Читать книгу The Mystery of Murrawang - Edward S Sorenson - Страница 6

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Rory went on to the lawn. There he bethought him of a lantern that was required to complete his camping outfit, and made his way round to the kitchen to get it. Lydia was closing the windows for the night when he entered. She slammed the last one down, and turned to him with a look of aggressive inquiry.

"Have you seen my lantern, Lydia?" he asked.

"No," said Lydia; "I haven't seen it since yesterday."

"What's become of it?"

"I'm sure I don't know. I filled it with oil, an' cleaned it, an' left it on the shelf there. I thought you took it."

She went to the back door and stood waiting to shut it. She seemed to be more than usually preoccupied. Her manner gave him the notion that she had some trouble, and this he attributed to the presence of Ellis Rhea. There had been some arrangement between them over the bank affair; her evidence had not been altogether of a spontaneous nature and perhaps she had not acquitted herself to his satisfaction, and had not wished to meet him again. If he had involved her in the matter, his stay at Broonah would not conduce to her serenity of mind. Thinking thus, Rory did not bother her any further.

The lights across at the hut caught his eye as he went out, and he strode over to give some instructions for the morning.

It was an old shingle and slab hut, with wide fireplaces, where good logs burned cheerily on winter nights. To-night the doors and wooden windows were wide open. At one end was a card-room, and here, seated at a long, narrow table, were two white men and two blackfellows. One of the former was the homestead boundary-rider, Jim Jack by name, a medium-sized man, whose beardless, bronzed face had as many wrinkles as a ram's neck. The other was a tall stockman, a quiet man, with a happy cast of countenance, adorned with drooping moustaches. His registered name was Joe Eagle, but he was commonly known as Wonnaminta Joe. He had come to Broonah with rams a couple of years before from the neighborhood of the Paroo.

The first thing that Rory noticed as he stepped into the room was the lantern he had been looking for, standing on the table between the card-players. Their customary light was a slush-lamp, which had been pleasurably passed into a corner of the fireplace.

"Hulloa!" he said, "that's my glimmer you've got there. I've been hunting around for that."

Wonnaminta leaned back against the wall.

"I've been wonderin' who owned it," he returned. "It had me beat."

"Why?"

"Why?" Wonnaminta repeated. "Where did you leave it?"

"Lydia left it on a shelf in the kitchen. When I asked her a few minutes ago, she didn't know what had become of it."

"Weren't you in the Glen last night—about an hour after dark?"

"I haven't been there for a month."

"Anyone else from the house there?"

"No."

Wonnaminta gazed at the light in perplexity. "Well, that knocks me kite high," he said. "I got that in the Glen—standin' on a rock near the cave mouth—all on its lonesome."

Rory sat down on the end of a stool, and planted an elbow on the table, his eyes full of interest. Wonnaminta lit his pipe, while Jim Jack nursed a patch-covered knee and studied his mate from the opposite seat.

"It was this way," Joe related. "I stopped yarnin' at the Four-mile with Phil Clarke, an' didn't get home till an hour or more after dark. Comin' past the Glen, I noticed a light, an' rode up to it. Couldn't see anyone about. Whistled an' coo-eed. No answer. I waited a few minutes, listenin'. Couldn't hear a sound, an' not a movin' thing was to be seen. Just that light standin' on the rock, an' nothing to say what for."

"I bet you wasn't scared, Joe. Not a little bit," Jim Jack interrupted.

"I'll admit I wasn't feelin' too comfortable," Said Joe, frankly. "I thought of the bloke that was shot there, an' the queer yarns that's been told about the place, an' it struck me as a good corner to be out of. I picked the lantern up, as I reckoned it wasn't the correct thing for it to be there makin' out to be a lighthouse, an' brought it home."

"Well, that beats cock-fightin'," said Rory. "Who could have had it?"

Wonnaminta shook his head. "Jim was sittin' on the bunk mendin' his trousers when I got home," he said, in answer to Rory's look.

"These blokes"—indicating his dusky companions—"were arguin' about what was trumps, the lubras were havin' a sing-song at th' camp; an' the cook was layin' down the law because I was keepin' him from clearin' the table. So that leaves only the women at the house."

"An' they wouldn't go there at night for all the tea in China," Jim Jack chipped in, amusement adding more wrinkles to his face.

"I can answer for them," said Rory. "I was with them all the evening. Lydia was ironing till a quarter to nine, because the mater was speaking to her just about that time. The boss was in town. So the position is, the lantern was taken from the kitchen and left alight in the Glen; and everybody on the station can prove an alibi. That's the queerest, caper yet."

"Beats me," Joe said, screwing his eyes up at the light and blowing smoke-clouds across the table.

"We're going to do some exploring down there to-morrow," said Rory, after a contemplative pause. "We've got Ellis Rhea at the house. He's eager to have a look at our show piece. This incident will be something definite and tangible to start on."

"Rhea goin' on to Murrawang?" asked Joe.

"In a few days. I think, if I were in his place, I'd be all impatience to get on to my newly-acquired property."

"Same here," Joe agreed. "Such a nice change, too, bein' boss o' Murrawang after bein' in gaol so long....Whose deal was it?"

"It would be dead funny if one of the missing heirs turned up now," said Rory, smiling. "Ellis was the last man old Garratt Rhea thought of as his successor. He always believed that Bert would turn up."

"More impossible things than that," commented Joe. "Reuben's a goner for certain, but Bert's a different proposition. No tellin' whether he's over the other side or not. There ain't much hope left, though. Not enough to cause Mr. Ellis to lose much sleep thinkin' over the happy return, anyhow. Dashed unlucky family, them Rheas....What did yer turn down, Jim? Spades! I'll make it hearts."

Rory got up from the stool. "Yes," he said, moving towards the door, "old Garratt was the only one of the Murrawang lot who died in his bed."

He left them playing, and returned to the lawn, thinking so much about the strange incident Wonnaminta had related that he left the lantern behind.