Читать книгу Venom House - Arthur W. Upfield - Страница 9

Sisters at Home

“How long have you been cooking for the Answerths?” was Bony’s first question. The reply wasn’t delayed.

“I told Inspector Stanley that.”

“Did you? Now tell me.”

Bony’s expression was bland when regarding the little man seated beside him. Despite his age, Blaze hadn’t forgotten how real men sum up each other. Calmly, unhurriedly, he examined Bony’s face feature by feature, and so came to discard his first impression for another more accurate. Here was no bashful half-caste, no slinking half-caste, no simple half-caste. Here was a half-caste never to be found in the vicinity of such places as Darwin, where the riff-raff of both races congregate. Here was a half-caste who could have come from the Tablelands, the Diamintina, the Murchison.

“I began working here in ’24,” Blaze said, easily but coldly.

“Before then you were, of course, riding the stock routes with cattle. How many years were you on the cattle roads?”

“All my life before I came here. If you want to know why I left the cattle country to work on a place no bigger than a cattle station’s backyard, I won’t be telling you. That happened a long time ago.”

“I’m not prying, Blaze. I was wondering if you and I know the same places. I believe we do, and we will swap yarns later, if you care to. At the moment we’ll concentrate on the death of Mrs Answerth. You have been cooking for the men ... how long?”

“Nine years. I was head stockman before that,” answered the ex-cattleman. “Got too old and stiff for the work. I’m near eighty, you know.”

“Don’t believe it.”

“All right ... bet-cher. No good, though. Can’t prove it. But I’m eighty this year accordin’ to the bloke what brought me up.”

“All right! You win. You were having breakfast when Miss Mary Answerth called you all to rescue the body of Mrs Answerth, were you not?”

“The men were at breakfast. I never eat none. I was in the kitchen when she came in with the news, and I went with the others down to this causeway. She sung out to us to take the boat. Boat’s always locked up, and I keep the key.”

“Why is that?”

“Been locked up since young Morris Answerth got out one night and went for a row on the Folly. Anyone wanting to leave the house, or go over to it, has to wade, and if they falls in a hole they has to swim. And if they can’t swim they has to drown. Only time boat’s used is to take over rations, tow over wood, and carry Miss Janet, who won’t always wade. I got orders to take you and Mr Mawson over, if he wants to go with you.”

“How often did Mrs Answerth leave the house?”

“Oh, pretty seldom. She’d always wade, night or day. She wasn’t over this side the night she was murdered, if that’s what you’re after.”

“How d’you know?” flashed Bony.

“No one seen her, anyway.”

“That night two men were employed here in addition to yourself. Are they as sure, as you seem to be, that Mrs Answerth was not here that night she was drowned?”

“Sounded as though they were. You ask ’em. Robin Foster, he’s head stockman now, is up at the pub on a bender. Young Tolly had to ride out, but he’ll be home come lunch time.”

“When did Foster leave to go on a bender?”

“Yesterdee mornin’. Went to town with Miss Mary drivin’ the body, and stopped in town. Wave a feather dipped in whisky across his nose, and Foster would leave a job for the nearest pub if he was a thousand miles away.”

“Oh, that kind of man.”

“That kind of man. You would know ’em.”

“Of course. When Edward Carlow was drowned, Robin Foster was on a bender in town, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. Seems to know when to go.”

“There was no one with you in camp?”

“No. I was cooking for myself.”

“And you had a fancy for roast duck?”

“Teal. Just a couple. I don’t eat overmuch.”

“And you shot a couple. Where ... from here?”

Blaze stood, and Bony stood with him. The cook pointed a steady finger.

“See that tree what looks like Billy Hughes in a temper,” he asked, indicating a dead trunk having two threateningly poised arms. It was a hundred yards off-shore and about half a mile distant. “Well, I shot me teal about opposite that tree, and I had to wade for ’em. I’d picked up one, and was going after the other, when I kicked against something soft and giving-like. I stirs it around with me foot, and up comes Ed Carlow.”

“How deep was the water at that place?”

“To me waist. It’s pretty shallow out from there. Course, I was a bit surprised. Ed Carlow hadn’t no right being there. He wasn’t workin’ on the place. I said to him: ‘What in ’ell’s the game, Ed?’ He looked crook, too. Anyway, I wades after me second duck, and then I comes back and tows Ed ashore, the yabbies dropping off him all the time. What with the excitement of reporting him to Miss Janet, who had to telephone to Mr Mawson, I forgot to put me teal into the safe and the dratted flies ruined ’em. Couple of plump birds they was, too.”

“Pity, about the birds,” agreed Bony. “Take us over to the house now, please.”

“All right.” The cook stared at Bony with a hint of anger in his screwed-in eyes. “Well, ain’t you goin’ to ask if I had it in for Ed Carlow, and that it’s funny I happened to kick him up from the bottom?”

“No. Why?”

“’Cos Inspector Stanley did. You’re a policeman, too.” Bony smiled, and said softly:

“Ah! But you see, Blaze, you and I know the same places, and therefore, I am not so dull.”

Mawson thought that all this back-chat was a waste of time. He was unaware of Bony’s purpose decided upon when he and the cook were coming from the kitchen. Blaze walked to the boat tethered to a stump, walked to it mincingly, despite his years and the slippers on his feet. When he was pulling at the oars, Mawson asked if there were as many ducks as in other years, and Blaze said there were not.

They were midway to the house, when the front door was opened and Mary Answerth came out to stand on the levee, and watch their progress.

“Gud-dee!” she said to Mawson, who was first to leave the boat. “Gud-dee!” she said to Bony when his turn came. “Bert, you camp in the boat until Inspector Bonaparte wants to go back.” And without further speech she led the way to the house.

The distance from the levee to the house front was something like fifty yards. Greensward stretched away upon either side, swung away round the flanks of the building. Six ewes were as lawn mowers always in action. The house porch was arched and deeply inset, there being one broad step to reach the studded door. Either side the porch was a tall side-light of frosted glass, and above the porch was a stained-glass window reaching almost to the wide cornice. To the right were three upper-storey windows, and movement at the second attracted Bony’s attention.

The second and third windows were guarded by steel lattice in a diamond pattern, and from one of the openings a hand was thrust and appeared to be beckoning. The house front being in the morning shadow, Bony paused to watch the hand, and then made out the line to which a weight was attached. On the porch, Mary Answerth turned about and, seeing what interested him, said impatiently:

“My brother. Spends most of his time dropping things out of his window and getting them up with a magnet. Does nobody any harm.”

Saying nothing, Bony walked to the descending magnet. It was within a foot of the ground when he reached the line. Gently he tugged at the line, waited, and the magnet proceeded to descend. On reaching the ground, the “fisherman” jogged it about and almost at once the bait caught a metal pencil case and a screw. There were other metal articles, and Bony manoeuvred the bait to catch additional “fish”, when he stood away and watched the catch being drawn up. He was smiling on rejoining Mawson and Mary Answerth.

Mawson looked his interest, the woman scowled. She entered the house, followed by the men, who found themselves in a spacious hall. The furniture was unimportant, for the staircase mounting to the upper floor was another kind of magnet. Bony had never seen anything comparable. It rose like the stem of a flower to bloom at the gallery serving both wings. The banisters and the treads, where uncovered by the once royal-blue carpet, were the colour of honey, the hue undoubtedly warmed by the stained-glass window above the door. Bony thought of the coach placed at Cinderella’s service, and he was conscious of effort to revert his gaze to the walls of this vast hall, to note the rich panelling, aged and aloof.

Mary Answerth was crossing the hall to a rear passage, and he could not delay following her. He hoped that his shoes were clean when stepping off the strip of royal-blue to uncovered parquet.

Then he was at the back of the hall, with the distracting staircase behind him. The passage ahead was dim and seemingly filled by the huge woman. Her boots and his shoes ought to have sounded upon the bare floor, but the featureless dark walls and bare ceiling swallowed all sound. He became conscious of cold, the cold of frost on grass rather than the dank cold of the freezing chamber.

Their guide turned left, and he saw the entrance to a large and heavily raftered kitchen. The metallic eyes of polished kitchen-ware stared soullessly at him. Friendly warmth touched him as he, too, turned left into another passage. He passed opened doors, noticed the sunlight pouring through tall windows into rooms reminding him of the illustrations of the Pickwick Papers.

A moment later, he stepped into a different house.

The room was long and lighted by a single huge pane of glass framed with velvet curtains of dove-grey. The walls were of primrose-yellow, the ceiling of palest aqua. The furniture was of modern design in silver ash and silk brocade. Hand-woven blue-grey rugs graced the polished flooring.

Turning from the window, a woman came forward to meet them. She was of medium height and slight of figure.

“Inspector Bonaparte! And Constable Mawson!” she said, with the merest trace of a lisp. “I am Janet Answerth. Please sit down.”

Bony honoured her with his inimitable bow, and no cavalier ever bettered it. Janet Answerth’s grey-green eyes widened, brightened. He said:

“I regret the circumstances compelling me to force myself into your presence, Miss Answerth. It’s generous of you to receive us so early.”

“Oh, we quite understand, Inspector Bonaparte. Do we not, Mary?”

“Damned if I do,” growled her sister. “We could have answered questions in the kitchen ... or at the police station.”

“Oh, dear!” murmured Janet, seating herself. Mary wedged herself into a long-armed, low-backed chair, and thrust forward her leather-encased legs. Bony sat with Mawson on a divan, and glanced at a smoker’s stand.

“If you care to smoke, Inspector ...” Janet said, and nodded her sanction.

“Thank you. I’ll not keep you longer than necessary. By the way, I think it probable that the coroner will comply with your request made last night. He hopes to reach a decision by midday.”

“We’re most grateful, Inspector,” Janet cried. “It’s all been such a nightmare.”

This was a rare occasion on which Bony felt he could not roll a smoke. Producing his case of “real” cigarettes, he crossed to offer it to Janet. He was conscious of Mary Answerth leaving the room, and he had but just regained his seat when she re-entered carrying a china spittoon. This she placed on the floor, and proceeded to thrust herself down into her chair, and then began cutting chips from a tobacco plug, an old pipe dangling from between her large and square teeth.

“I want to know something of the last hours of your mother’s life,” said Bony, hoping that if Mary Answerth spat her aim would be straight. “The circumstances call for patient enquiry. You know, of course, that Mrs Answerth did not die by drowning.”

“I knew it, but Janet wouldn’t believe me,” muttered Mary, the pipe still between her teeth. “When I saw the mark round her neck, I knew she’d been throttled.”

“How horrible, Inspector,” Janet whispered as though remarking on the picture of a traffic accident. “What reason ... who ...”

“We must try to uncover the motive,” Bony smoothly cut in. “Miss Janet Answerth ... tell me when did you last see Mrs Answerth alive?”

“Oh! I think I told Mr Mawson about that. It was yesterday morning. No, it wasn’t. It was the afternoon of the day before yesterday. In the kitchen. I had reason to go to the kitchen to instruct Mrs Leeper. She’s our housekeeper-cook, you know. Mother was there. Doing something. I don’t remember what.”

“You did not see Mrs Answerth afterwards ... at any time during the remainder of the day or evening?”

“No, Inspector.”

“You’re a liar,” interposed Mary, and having lit her pipe she tossed the spent match into the spittoon.

Her sister flushed and grimaced with disgust.

“You always were a liar, Janet,” proceeded Mary. “A natural born liar. You were talking to Mother just after dinner that evening. In the hall. You had just come down with Morris’s dinner-tray, and I heard you tell Mother she wasn’t to visit him as he was poorly.”

“Mary, how can you!” flamed Janet.

“When you last saw Mrs Answerth, she was not upset, or different in her manner?” interposed Bony, regarding the younger sister.

“I don’t know. I didn’t speak to her. I saw nothing about her that was different to what she usually was. She’d been ailing for years, you know. Sometimes she was very depressed about poor Morris. He is ... well, he’s always been childish.”

“Your mother ... she was able to get about without aid of any kind?”

“Oh, yes. She liked digging the garden and looking after the hens.”

Bony turned to Mary.

“When did you last see Mrs Answerth alive?”

“Round about ten o’clock that night. When she was going to bed.”

“She seemed her normal self?”

“No different.”

“Really, Mary, you mustn’t tell the Inspector such fibs,” cooed Janet, and stubbing out her cigarette, she crossed her slim legs and leaned back with her hands clasped behind her small head. The grey-green eyes were smoky. The sunlight gleamed upon her red-gold hair. The expression on her triangular face was of triumph. “At eleven o’clock that night, I heard you and Mother arguing below my bedroom window. I heard you ask Mother what the hell she was doing out of doors at that time of night. I saw you both come inside and I heard the front door close. So I wasn’t dreaming.”

Mary spat, and Bony was relieved that her aim was true. Holding the mouthpiece of the old pipe away from her face, she permitted a sneer to grow.

“You’re always dreaming this and that,” she said. “If you weren’t always dreaming and mooning about Morris, you’d have let his mother go up and see him that night. You haven’t let her see him for weeks. You wouldn’t let me see him, either, if you knew how to stop me.”

“Really, Mary, you are vulgar and mean,” Janet said quickly.

“Vulgar, eh? You’re telling me. I’ll be bloody vulgar if you insinuate I murdered Mother. I told her to come into the house. She’d been standing under Morris’s window to call good night to him, because you’d refused to let her go to his room to say good night. I sent her up to bed, and I followed her upstairs and heard her shut her door before I closed mine.”

Janet Answerth began to cry. To Mary, Bony said:

“How was your mother dressed ... when you brought her into the house?”

“Same as when I found her dead in the water next morning.”

“How d’you know that, Mary?” sobbed Janet. “There’s never any light in the hall.”

“I’m not saying there was a light in the hall,” snapped Mary. “I’m not blind, and the stars were out. Mother was wearing her usual day clothes, and she was dressed in them same clothes when I found her. And you keep your gob shut when the Inspector is asking me questions. If you don’t, I’ll slap it shut that hard you won’t open it again for a month.”

With astonishing alacrity, Mary Answerth left her chair and advanced towards her sister. Janet’s sobs were cut. She stood. The sunlight falling upon her red-gold hair appeared to create a scarlet dye seeping downwards to stain her face. Her eyes were abruptly large, and bright green. Her nostrils were thin and white. She was about to speak ... and Mawson was between them.

“Now, now,” he soothed. “No fireworks, please. Sit down and just answer the Inspector’s questions.”

Bony helped himself to one of his own “tailor-mades” and touched its tip with a match. Above the lighted match, he regarded the tableau, his face calm although inwardly he was delighted. The tension waned, and Bony spoke:

“I would like to visit Morris Answerth.”

Mawson was too late to hinder them. They slipped by him to confront Bony, anger replaced by dismay, and in unison exclaimed:

“You can’t see Morris!”