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not an executive height to which a weak character can climb,
and he tried to see Maddoch as he must have been before the
final straw was laid upon his back. Mentally he would have
been dynamic. He would have been expert on the many
classes of wool, a man whose judgment was sound, and whose
decisions were quick and accurate.
Once he had arrived at the moment of decision that no
longer could he suffer his wife s nagging voice, he would
immediately begin to plan how to remove it. And now the
once important executive, pleading to be believed he hadn t
killed again. The yellow light revealed the large eyes, the
colourless complexion, the trembling mouth of a man shocked
by mental torture, racked by disgrace and punishment, and
exposed to human violence and depravity. Execution would
have been merciful.
I shall answer that question if you promise not even to
hint of it to the others. he said, and was troubled by the
eagerness with which Maddoch assented. Unless you have
made a pair of stilts, Clifford, you couldn t have killed Igor
Mitski.
Maddoch sighed audibly. Thank you indeed, Inspector.
96
Then let us be allies, Maddoch. I need an ally. You will
understand that my position isn t, shall we say, normal, in
relation to all of you. I need support, discreetly given, in things
I must do and say; a secret ally who would keep me up to date
on an intrigue hostile to me. How does this appeal to you?
You may count on me.
Then I shall rely on you. Tell me, what d you think of
Doctor Havant?
A brilliant mind somewhere or other out of gear. I say
that because I don t think he is unbalanced, just kind of out of
gear. Maybe that applies to us all, yourself excepted. Life here
is unnatural, and especially so for the doctor. Prison, Inspector,
by comparison was heaven.
I can believe that, Maddoch.
Down here we are unable to get away from each other.
And worse, we are unable to get away from ourselves,
excepting those precious times when Doctor Havant becomes
our story-teller. Accustomed to mental distractions such as
books, the stage and the cinema, the newspapers, modern man
quickly degenerates if deprived of such escapism. That is a
threat to us all.
Yes, that is true, conceded Bony, and stood.
Hullo, that dog has run off again. Busy, isn t she? Now
you see her; now you don t.
Lucy was being petted when they entered the hall . A
cloud masked the sun and the interior light was dim, the
domed ceiling invisible. Doctor Havant and Riddell were
sitting on the rock ledge, separated by something about three
feet wide, and were moving lumps of rock. On Bony crossing
to them, he found that the lumps were pieces and the game
was draughts, the board being marked on the rock base by
scoring with a knife point.
Both players being gravely intent, Bony moved to sit with
Mark Brennan who, a little too casually, slipped a roughly
square shaving of rock under his right thigh. He had been
doing something to the piece of rock with a table-knife which
97
at Bony s approach he employed to chip tobacco. Bony sat
beside him, his back to the rock wall.
You remember Jim Ord, Inspector? asked Brennan.
Yes, I do. Why?
He was in Goulburn with me. Used to tell us he d have
got away with murderin a Swede up near Milparinka if you
hadn t took a hand.
Ord was clever, Mark. He made only two mistakes. Did
he tell you what he said after I had him arrested?
Yes; just like him, too. He told you he wasn t whingeing
about it. Said that when a bloke breaks the law, he is gambling
against the cops, and it s a fair go. He was proud of what you
said, too. It was, Ord, you really extended me.
I remember, Bony admitted. He was a good sportsman,
yet knocking a man down with a loaded bottle and then
kicking him to death isn t sporting.
Well, look at what Stassan did to Ord s little girl. I don t
hold with that sort of thing. Stassan got it just where he
deserved it most.
D you really think, Mark, that the best way to get even is
to kill? asked Bony.
With a bloke like Stassan, too right I do. And so do most
of the other blokes in Goulburn. Queers and pimps and rap-
ists ought to be hanged automatically, and when Ord booted
Stassan to hell, he oughta got a knighthood. Thank Kelly we
haven t a Stassan here with us. He wouldn t last long.
Would you place Igor Mitski in that class?
No, Inspector. He just slapped the kid down a bit too
hard, that s all. You know, sometimes you got to give a bit of
licence. There s Mitski king-hit and belted around Europe.
He s a musician and a top singer, and what happens when he
comes to Australia? Stuck away out west, teaching a stupid
brat brought up to the idea that she s the squatter s daughter,
and the rest of the world is scum. I don t blame Mitski for
slappin her down. It was just his bad luck he larrupped her
too hard. What s to do about him now?
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The circumstances being what they are, the body will
have to be disposed of without the usual legal formalities.
Any idea who crashed him?
Not yet, but I shall, Mark.
I know. We all know that when you start you keep on
your feet. One of us killed Mitski, and he must know you will
get him, sooner or later. His only hope is to do you in before
you cotton on to him. Brennan smiled, and that he could
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