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day, then shot Mrs Bell and taken the child away and killed
her. Even you, Mr Wootton, could have done just that.
But what about Yorky? Yorky was known to come here
that morning, pressed Lawton, and the others nodded quick
agreement.
As I told you, it is merely police routine to establish the
whereabouts of everyone at the assumed time the crime was
committed. In fact I think Constable Pierce asked for that in-
formation, and that it is recorded in his report.
He did make a song and dance about it, admitted young
Lawton. Looks like we re all sort of suspect, don t it?
Pierce acted rightly, patiently continued Bony. Look at
it this way. Not one of you is supported by a witness as to what
you did between the time you left the homestead and the time
you returned. No one saw Yorky at the blacks camp other than
Mr Wootton. To be sure, Bill Harte found Yorky s tracks back
of the meat-house, and showed them to Arnold Bray, who
agreed they were his. To be sure, Yorky s tracks were found at
the homestead gate. Pierce took plaster casts of those tracks.
Before Yorky is put on trial, if he is, the casts must prove that
he actually made those tracks, that he was, in fact, at this
homestead on that morning. A good policeman, and Pierce is a
good policeman, leaves nothing to chance.
Fair enough, supported Wootton. All right, you men can
take the day off, and if you think of anything, I m sure the
Inspector will be happy to talk it over.
37
They were drifting across the square to the quarters when
the morning tea gong was beaten, and they about-turned and
went back to the meal annexe. Tea and buttered scones were
served by Meena to Bony and his host on the house veranda,
and when she had withdrawn, Bony questioned about her.
He learned that a religious body conducted a Mission
Church and school a few miles out from Loaders Springs.
Aborigines, both adults and children, were warmly welcomed.
A large number of children chose to live at the Mission, chose
to because there was no compulsion. They were taught the
elementary subjects drawing and painting, basketwork,
needlework, woodwork, and in return assisted the pastor and
his wife with the stock and the garden.
I visited the place one afternoon, Wootton said. Surprised
me, the work the children were doing in class. And how they
sang, too! I had only just come here, was still raw to the
country, and I asked the pastor what happened to the children
when they left. He said: Oh, the lads become stockmen, and
the girls do domestic service round about. That s when it suits
them. We do our best, as we hope you can see, but after they
leave us, the old ones get them back.
I can understand that, Bony agreed with the pastor.
Meena, though, seems to be an excellent maid.
I think so. Yes, she s good in a house. But then neither she
nor Sarah will stay here overnight, and there s no telling that
they ll turn up in the morning, or go off with the others on a
walkabout. That girl can sew and mend as good as Mrs Bell
could. And Charlie you saw him this morning is a damn
fine wood carver.
Wootton stretched his thin, short legs and lit his pipe.
You ought to see the dolls he carved for little Linda Bell.
One is the dead spit of Ole Fren Yorky, and there s another
you d say was my image. The one supposed to be Mrs Bell
isn t so good, but another one, of Meena, to my mind, is the
best of the lot. We ll go and see them if you like. They re over
in the playhouse.
38
Yes, I d like to see them. I understand that the men built
the playhouse. Which reminds me: did Linda spend much of
her days there?
A good deal, Inspector, replied the cattleman reflectively.
You know, you can t wonder that we worshipped that child.
Every Sunday afternoon she d invite us all there for tea. Had
her own tea set and her mother filled the teapot. I went some-
times. She d have her visitors squatting on the floor, and she d
hand down her small cups and saucers and plates of scones and
cake; and the men would talk to her with exaggerated polite-
ness, and she would be the little lady. Wootton sighed. Only
that last day I was commissioned to buy a box of chocolates
and special handkerchiefs for her.
A few minutes later they left the house for the canegrass
playhouse. It was noticeable how the thick walls shut out the
noises of the crows, the windmill raising water, and the soft
hissing of the gusty wind over the ground. Standing within
the entrance, Bony surveyed the interior, noting the cut-down
furniture, and the fact that objects were not positioned as de-
scribed by Constable Pierce. Almost at once Wootton ex-
claimed:
Why, two of the dolls have gone! They were set up on the
shelf bench. And those presents. The comb and the box of
handkerchiefs have gone too. Now, what the hell!
When did you last see them? asked Bony.
Oh, about a fortnight back. The men wanted to tidy up the
place, having the idea of making it nice for Linda s return. I
obtained permission from Pierce, and they went to work.
Swept the floor, cleaned the window, put the dolls side by side
on the bench, and the presents on the bench, too. I ll call
them.
Bony heard Wootton shouting. He surveyed this room, and
was saddened by its emptiness of personality. The cut-down
table and chair, the books, the old trunk, and small dresser
with the bright chintz curtain only hinted at a life which once
39
had warmed this place. Oddly enough, he felt himself to be an
intruder.
They came crowding in, Wootton and his men, silently tak-
ing in this well-remembered place.
Ole Fren Yorky and Meena gone off on walkabout all
right, exploded Harry Lawton.
And the handkerchiefs, and the comb, the blue one,
drawled Eric with fierce breathlessness. Left the chocolates.
They was no good anyhow. Heat melted em.
Harte quietly went forward and gazed along the surface of
the shelf bench. His voice was cold.
Who was in here last? I was looking in Sunday, week
back, and them dolls was all there where we put em in a row.
I remember how Meena was sort of turned to look at the boss.
It wasn t yestiddy, nor the day before, they were took. There s
plenty of dust fell on the places where they were sitting.
They talked. They pondered. Finally they agreed that the
last man to look into the playhouse had been Bill Harte and
that had been nine days ago. All remembered that the dolls
were then on the bench, and that the presents Linda was to
have received that day her mother was shot were also set out
on the bench.
Them ruddy blacks have raided the place, Harry
Lawton accused.
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