A Murder Unmentioned (21 page)

Wilfred handed Ewan to Clyde while he took his young wife’s hand. “Come on, Katie,” he said gently. “The boys are both safe. You’re overwrought and in need of a rest. Perhaps we’d better have a cup of tea before you donate
Oaklea
to the Communist Party.”

Milton chuckled. Rowland might have too, if he hadn’t been afraid of upsetting Kate further.

Edna started to walk towards the main house, calling back to Ernest, “Ernie, shall we go on ahead and tell Mrs. Kendall that we will need cake?”

Kate and Wilfred followed, each holding one of Ewan’s hands as he toddled between them.

Milton clapped Rowland on the shoulder and whispered, “Oh! Too convincing—dangerously dear—In woman’s eye the unanswerable tear!”

“Bit early for Byron isn’t it, Milt?”

“And yet that’s the second time this morning a woman’s burst into tears at the sight of you,” the poet said, slinging his arm companionably about Rowland’s shoulders. “This new hero status of yours could prove to be awkwardly moist.”

Much of that day passed quite peaceably, all things considered. Everybody stepped carefully and quietly about Kate, whom the past days’ events had left quite fragile. Even Elisabeth Sinclair seemed to be particularly kind.

Arthur Sinclair decided to take another look at
Emoh Ruo
with a view to moving into the neighbouring homestead in the new year. Lucy Bennett offered to drive him out in her Riley, and so, for much of the afternoon, neither reproach nor tension disturbed the civility of
Oaklea
.

The telephone at
Oaklea
rang so often with well-wishers and acquaintances who had read of the fire that a maid was stationed permanently beside it to act as a secretary of sorts, offering assurances that the Sinclairs were all well though they were not at home to calls.

It was not until that evening that the problems arose, or they became aware of them at least.

They first noticed that Arthur and Lucy had not returned when Mrs. Kendall enquired about numbers for dinner.

“They might have stepped out for a meal,” Milton suggested. “The Royal seems to have become quite fashionable. From what I understand, every man and his sister is dining there these days.”

Wilfred glanced at his wife. “Arthur and Lucy seem to have become rather close.”

“Oh… oh how lovely.” Kate seemed uncertain. She asked Mrs. Kendall to set extra places in case they returned.

It was after dinner when Wilfred decided that it would be a good idea to look for them. Not wanting to alarm his wife, he took his brother aside.

“I’m sure it’s unnecessary, Rowly, but would you drive out to
Emoh Ruo
to make sure Miss Bennett hasn’t driven her car into a ditch or some such thing.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll take Milt and Clyde with me—Clyde’s a good hand with motors and Milt can always push.”

The yellow Mercedes arrived at
Emoh Ruo
just a minute before the two police cars. The house was dark. On the verandah, Arthur held a hurricane lamp and Lucy Bennett was smoking frenetically.

Rowland ran up the front steps. “Arthur? What’s wrong?”

Arthur was pale, shaken. He pointed into the house.

Rowland took the hurricane lamp and walked inside. Though not on the same scale of grandeur as
Oaklea
,
Emoh Ruo
was a substantial homestead. The rooms were large and well appointed. Most of the furniture was covered with dust sheets. It was in the hallway that Rowland noticed the smell. He heard the police cars pull up as he stepped into the drawing room.

“Rowly, what the—Holy Mother of God!” Clyde stopped beside him. A body lay crumpled on the floor by the hearth, its head haloed by a pool of blood. The dead man’s eyes were swollen shut, in a face that was cut and bruised. The stench was overpowering.

Milton’s entry into the drawing room was marked with cursing. “Is he—?”

“I’d say so.”

“Do you know who he is, Rowly?”

“Hayden. Charlie Hayden. He worked for my late father.”

The informant’s fists were balled and clenched, a strap looped loosely around his right hand.

“What is that?” Clyde bent over for a closer look.

“His belt,” Rowland said quietly.

“Bloody oath!” Milton yanked Rowland back as Detective Angel entered the room with his weapon drawn.

“Stand clear!” he shouted checking behind the doors.

Gilbey and two fresh-faced constables followed him in. They all stared mutely at the body of the informant.

“Would you gentlemen step outside with the constables,” Gilbey instructed. “Detective Angel and I will be with you in a moment.”

The uniformed policemen escorted them out. Arthur Sinclair was seated on the steps with Lucy Bennett. She was crying, and he looked decidedly unwell.

“What happened?” Rowland asked his cousin.

Arthur swallowed. “I don’t know. Lucy and I came in to see… and we found him.” He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. “I telephoned the police.”

“From here?”

“Wil had the telephone reconnected before he offered me the house.”

“Mr. Sinclair,” Angel strode out of the entrance.

Both Sinclairs turned.

“Rowland Sinclair,” Angel qualified. “Might we have a word?” He motioned back into the house.

“We’ll be right here, Rowly,” Milton said as Rowland followed the detective in. “Just call.”

Angel led him to the billiard room. A single kerosene lamp now illuminated the chamber and cast strange elongated shadows onto the wall. “Do you have anything you wish to tell us, Mr. Sinclair?”

“About what?”

Gilbey sighed. “Do you know anything about this particularly unsavoury matter, sir?”

“No.”

“Can you tell us when you last saw Mr. Hayden?”

“The day before yesterday. He turned up just as I was landing my biplane in the next paddock.”

“What did he want, Mr. Sinclair?”

“I don’t know… I told him to get off the property.”

“And did he do so quietly?”

“Eventually.”

“I see. Was any other person present who could corroborate your version of events?”

“Mr. Watson Jones, and my nephew Ernest.”

Angel made a few notes.

“Can you tell us where you were yesterday, Mr. Sinclair?”

“I was in my bedroom asleep.”

“That seems to be your standard alibi, Mr. Sinclair, as unreliable as it has already been proved.”

Rowland did not respond.

“And where was your brother, Mr. Wilfred Sinclair, yesterday?”

“Wil? Why do you want to know where he was?”

“Just answer the question, sir.”

“I don’t know. As I said, I was asleep. Nevertheless, detective, I’m sure there are any number of people who could verify my brother’s whereabouts.”

Rowland did not miss the glance that Gilbey and Angel exchanged. It, more than anything, made him uneasy.

The detectives sent them back to
Oaklea
then, with a police car escort.

Clyde drove Lucy’s Riley as both she and Arthur were too upset to take the wheel.

They returned to find that Kate and Elisabeth Sinclair had retired. Wilfred and Edna had been passing time listening to a broadcast of the Sane Democracy League, which had so amused Edna that she was laughing out loud when they came into the drawing room.

Rowland waited as Arthur explained the grim discovery at
Emoh Ruo
. Lucy Bennett had composed herself somewhat and sat beside Arthur offering details now and then.

Wilfred listened calmly. “You’ve had a very upsetting evening, Lucy. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Perhaps you should go up to bed. I’ll have Mrs. Kendall bring you up some brandy and milk.”

Lucy nodded tearfully. “You know me, Wilfred, always happy to muck in. If there’s anything I can do…”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that tomorrow,” Wilfred replied firmly. “The police will most likely wish to speak to you again. It’s probably best if you get a good night’s rest.”

For some reason, Wilfred did not try to similarly dismiss Edna. Perhaps he realised she would not so easily be sent away.

Once Lucy had gone, Wilfred questioned his brother. Rowland told him what he had been asked and what he had answered. Again, Wilfred listened, saying little.

“What’s your assessment, Arthur?” he asked in the end.

Arthur pursed his lips. “It doesn’t look good, Wilfred. They already assume Rowland had something to do with Uncle Henry’s death. He was just a boy then, but now…”

“Wait a minute,” Milton said, flaring. “He didn’t kill anybody, then or now.”

“I only meant that any chance the police would let sleeping dogs lie with respect to Uncle Henry has probably been blown by this latest murder,” Arthur replied.

Wilfred tapped the arm of his chair as he thought. He glanced at his pocket watch. “There are some people I need to get out of bed,” he said. He pointed sternly at his brother. “You, Rowland, are not to speak to the police again without a barrister present, do you understand? Now get some sleep, and I’ll handle this.”

17

HE BUYS HIS PRESENTS

The Great Xmas Problem Solved

A MAN’S WAY

(By O. T. H.)

I AM one of the Christmas shoppers that the shops do not like. I do my Christmas shopping late to avoid the rush of those who do it early because they think they’ll avoid the rush of those who do it late.

But, then, of course, I have a little idiosyncrasy that counterbalances that. I write down suggestions on the backs of envelopes, so that I can buy everything without a hitch. I put alongside the entries where I am going to buy them, and the prices I am going to pay. And then I lose the envelopes, and my Christmas shopping’s done.

Today, though, I remembered that I had borrowed a handkerchief from a girl, and that at the time I had decided to give her a really good one back for Christmas. I went into a shop and said I wanted some handkerchiefs. They referred me to the next counter. I explained there that I wanted some good handkerchiefs. And that, of course, meant that I had to go to another counter.

THIS “KERCHIEF PROBLEM”

“I want to see some handkerchiefs, not too dear,” I said, and was directed back to the first counter for not-too-dear sorts. They showed me some for 5/11 a dozen (marked down from 6/6), but I said that I wanted some a little better. They showed some more—25/11 a dozen. The girl said that any friend of mine—implying of course, that I was a Fine Old English Gentleman who would have nothing shoddy—would appreciate those.

I worked it out quickly. That was 6/ for three. “No,” I said. “They are a little too coarse.” So they brought out some Irish linen handkerchiefs with white lace round the edges. “35/,” the girl said. This was getting terrible. “Too gaudy,” I said, hoping that they would have nothing plainer at a higher price. But they had. I said I would let the girl come in and choose her own.

So I created a new record. I am the only man in South Australia, who has not bought a handkerchief to give someone this Christmas.