaway, Furniture Remover, Burnside-road, Adelaide," I read on the side, and then my heart almost stopped beating.

"Burnside-road, Adelaide!" I ejaculated, and I could hardly get my breath. Why that was where the Binks' house was, and the lorry had got its bonnet turned towards the city! It was going back there. What if I bargained for a lift?

I looked over into the back of the lorry. It was empty save for a pile of hessian and a couple of big tarpaulin sheets.

My heart beat furiously now. Why bargain for a lift? I could slip under the pile of hessian and return unseen to the city, an uninvited passenger. Oh, what a piece of luck if I were quick enough! The lorry was behind the haycart, and out of view of both the windows and the door of the inn.

I vaulted over the side and in two seconds had slipped like an eel under the hessian.

Then I held my sides and rocked with suppressed laughter. It had all been so easy, and it was too funny for words. Yes, as the stranger had said, the plums of life were for the climber, and I—the tears came into my eyes—I had just climbed into the lorry. Truly, life was a jest.

I calmed down after a few moments, and taking stock of my position, proceeded to make myself as comfortable as possible. There was a long journey before us. I laughed again at the word 'us.' It was 225 miles at least to the city, and I should get a terrible jolting on the way. So I tucked as much of the hessian under me as I thought safe, and making a pillow of my blanket, prepared to wait patiently for my chauffeur.

And I had not long to wait, either. Hardly had I settled myself down to the right position when I heard the sounds of laughter and the springs of the lorry quivered as a heavy person, evidently, jumped on to the driver's seat.

"Well, good-bye my lad," I heard a jovial voice say. "Those tales of yours are as good as any I've heard in the city. But where you get 'em from, I can't think. That one about the soldier and the girl was a stunner. Ha! ha! ha! But you're a nice prize packet for a little hole like this. They ought to chain you up. Well, be a good boy, sonny. I mustn't stop another moment now. What's the time you say? Nearly five past four! Cripes, and I've got to strike the great smoke by midnight, and there's a hell of a way to go. But the old bus'll go like hell, too, when I step on the juice. Good-bye, old cock, good-bye," and the car glided off, and the second part of my adventure had begun.

Now, under any circumstances that journey back to the city would have been a tiring one, but I am quite sure it was not nearly as tiring as I had expected it would have been under the circumstances. Before we had gone a hundred yards I realised that the lorry was beautifully sprung, and with the thick rolls of hessian for a cushion I really didn't feel the jolting very much. Also the driver was undoubtedly a good one, and from the rate of speed he maintained nearly all the time he must have had some sure knowledge of the track.

The jovial rascal called at four places before reaching the city, and as the car proceeded quicker and quicker after each stop I was inclined to believe that upon each occasion liquid refreshment had been taken in. At the last stop quite an amusing thing happened.

He had been gone from the lorry for only about two minutes and I was taking advantage of the stillness to try and doze off, when suddenly I was startled to feel the hessian being disturbed above me, and a moment later a hard object was thrust abruptly into the small of my back. I had difficulty in preventing myself from crying out and waited tremblingly for what was going to happen next. But, all that did happen was that I felt the driver jump back on to the lorry and lurch into his seat, and then the car proceeded as before upon its furious way.

I waited a few moments and then cautiously explored to find out what had struck me in the back. Then to my amazement my hand came in contact with two bottles, and holding one of them up to my nose I was of the opinion that it contained beer. It was a screw-top bottle, too, and in less than a minute then I was gratefully drinking to the driver's health. It was cool and refreshing, and I gurgled with amusement in thinking how it had come about that I was drinking it, but I salved my conscience upon remembering that it had been bought unlawfully, 'after hours.'

In the last twenty miles or so, on a good bitumen road, we must have been breaking records every mile, and many times I fully expected the cemetery or the Adelaide Hospital would be receiving us next.

But, no—we reached the city without mishap, and the post-office clock was chiming midnight as we passed.

I crept out of my wrappings and strapping on my knapsack made ready to alight at the earliest possible moment. I felt stiff and sore, but a glorious elation thrilled me through. The stars were fighting for me, and I was escaping from the toils. My most sanguine expectations had been exceeded, and in a few hours, instead of days, I had passed altogether out of the danger zone.

Suddenly I felt the lorry slackening down, and looking out over the side I saw we were about to turn round a narrow corner. I prepared for a getaway at once. The brakes squeaked noisily, and at the same moment I dropped over the back of the lorry. With thankfulness in my heart I waved a grateful but unseen farewell to my alcoholic friend, and then he and his crimson conveyance went out of my life forever. I sighed to think how often the good deeds of the world go unrewarded.

I recognised the road I was in. I was not a quarter of a mile from the Bink's house, and in five minutes at most I had stolen up the drive and was unlocking the garage door.

Now I had at first been minded to spend the night in the garage and go openly upon my way in the early hours of the next morning, but a more adventurous idea had come into my mind. Fate had dealt so generously with me in the last few hours that I felt I should be an ingrate if I did not continue to exploit her favors to the full. So I determined I would make another night journey and go south to Victor Harbour before the dawn. The most fashionable watering place in South Australia, there were always, I knew, crowds of people visiting Victor Harbour in the summer months, and I could slip in among them, and camping on the shore, no one would have noticed how and when I had come.

Thus I could swear I had been there all the time, and my journey north could never be proved and would be known only to myself. The promise of the stranger I regarded as inviolate and I had no fear on that score.

So ten minutes later I was again upon the road and laboriously climbing into the Adelaide hills. It was fifty odd miles in a direct way to Victor Harbour, but I was not going to risk going by the South-road, the star road of South Australia and bituminous in its entire length, for it was occasionally in the summer months a festive highway at all hours of the twenty-four, and it was possible night revellers might see and perhaps remember meeting a solitary cyclist with his pack.

So I resolved to go by another way, a little longer one, but on roads which were not so frequented, and where, knowing the country as I did, I could make short cuts from time to time by unfrequented tracks.

It was a calm, still night, but there was a nip in the air that made it pleasant to go fast, so I sped quickly along, elaborating my plans as I went.

I was out to prepare an alibi, and I was determined to make that alibi as thoroughly as possible, so I went over in my mind every question that I thought was likely to be asked me.

Where had I gone the first day? Where had I pitched my camp, and from where had I got my food? Where had I gone the second day, where had I slept then, and so on and so on?

At half past four I was passing through the broad flat stretch of country that borders upon Lake Alexandrina. It was just beginning to get light, and I was keeping a sharp lookout for any signs of recent camping places by the side of the track. People often came there, I knew, after rabbits, and for the fishing too, which on the lake was very good.

Suddenly then I noticed a small ruined stone house about a hundred yards from the track, and I got off my machine at once and went to have a look inside. Only three of the walls were standing, and there was no roof, but I saw, as I half expected, that it had been used by campers, and pretty recently too.

Fires had been made, and with greasy and well-blackened lengths of fencing wire lying about I was sure that meat had been roasted. Indeed I saw what I took to be rabbit bones among the ashes. Also I noticed an empty beer bottle and an old salmon tin.

"Good," I said to myself, "then I camped here two nights and ate tinned salmon and roasted a rabbit. Also," I added, uncreasing a large brown paper bag that I had seen tucked away under a stone. "I brought some bread here from 'The Bakery,' of Strathalbyn," and I carefully tucked back the bag.

By this time I was beginning to feel desperately tired, but the vital importance of being in Victor Harbour by breakfast time still spurred me on, and I bent over the handle bars again like a convict upon the treadmill.

I noticed another camping place for myself under the arches of a bridge about ten miles farther on, and the humor of it raised my spirits, and for the time, at all events, put renewed vigor into my poor legs.

At seven o'clock I was within a mile of my destination, and slipping down over the low cliffs, I dragged off my garments and plunged into the sea.

It was wonderful what the dip did for me. A few minutes' splashing about, a quick, sharp swim, and all my fatigue had for the time being left me, and I felt no more tired than if I had been in bed all night.

I dressed again quickly, and then hiding my camping outfit under some bushes by the cliff, I mounted my bicycle again and rode down into the town.

I intended inviting myself to breakfast with the local manager of the branch of our bank there. I knew the chap, Frank Dowsett, pretty well. He was a very decent fellow, and would be glad to see me, I was sure. Coming along, I had thought that breakfast with him would clinch home my alibi in the most secure and decisive way.

Approaching the town I noticed at once that there were more people about than usual, even for that time of year, and then I saw flags and bunting displayed in the principal street.

"The regatta," I muttered. "I ought to have remembered that." An uneasy feeling stirred in me. "It'll be a public holiday in the town, and perhaps Dowsett will be away."

But I need not have worried myself. I found Dowsett was at home and heavily involved, too, in the abnormal happenings of the day. He was chairman of the sports committee and full of his importance, and he welcomed me with open arms.

I told him I was camping out among the cliffs, and as I intended he dragged me in at once to breakfast.

"Delighted, my boy," he said warmly when I told him I had called for a civilised meal, "and you shall have one of the best. You've come at a most opportune moment too, and I shall have a favor to ask you when your little Mary's full."

He was a bachelor and lived over the bank, and we at once sat down to an excellent breakfast. He was very interested in my camping holiday, which I briefly sketched out for him in a week of imaginary adventures upon the shores of Lake Alexandrina.

I was coming towards the end of my recital when there was a knock on the door and his housekeeper entered.

"Sergeant Trescowthick to see you, sir," she announced. "He says it is a matter of importance, but he will only keep you two minutes."

My heart sank into my boots—a sergeant of police of course; What the devil did it mean? They couldn't already have followed me there!

But there was not time given me to work myself into a turmoil for my host said instantly—-

"Show him in, Mrs. Jepps." He turned to me smilingly, "Don't worry, Edis. He's not after you, he's only come probably about the sports." He winked his eye. "I'm a big bug here to-day, with all the sports programme on my hands."

The door opened again, and a burly minion of the law entered, cap in hand. He frowned slightly when he saw me.

"This is a friend of mine, sergeant," explained Dowsett. "Mr. Charles Edis, he's one of my colleagues in our bank."

The sergeant's face brightened. "Oh! if he's in the bank that's all right. It doesn't matter speaking before him then." He assumed a cold judicial air. "Re that Hansen murder case, I've come to give you the numbers of some of the notes."

"Ah! they've been able to trace the numbers then, have they?" asked Dowsett interestedly. "That's good."

"But only three of them," said the sergeant, "three of the 100 pound ones." He passed over a small slip of paper. "This has just been sent down."

"R.13—77754—55—and 56," commented my friend. "Yes, we shall remember those all right. The three sevens will stick in our minds."

The sergeant turned towards the door. "Well, you'll keep an eye out, gentlemen, won't you, and let us know at once if anything turns up?"

"Too right!" said Dowsett. "It'll be a feather in anybody's cap to catch the murderer." He looked enquiringly at the sergeant. "But have you people got any clues yet?"

The sergeant pursed up his lips mysteriously. "Not that we can broadcast just at present, Mr. Dowsett, but——" he nodded his head grimly. "We've got our best men on the job, and something may be made known soon."

Dowsett left the door to see him out, and then I gasped out chokingly——

"Good God, but I've left the notes up in the mountain."

Yes, strange as it may seem, it had never entered into my mind until that moment that I had not retrieved the notes from the place when I had put them between those rocks. Indeed, I had forgotten all about having hidden them, and had not given them a further thought.

I had tramped those rough miles to Wendover, travelled all that way upon the motor lorry, broken my back almost upon that dreadful journey by push bike to Victor Harbour, and, the whole time the wherefor of all my troubles had as completely passed out of my mind as if it had never been.

My heart sank into my boots at the thought of the impossibility now of making speedy restitution.

I heard the front door shut, and then Dowsett returned to finish his interrupted breakfast.

"Heavy-minded men, the police," he remarked, with his mouth full of toast. "They've no imagination, and that's why they fail so often. There's only one man worth a curse in the Commonwealth and that's Gilbert Larose. He specialises in these lonely crimes, too, and they ought to get him over at once. He has a nose like a bloodhound on the desert tracks."

I affected an air of sudden interest. "But what's this murder the sergeant was talking about. Remember, I haven't seen a newspaper for a week."

Dowsett put down the cup he had been raising to his lips. "Good Lord!" he burst out, "and is there a man in all the State who hasn't heard of the Hansen murder by now?"

"But I've been out in the bush all the time," I protested, "and until I camped on the cliffs here yesterday have not been near a town. Tell me about the murder; what happened?"

Dowsett laid down his knife and fork. "Last Wednesday afternoon, about 4 o'clock," he began slowly, "on the Port Augusta-Port Lincoln track, Otto Hansen, a Port Pirie auctioneer, was murdered in his car and £1,850, the proceeds of a sale that afternoon in Cowell, taken from his dead body. He was beaten to death with a car jack, and an abortive attempt was made to burn the car afterwards. The affair took place on the loneliest part of the track, almost exactly 54 miles from Port Augusta, but, strangely enough, although the track is always a lonely one, the crime was discovered within a few minutes of its completion, and more strangely still, by two carloads of people who appeared upon the scene almost simultaneously, but coming from opposite directions. One car had come from Port Augusta and the other from Cowell, and they each contained four people, so there were plenty of witnesses."

"Well, what happened?" I asked with my voice trembling in excitement.

"What happened!" repeated Dowsett, important with the sensation he was causing, "why—nothing."

"Nothing?" I said. "Didn't they see anyone about?"

"No," said Dowsett sarcastically, "the murderer or murderers with great modesty had not waited to receive any congratulations upon their work, and, moreover, my boy, inexcusably they had omitted to leave their names and addresses."

I ignored his attempt at humor. I was too anxious to know how things stood, to smile. "But hadn't anyone passed them on the track?" I asked, "and had the auctioneer been travelling alone?"

The bank manager at once became serious. "That's the mysterious part of it, Edis," he said, "and where the police can get so little to start away from." He shrugged his shoulders. "Although a motor lorry passed him as he was driving in his car, within three hundred yards of where he was subsequently killed, and within, it is gauged, ten minutes of his death, there is no certainty as to whether the auctioneer had companions or not with him. The driver of the lorry which met him says there were two men on the back seat, but the three men on the back of the lorry say they rather think he was alone, and that there was no one else in the car, but they couldn't see at all clearly because of the dust."

"Well, they've no clues then?" I asked.

"Only one," he replied, and my heart prepared to sink again into my boots. "There is a mysterious motor cyclist unaccounted for. The lorry people passed one just before they met the car, and from the time and place of their passing him the police are sure he must have been in at the death. He must be mixed up in it in some way, for he's absolutely never been seen since. He and his machine have vanished off the face of the earth. No one can be found who has any recollection of a motor cyclist entering Port Augusta or Cowell that night, and its the same both at Whyalla and Iron Knob."

"Well," I said slowly, and there was a great thankfulness in my heart, "if the crime were discovered so soon, and it was in such a lonely spot, I should have thought the police could have 'phoned up everywhere and drawn a cordon round in a couple of hours so that no one could escape."

"And that's where you're mistaken, Edis," said Dowsett, shaking his head. "In defence of the police, I must say that they had the devil's own luck. When the body was found, warm and with the blood on it hardly yet congealed, it was realised that instant action was necessary, for the murderers could not be far away. So the faster of the two cars went hell for leather for Port Augusta. Those in it were Port Augusta men, and they reckoned the hue and cry could be raised most effectively from their own town. Their car was a big Jehu, and they expected to do the 55 miles in an hour, but——" (he spoke very slowly) "it was actually nearly midnight before they got word to the police. They broke a back axle in their hurry, and two of them had to walk the last 20 miles. Now can you imagine worse luck?"

"Rotten," I said, "and so the murderers got clear?"

"Yes, quite clear," commented Dowsett, "and in my own opinion they will never be caught now."

"And the numbers of only three notes are known?" I asked.

"Yes, only three, as you have heard."

"But didn't they find out anything about the auctioneer at Cowell?" I asked. "Surely they would have noticed whether he left with companions or by himself."

"Oh! he left by himself," replied Dowsett, "but who knows he didn't give someone a lift on the road?" The bank manager took out his watch. "Well, I must be off, old man. I've a lot—Ah! now for the favor." He smiled benignly at me. "Now you can run a bit, can't you?"

"Like the devil," I grinned, "when anyone's after me."

"Well," said Dowsett, grinning back, "you're going to run to-day. You're going to run at our sports this afternoon, the Sheffield distance—a hundred and thirty yards."

"No," he went on, for I was shaking my head emphatically, "you've got to help me out of a hole, old man, and when you rang the bell this morning I knew it was Providence who had sent you here. It's like this. I'm responsible for the sports to-day, and of course I want everything to go off A1. Well, it looks as if the chief race, this one of a hundred and thirty yards is going to fall flat. Stupidly, to benefit the Cottage Hospital funds, the committee made the entrance fee a quid, and we only got four entries in consequence. Now I believe two of these men are not going to turn up, and that means there will be only Fraser, of Mount Barker, and Ellerslie, of Peterborough, to run. It makes the race a farce."

I shook my head more emphatically still. "I can't really, Dowsett," I said, regretfully. "I had a rotten night's sleep last night, and I don't feel fit."

"But they'll give you twenty yards start, man," implored Dowsett, "against Fraser and Ellerslie, and the prize is a gold medal and a silver cup. Well worth running for, and I don't forget how you romped home at the Bank's sports two years ago. Just the same distance, too."

"Dowsett—" I began, and then a thought flashed through me—what a clinching alibi, in public, too, with my name in all the newspapers. I hesitated.

"All right," said Dowsett, cheerfully, "then you'll run. I'll stretch a point and get your entry down as if it were put in yesterday. I'll lend you my shorts. As for your bad night, well have a sleep here on the sofa this morning. I shall be away till 1 o'clock, then you'll have a hot bath, and you'll run the race of your life on two tablespoons of brown sugar as a dope. You trust me, I've had to do with runners before."

And so he had his way. I had four hours of refreshing sleep, the two tablespoons of brown sugar as he suggested, and—I won the race.

Yes, it was a really crook affair, but I won the medal and the cup.

The story of the race is very simple. I was on the twenty-yard mark, as Dowsett had prophesied, and I got off like lightning when the pistol went. Fraser and Ellerslie came after me quite leisurely, but the rumor went round afterwards that in view of their being in a seventy pound event that was coming off at Loxton on New Year's Day, and to get their handicap low there, they were neither of them too anxious to beat one another. At any rate they left the catching of me until too late, and I breasted the rope a good yard in front of them, with the two running a dead-heat.

I received a good ovation from the crowd, and when the Mayoress of Victor Harbour presented the prizes later, it added not a little to my gratification to notice the burly Sergeant Trescowthick standing just behind her, smiling on me, too.

Dowsett was most nice to me that evening, and would insist upon my fetching my camping outfit from the cliffs and spending a few days with him.

I was jolly glad to do so, and had six days of comfort and ease. On the quiet next day I went round to the local institute and looked up the files of the newspapers for the previous week.

They had all featured the murder in big staring headlines, and there were columns and columns describing everything in the minutest detail. The 'Times,' of Adelaide, had some excellent photographs, too, of the Port Lincoln track near where the murdered man had been found, and one also depicting 'a typical scene in the mallee scrub near by.' This last one made me shudder, for I would have sworn it had been taken within ten yards of where my incriminating motor cycle was lying hidden away.

Of course, as I had expected, the painters on the motor lorry had jumped into the limelight at once, and they had furnished a description of me making up in fullness what it lacked in accuracy. I was described as tall and sullen-looking, and with a smutted face, also in the opinion of one of them—so wonderful is imagination—I had deliberately turned away my face as if not anxious to be seen. Funnily enough, neither of them had apparently mentioned anything about my rifle, which at the time I had met them, had been tucked in the strap outside my luggage.

The public imagination had undoubtedly been stirred, for with so many homes far flung in the lonely places of the state, feelings of uneasiness and insecurity naturally occur whenever lawlessness breaks out away from the city. The general opinion, however, appeared to be that with the passing of each day the chances of any discovery of the perpetrators would become more and more remote.

Well, I enjoyed that time at Victor Harbour. It was the very thing I wanted to quiet my nerves. I went to tennis parties, I played bridge, and I spooned with pretty girls, and I got on with Dowsett like a house on fire.

When Monday came I had several offers of a motor ride back to Adelaide, but I was true to my push bike, and after tea, leaving the town as I had entered it, I pedalled leisurely back to the city.

I had left in darkness, and so in darkness I returned. Really, I had begun to think that darkness was my proper environment.