It is dark in the bush

New Zealand Listener, Volume 5, Issue 130, 19 December 1941, Page 46

It is dark in the bush

2 4 by

J.E.

MARTEN

SYNOPSIS While tramping in the backblocks, four students, David Armstr and his sister Gwen, Judith Anson and Ste Bryce, are forced to shelter in a der shanty in a bush clearing where earlier’ they had witnessed a selling-up sale. The howling of the dog still chained in the yard prevents sleep. The two boys release him, and he leads them a mile into the. bush where they find the body of his master hanging from a branch. Leaving Judith and David in the whare, Gwen and David go for help to the nearest house, five miles away. ere they find George Murray and his nephew John, with their housekeeper, a Mrs. Marsden, a woman whose calm nothing seems to shake. Stephen also meets a Mr. Graham, a tall gaunt man with a tragic face, who with his daughter, is staying at the Murrays, CHAPTER IiIl. TEPHEN woke late, for John Murray’s bed had proved beguiling. He remembered with pity the pair marooned at the whare. John Murray had announced his intention of going to the spot as soon as it was light; probably Judith and David would arrive shortly for a late breakfast, But there was no sign of them when he came into the dining-room. George Murray had just left the telephone; the police, he said, would be here any minute. They had been out on urgent business when he rang in the night. They were driving of course, but would have to leave their car there and take horses through the bush road. As they sat down to breakfast the french door on to the broad veranda opened. and a girl came in, Stephen blinked as she stood there in a patch of sunlight, a little dazed by the brightness of her hair, the youth and vitality that seemed to his jaded twenty-five years almost excessive. Ann Graham was small and very pretty, but her attraction lay in her air of youth and gaiety--a gaiety clouded at the moment, but ready to appear on any provocation. Anything less like the gaunt and tragic giant of a father whom he had ‘met last night, Stephen couid not

George Murray introduced the girl with a fatherly air that almost suggested proprietorship. He asked her to bring them more toast and then said apologetically, "Though Ann has only been with us for a month, I take the same liberties as if she were a daughter of the house." Stephen nodded profoundly, certain that he had scented romance; this girl was intended for the nephew and heir. Well, John was a lucky man. They had begun to eat before Preston Graham entered; at once the girl’s chatter was checked; was she afraid of her father? Certainly there was an atmosphere uf tragedy and mystery about him, but nothing sinister, nothing that could suggest harshness, least. of all to this attractive daughter. Stephen found his mind straying to this problem of human relationship, and was glad that Mrs, Marsden’s casual commonplaces from behind the tea-pot made general conversation unnecessary. + * * HEY had finished when the police officers appeared. Sergeant Davis, in charge of the station at the nearest town, was typical of the force, but with him was a slim, spare man, quick in his movements, with a sharp and questing eye and an unconventional manner, The Sergeant introduced him with some pride. "Detective Muir happened to be passing. through; we’d finished the job he came up for and he has to wait for his train till to-night, so he thought he’d come out for the run. Not that there’s enything in his line "about this little business." " Well, come and have breakfast before you tackle that muddy road," said George Murray hospitably, In the dining-room Ann and Mrs, Marsden were already setting out clean plates. Under cover of the general talk she murmured to Stephen, "I think they’re disappointing. The big one’s all right; he’s just like the

ones I’ve seen walking about in helmets, but the little one isn’t a bit like a policeman," " The more they are, the less they look it," replied Stephen cryptically. " How’s your conscience? Have you come over all of a tremble at sight of the police?" She held out a small brown hand and regarded it gravely, " Quite steady, I can’t have committed any crime lately." Yes, she was very beguiling, and very young. Stephen wondered how long she had left school. Eo * * HE police were still at breakfast when they heard David’s voice on the veranda; George Murray was ushering in the last remnants of the hiking party. " Why didn’t you come down as soon as John arrived? You must be starved." "We thought we’d stick together till there was some chance of the police getting there," David explained. "And we're just off," said the Sergeant, rising hastily; "but I’d like a word with you first, Mr. — Armstrong, isn’t it?" With an obvious wrench, David removed his eyes from Ann Graham and followed the police on to the veranda. Meantime Ann was talking to Judith with a sort of eager cordiality that showed her to have been a little starved for young companionship lately. They made a queer contrast, he thought-the glowing face and small figure of the younger girl, and Judith’s dark, sleek head-incredibly tidy after her adventures — bending gravely towards her. Judith wasn’t pretty, the young man thought, but she had an. extraordinary personality, an air that they all called " different ’--due in part to her unwaved hair, worn long and twisted round her head, and to her whole poise and calmness. Her dark eyes were fine, and her brow broad and serene, Judith, as Stephen summed her up, was the steady, reliable sort; the other? Oh, the other was a charmer, Judith was apologising for the multitudes. "Do let me help; it’s an awful intrusion and we're giving so much work," " Oh no; Mrs. Marsden is one of those people who are never at all bustled, and she has Sally to help her in the kitchen. This is the sort of house where a dozen people could turn up and there’d be no fuss." "True backblocks hospitality," remarked David as he came into the room. "We're getting the genuine article at last, Judith, By the way, where’s Gwen?" "We made her stay in bed for breakfast. She’s awfully tired. What a time you had! But -till that happened — it. must have been great fun." The three students look at each other. Had it been fun? They supposed so, It all seemed rather long ago. Judith said so, and at once the younger girl looked contrite. "T’'m afraid I sound horribly heartless. It was awful for the poor man, of course --and dreadful about his dog. But still, if he had to die and you had to find him, I’m so glad you came down this side of the ridge and not the other. It’s such fun having you all here."

They ‘all smiled at her, indulgently, as one would at a child, and David said, with unaccustomed warmth, "Of course you’re not heartless. You didn’t know the man-and he evidently wanted to die." Stephen’s eyes met Judith’s in amused understanding. David had always appeared woman-proof; now he seemed to have capitulated very suddenly. Stephen felt older than ever. % uk Ed PRESENTLY he was climbing stiffly on to a horse provided by George Murray for the trip up the hill. David liked riding but Stephen was gloomily aware that Methuselah would be a youth compared to himself on his return, They waved him a sympathetic farewell and Judith and David went in to a third edition of breakfast. Meantime Ann chatted gaily of their own arrival at this home of hospitality. "We turned up in the middle of the night, too. Oh, there wasn’t any thrill about our coming. We were just stupid and lost our way and then I got awfully tired." "You were hiking, too?" asked David, helping himself to marmalade, "Not really. It was a motoring trip but our car broke down." "I know that sort of motoring trip. They're quite common," "And there was a broken part; you know-there always is; and they couldn't mend it and had to send away for another one." "They always do." "And Father got tired of the funny little town and said, very well, we’d walk on and pick up the car on our way back He’s impatient, I think. You see, I don’t know him very well yet. He only came out from England a week before we got here, I’ve always lived in New Zealand with an aunt-at least, not so much lived with her as lived at boarding schools, So it’s been rather gueer, getting to know a father I’ve never seen — at least not as long as I can remember." "Trips like that have a way of helping the victims to get acquainted." "Yes. Yes, I suppose so." She sounded doubtful and rather nervous now. " But it wasn’t at all jolly. Not like your trip. We camped on the road one night and then the rain came and I got tired-oh, and everything went wrong." "T know," said Judith sympathetically. " Our trip may have started as being jolly but it was pretty grim in the end." "So when we got here they made us stay; and it was a mercy because father had influenza after that and was in bed’ for a week, They were all so good to us -Mr. Murray and John and Mrs, Marsden. Mrs, Marsden nursed father just as if she were a trained nurse. He thinks she’s the most wonderful woman in the world. I’m afraid he doesn’t think : about me, I’m not very efficient thou I do try to be, Anyway he’s been well for about a week now, but he was seedy again last night, Of course we ought to go away, but they won’t let us, Mr, Murray and my father get on so well, and I oh, I love it here! It’s such a change after school or Aunt Margaret’s big house in town." (Continued on next page)

IT IS DARK IN THE BUSH (Continued trom previous page) "TI don’t believe you've left school very long," said Judith; David was surprised that she should show such a friendly interest. "Only last year, though I’m twenty. Wasn’t it awful staying there till I was nineteen? But you see nobody knew what to do with me. That’s the worst of aunts-they can’t be expected to bother much." There was a pathetic reasonableness about the statement that made Judith smile with real friendliness. As for David, it had obviously gone straight to his heart, Judith told herself that there was something absolutely irresistible about golden hair and brown eyes. "T can understand why you like it here," " Yes, it’s beautiful, isn’t it? And then, Mrs. Marsden’s such a dear. She’s quiet of course, but she’s absolutely understanding. And I love Mr. Murray. I feel just as if he were my father." Not a very happy way of putting it, they thought as her own father was here too, She saw it at once and flushed, glad that Mrs, Marsden entered at the moment. "Ann, your father seems rather unwell. Oh, nothing to worry about. I’ve given him some brandy. I suppose I let him get up too soon. This seems rather like a slight heart attack. Is he liable to those?" " He never said so, He seems so strong. Oh, Mrs. Marsden, what had we better do? Couldn’t we ring up a doctor? But I suppose he’d take hours to get here and father mightn’t like it." "Can I be any use?" asked David, pushing back his chair. "I’m only newly qualified, but. . . ." "Oh, thank you," the girl said, her heart in her eyes. "I’m sure you'll be absolutely splendid." And that, thought Judith, watching the three of them go quickly out of the room, would certainly finish it. What man could withstand her? CHAPTER IV, OHN MURRAY came to meet the police as they descended stiffly from their horses. The heavy rain had passed as quickly as it had come. In a cloudless sky the sun shone brightly and within the safe shadow of the bush a little riro challenged the world. Already the pools of water were drying in the yard and the whole sordid place seemed to be washed and purified in the morning sunlight. ; _ The detective stood looking about him and Stephen imagined that for him, too, the scene held an appeal. But when he spoke it was in a grumbling undertone: "Not a blessed foot-mark left anywhere." The young lawyer grinned; evidently the detective was no mere lover of nature; but the Sergeant was surprised. "But what does that matter?" he asked. "It’s only a suicide." "Maybe; but I like foot-marks," said the other obstinately. _ The sergeant shrugged as he introduced John Murray to his companion. He and the young farmer were obviously on friendly terms. ;

"This is Detective Muir, Mr. Murray. He’s just through for the trip, not because we think this is anything out of the way." "Good morning, Mr. Muir. Nothing out of the way? Well-lI’m not so sure." IS face was puzzled, and Stephen thought he looked older this morning. His head was bare and, as the sun caught his fair hair, the other thought whimsically of some young god of the woodland. His height, the freedom of his carriage, the candour of his blue eyes -the tired student thought, made John Murray obviously one of the blest, one of Fortune’s favourites. All the more so if he was going to marry the attractive little girl at the homestead. But the Sergeant was studying John’s face, entirely blind to its aesthetic appeal. "What do you mean, Mr. Murray? Only the suicide of another down-and-out, isn’t it? I always wonder why they have to go and do it in these out-of-the-way places. You’d think they’d find plenty of nice trees nearer town." * Suicide? Well, I don’t know. Not that I’ve been looking at the body. We carried it into the house, you know, but the face was covered and I haven't had the nerve to lift that handkerchief. You'll think I’m pretty soft, but the truth is I don’t happen to have come across a dead body before. No, it wasn’t that I was thinking of, it’s something in the bush, But come and see the place where they found him." They followed him down the patch which the young men had cut that morning between the tall trees, "Well, he went deep enough into the bush," grumbled the Sergeant. "He mightn’t have been found for a month." "Or so long that no one would have noticed anything when they did find him," said the detective; he was looking closely at a curious mark on the tree, and John joined him. "Yes, that’s what I mean," he said excitedly. Muir didn’t answer but straightened up and looked about him at the soft mould. "A real downpour you had. Even in here the ground’s soaked. Queer piece of luck his being spotted like that. Wonder how long he’d have hung here, No one would want a poor little farm like this and up this muddy road," * * * E seemed to be talking to himself, and all the time his sharp eyes were scanning the strange scene, Round the base of the tree a strong rope had been tied and over a branch about twelve feet up hung its other end, still held in place by the groove that the rope had cut for itself in the soft wood of the tree. The detective turned to John Murray. "You're right; it’s pretty queer. Why choose such an uncomfortable method? Strenuous, too; look at that groove!" Stephen was looking from one to the other. "Tt’s curious, certainly, but I don’t see what you're getting’ at." Light broke on the Sergeant, " Jove, Yes! Look at the length of that rope! The body must have been hanging only about a foot below the branch, And see that groove. Only one thins could have made that."

"Great Scot! Then .. ." Stephen’s voice trailed into silence as his eyes searched the detective’s face. "A determined! chap. He seems tu have tied the end round the bottom of the tree, leaving plenty of spare, as you can see, Then he climbed up to the branch and dropped down. But why all the bother? Why crawl along the branch with his neck held right down to it because of the shortness of the rope? And what made that groove? No gentlemen, it’s high time we took a look at that corpse." Five minutes later John was cantering quickly down the road. "Ring through for a doctor,’ Muir had said. "Take a look at that face. That man didn’t die by hanging." * * * HE sun of late afternoon was ‘struggling through the dust and cobwebs of the window when the doctor straightened himself above the pathetic figure upon the bunk and nodded across te the police sergeant. David, who had stood silently watching, spoke defensively: "You realise that I didn’t see the face? It was pitch dark in the bush and the lantern blew out. It-it didn’t seem necessary. But I’m awfully sorry. If I'd examined him at all-as I ought to have done-we could have got you out hours ago."

The doctor was bluffly reassuring. * Nonsense, my boy. You acted’ as any other man-doctor or not-would have done. A body hanging in the bush-first instinct, cut it down, Second instinet, get the police. The poor bloke’s dead as a door-nail-natural inference, he’s hanged himself." "T was a fool, all the same." "Not at all," said Muir shortly. "In the pitch dark, what could you do? A hell of a storm, too, No, no. It’s a bit of bad luck, but it can’t be helped. Anyway, we don’t want a lot of amateur sleuths hanging round. Come to that, he’d be there still if you hadn’t happened along." That settled, and David’s misgivings relieved, the detective turned to the doctor. "No doubt, I take it, that death wasn’t due to strangulation?" "No doubt at all. There are none of the symptoms." "Then, what about the hanging?" "The body was dead when it was hanged on that tree," said the doctor briefly, closing his bag with a snap. " What killed him?" "Can’t say till the p.m. Poison, perhaps." " But," began David in a dazed voice, "Why hang him? If he was dead, what was the point? Surely only a devil would do that?" (To be continued next week)