The Far Country (26 page)

The manager thought for a moment. “Aw, look—I couldn’t say. The foot was pretty quick—twenty minutes, maybe not so long as that. The other one was much longer—two hours, I’d say, or longer than that.”

The sergeant wrote it down. “Did you help him?”

“No.”

Sergeant Russell raised his head and looked the manager in the eyes, sensing prevarication. “Who did help him? He didn’t do operations of that sort all on his own?”

“There was a girl there,” the manager said. “An English girl staying with Jack Dorman. She was in the utility with him. She gave a hand.”

“That’s Jack Dorman of Leonora?”

“That’s right.”

“What’s her name?”

“I don’t know. Jack called her Jenny, I think. She was English.”

“Is she here?”

“She went back to Leonora last night, with Jack, about midnight. She’s probably there now.”

“I’ll look in and see her,” the sergeant said, “on my way back.”

He glanced over his notes. “I’ll have to see this man Zlinter again,” he said. “I’ll have to know the medical degrees he’s got in his own country—that’ll come into it. I think that’s all the questions.”

“There’s one you haven’t asked, Sarge,” said Jim Forrest, getting up, “and I’d like to know the answer.”

“What’s that?”

“Who gave Bert the bloody booze?” the manager said. “I’d like to know the answer to that one.”

In the hut Dr. Jennings and Carl Zlinter were debating the same point, standing and looking dispassionately at the body of Bert Hanson. “Too bad this had to happen,” said the doctor. “He’s been an alcoholic for some time, I’d say. We’ll probably find an enlarged liver at the post-mortem. Have you any idea how he got the stuff?”

The Czech shrugged his shoulders. “There were his cobbers all around, all night, here in the corridor,” he said. “I was operating in the next room, and I could not see. It must have been in that time. When I had finished the trephine I came in to see this one, and I then smelt whisky, and I asked Mr. Forrest, and he said he had been drinking, himself, so I did not think more about it. And afterwards when I came in, I had had a drink of whisky also, so I did not notice.”

The doctor looked at the broken bottle still lying on the floor. “He probably drank a whole bottle.”

“I think so, too. We found the lead that is around the cork of a new bottle.”

“And there’s no saying who gave it to him?”

“Mr. Forrest asked this morning, but nobody would say. I do not think we shall be able to discover that.”

“I don’t suppose we shall….” He stood in silence for a minute, and then pulled the sheet over the body. “There’ll have to be an inquest, Zlinter,” he said at last. “It’s a pity I couldn’t have got here before the police. I think I’ll see the coroner before the inquest, and tell him how it all came about.”

The Czech nodded. “They will be angry because I have done operations, I suppose.”

“It’s going to have to be explained, and put in the proper light.
You don’t have to worry about anything, though you’ll probably have to give evidence.”

“One does the best one can,” the other said. “It is not possible to do more than that. If I had waited till you could arrive and not done anything, both men would have been dead today. We have now one alive, and we would have the other but for some verdamt fool who gave the whisky.”

“I’ll go and telephone for the ambulance,” the doctor said. “You’d better come down with me to the hospital and we’ll have a look at what you did to that chap’s head together. Take an X-ray first, perhaps.”

Jennifer was still in bed when the police car drove up to the homestead at about half-past eight. Jack Dorman was out on his horse in one of the paddocks, but Mario was in the shearing shed, and Jane sent him to fetch her husband. She made Sergeant Russell comfortable with a cup of tea in the kitchen, and went to call Jennifer, who was awake. “Jenny,” she said, “you’ll have to get up, my dear. You’ll be sorry to hear that one of those men died, the one with the amputated foot. The police sergeant’s here, and he wants to ask you a few questions about what happened.”

Jennifer sat up, dumbfounded. “He
couldn’t
have died,” she exclaimed. “He was getting on splendidly. It was the other one who was so bad.”

“That’s what he says, my dear. You’d better get up and put some clothes on and come out and see him. I’ve sent Mario to find Jack, to come along as well.”

Ten minutes later Jennifer was sitting at the table with a cup of tea, facing the sergeant, who told her about the whisky. “It’s just a matter of form, Miss,” he said. “I’ve got to make out a report for the coroner on all this.” He asked her name and her address, which Jane told her to give as Leonora. Then he said, “I understand you helped this man Carl Zlinter to do both operations?”

She nodded. “That’s right.”

“Had you ever helped him to do an operation before?”

She stared at him. “Of course not. I only met him yesterday, for the first time. I’ve only been in this country about ten days.”

He wrote in his book. “That’s right,” he said equably. “It’s just these questions that I have to ask. Now, what made you help him this time?”

She hesitated, not knowing quite where to begin. “Well—I suppose because my hands were cleaner than anybody else’s. Look, Sergeant—this is what happened.”

Jack Dorman came into the kitchen while she was telling her story; Jane briefed him in a whisper with what was going on. He pulled up a chair and sat down to listen. Jennifer came to an end of her story, and the sergeant made a note or two, and looked back at his notes of what Jim Forrest had said. There was no real discrepancy,
which was satisfactory. He said, “That’s all clear enough, Miss Morton. Now there’s just one or two things arising out of that. Did this man tell you at any time that he wasn’t a registered doctor?”

She wrinkled her forehead. “I remember he told me that I mustn’t call him a doctor … some time or other.” She sat in thought for a moment. “I’m afraid I just can’t remember,” she said. “Such a lot happened last night, and I was so tired, I can’t remember who said what. I certainly knew that he wasn’t supposed to do operations, but whether he told me or someone else, I couldn’t say.”

“You did know that, Miss? You knew he wasn’t supposed to do operations?”

“Yes,” she said. “I knew that.”

He made a note in his book. “Then why did you help him to do the operations?” he asked.

She stared at him. “Well—
someone
had to help him.”

Jack Dorman broke in, “Aw, look, Sergeant. There wasn’t any other doctor—someone had to do something. Jim Forrest tried all ends up to get Dr. Jennings. In the end we just had to do the best we could without a proper doctor. Jenny here gave him a hand. I’d have given him a hand myself, but she could do it so much better. You don’t think we should have let ’em lie until the doctor came this morning, do you?”

The sergeant closed his book. “It doesn’t matter what I think, Jack,” he said. “I’m just the copper. It’s what the coroner thinks that matters, and he’s got to have the facts. I’m not saying that in Jim Forrest’s shoes I wouldn’t have done the same as he did, or in this young lady’s shoes, either. But if the coroner thinks different when he hears the facts of this man’s death, there could be a charge of manslaughter against Carl Zlinter, oh my word. Now that’s the truth of it.”

He went away, leaving them dumbfounded. Jennifer said, as they watched the car departing through the gates, “It
can’t
be like he said. They couldn’t be so stupid.”

Jack Dorman scratched his head. “What does he think we ought to have done—left ’em lying till the doctor came? It won’t go any further, Jenny.”

She said, “I’m so sorry for Carl Zlinter if they’re going on like this. It must be beastly for him, and he’s not deserved it.”

The fire that had burned in Lieutenant Dorman thirty years before flared up again. “If they start anything against that chap I’ll raise the bloody roof,” he said evenly. “Pack of bloody wowsers. I never heard of such a thing.”

Jennifer said, “If it should come to manslaughter—I can’t see how it could, but if it should—I’d be in it too, wouldn’t I? I mean, I helped him do the operations.”

Jane said, “Oh no, they’d never bring you into it, dear. You only helped—you didn’t do anything yourself. I’m sure we could keep you out of it.”

“I don’t want to be kept out of it,” the girl said. “I was glad to be in it last night, and I’m glad to be in it still. I think it was the right thing to do.” She turned to Jack Dorman. “I would like to have a talk with him about what’s going to happen—with Carl Zlinter. He said he’d come round here today but if there’s a row on he may not come.”

Jack Dorman said, “I might take a run up the road and have a talk with Jim Forrest. If Zlinter’s there, I’ll tell him we’re expecting him.”

He got into his utility presently and went up to Lamirra; he found Jim Forrest in his office. “Morning, Jim,” he said. “We’ve had the police sergeant at our place, asking Jenny all about last night.”

“Pack of bloody nonsense,” the manager said. “He hasn’t got enough to do. I’ve been trying to find the bloody fool that gave Bert Hanson the whisky, but I’ll never do it.”

“He had a bottle, did he?” Mr. Dorman asked with interest. “A whole bottle?”

“I don’t know how full it was when he got hold of it. Probably full—we found the tinsel paper that goes round the cork. He had most of what there was, except what got spilt into the bed.”

“He took a lot, did he? In the ordinary way?”

“Oh aye—he was a pretty fair soak. A lot of them are, of course. There’s nothing else to do, in barracks, in a place like this.” He paused. “The New Australians are the sober ones here. All saving their money for when their two years are up, to buy a house or start a business or something. But for the language trouble, they’re the best men that I’ve got.”

“This chap Zlinter—what’s he like?”

“He’s right,” said the manager. “Doesn’t drink a lot—not more ’n you or I. Goes fishing all of his spare time.”

“I know. I met him on the Howqua one time, down at Billy Slim’s place.” He paused. “The sergeant was saying that if this goes wrong at the inquest, he could be up for manslaughter.”

“I know. I don’t know what in hell they expect one to do. But anyway, it won’t go wrong. We’ve got Doc Jennings on our side.”

“He’s satisfied that what was done was right, is he?”

“I think so. They’ve gone into Banbury now with Harry in the ambulance, him and Zlinter. They took Bert Hanson in the bottom bunk; he’s going to do a post-mortem on him after he’s got Harry fixed up right. I said that I’d go in tomorrow afternoon and get the news.”

“I’d like to come in with you,” Dorman said. “My girl Jenny’s all mixed up in this, if it should come to manslaughter.”

The manager stared at him. “Oh my word,” he said. “It couldn’t go that far.”

“It could if we don’t watch it,” said Jack Dorman. “Zlinter’s in Banbury now with the doctor?”

“That’s right. They went in the ambulance.”

“Jenny wants to see him. I’d like to see him myself, ’n have a talk about all this.”

“I’ve got a truck coming out this afternoon with Diesel oil, leaving the Shell depot after dinner. I told him to get a ride out on that.”

“I’ll ring the hospital and tell him to drop off at our place, and I’ll bring him on here later.”

Carl Zlinter walked up from the road to Leonora homestead at about three o’clock that afternoon, dressed in a shabby grey suit of continental cut; it was hot coming across the paddocks from the road in the blazing sun, and he carried his coat over his arm. Jennifer, sitting in a deck-chair on the veranda, saw him coming, and went to the last gate to meet him. “Come and sit in the shade,” she said. “You look very hot.”

She was wearing a clean summer frock and her legs were bare; she looked cool and pretty; the sun lit up the auburn colours in her hair. It was many years since Carl Zlinter had talked to a well-dressed girl and he was rather shy of her; in the camps that he had lived in for so long in Europe women had not dressed like that. He took courage from the memory of the sweating girl who had helped him a few hours before, and went with her to the veranda, where Jennifer introduced him to Jane. They sat down together in the deck-chairs, and talked for a little about the hot road out from Banbury.

He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “It is ver’ beautiful here,” he said. “For me, this is a very lovely piece of country, just this part around here, between Mount Buller and the town of Banbury, with the rivers, the Howqua and the Delatite. I would be happy if I were to stay here all my life.”

Jane was pleased. “You like it so much as that?” She paused. “We came here twenty years ago, and we’ve sometimes talked of getting another station, nearer in to Melbourne. But, well, I don’t know. We’ve never been in the habit of going to the city much, and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else than here. If we went it would only be to see more of the children.”

“I would never want to live in any better place than here,” he said.

Jennifer smiled. “But not as a lumberman.”

He looked at her, smiling also. “There are worse things than to be a lumberman,” he said. “It is not what I was educated for. But if I may not be a doctor in this country, I would rather be a lumbermen, in beautiful country such as this, than work in the city.”

The girl said, “It’s such a waste for a man like you to have to work in the woods. How long will it be, after your two years are up, before you can be a doctor again?”

He said, “I do not think that I shall ever be a doctor in Australia.”

“Why not?”

“It costs too much,” he said. “It is necessary for a foreign doctor to do three years of medical training again, in a Melbourne hospital, before he may practise in this country. That would cost fifteen hundred pounds, and that I have not got, and I shall never have. If I should have the money, it would then be very difficult to get a place in a hospital, because the hospitals are full with your Australian doctors.” He paused. “I do not think that I shall be a doctor again,” he said.

“But what an idiotic regulation!” the girl said.