It is dark in the bush

New Zealand Listener, Volume 6, Issue 132, 2 January 1942, Page 12

It is dark in the bush

92

J.E.

MARTEN

SYNOPSIS While seeking an elusive short cut through backblocks bush, David Armstrong comes across the body of the owner of a nearby shanty strung up on a tree. With Judith Anson, another member of the tramping party, he seeks help at the nearest house. Here they find George Murray and his nephew, John, with their housekeeper, Mrs. Marsden, a woman whose calm nothing seems to shake. Guests at the house &re Mr. Graham and his daughter Ann, to whom David is instantly attracted. Hastily summoned by George Murray, Detective Muir and Sergeant Davis investigate the case. A doctor’s evidence reveals that James Collins died of luminal isoning, and that the dead body was afterWards hanged. Meanwhile the growing attachment between Ann and David has its counterpart in the love springing up between Judith and John Murray. But a blow falls when John brings word that Ann’s father has been arrested for the murder of Collins. The damning evidence . comes to light that Graham’s name is really Preston, that he was involved in a financial swindle, and as chairman of the company received a heavy jail sentence. But the man really responsible was Peter Langley, alias James Collins.

EAD silence fell upon the pleas+5 ant room. Presently Murray spoke hoarsely, "James Collins was Peter Langley. And Preston Graham is Charles Preston. Thenthen God help the poor chap-and Ann too." In the complete silence that followed ‘they all heard the opening of Ann’s door and her step in the hall. But the step was no longer quick and light-hearted; it dragged, and when she came in the girl stood hesitating just outside the circle of light. But only for a moment, then David got up quickly and took her hand with a gesture of protection, drawing her down on to the couch and saying gently, "Ann, dear, we hoped you were asleep. Did we talk too loud?" : "No, but I knew — knew you were talking about my father. Please, will you tell me about it? I-I don’t know anything." "No, no," said kind John Murray, leaning over to pat her hand. "No need

to discuss all that to-night, my dear child." But she moved impatiently, pulling her hand from David’s strong clasp. "But you must tell me. Oh, don’t treat me as if I were a spoilt child. Perhaps I was -but I’m grown up now." They looked at her and saw that it was true. Judith got up and went quickly across to her, and Mrs. Marsden spoke automatically, "Be careful of your ankle."

Judith gave'a curious little laugh. Then she very deliberately aimed a kick at a foot stool that stood near. "That’s my sprained ankle. I’m sorry, Mr. Murray. You see, I didn’t want to go and when I hurt my ankle-oh, not badly, only for a minute-I made the most of it. I think Stephen and David both guessed." In the awkward pause she lifted her grave eyes to John, and

though the colour mounted again in her face she did not falter as she repeated "I’m sorry. It was rotten of me." "It doesn’t matter a bit," John said, furiously embarrassed. "No," she agreed calmly, " nothirg matters now-except proving that Mr. Graham’s innocent, That’s what we’ve got to do." 1% % % CHAPTER VIil. HE facts looked damning enough, as pieced together by the lawyer Morgan, whom John Murray had engaged to look after Preston’s interests. Charles Preston was an Englishman who had come to Australia with his young wife more than twenty years before. It had been a perfect love match and Ann the golden daughter born of it. Charles Preston had done well; he had brought considerable capital with him and presently was head of a large and wealthy syndicate. Partly because he

grudged too much time spent away from his ideal home life, the young man relied greatly upon the opinion of his secretary and allowed a great deal of power to rest in the hands of Peter Langley. Mrs. Preston had never liked him; it was almost the only subject on which she differed from her husband She was right. The fortunes of the Preston syndicate soared high and as suddenly crashed, involving the Chairman of Directors in their fall. Preston went to jail for five years; nothing was proved against Langley; he disappeared from Australia and the shareholders cursed his name in vain. Against Preston the feeling was less bitter; everyone realised that he had been a mere tool and was paying for his folly. When he had served a little more than three years of his sentence a fresh tragedy overwhelmed him, leaving him something, of a hero in the eyes of the sentimental public.

During his imprisonment, Preston's wife never wavered in her devotion; she lived not far from the jail and saw her husband whenever it was allowed. Nothing ‘else mattered to her; she scarcely seemed to feel the parting with her child, whom she sent to New Zealand to order to spare her the effects of the tragedy. Mrs. Preston had an income of her own so that she had no worries on that score. When Charles was released they would make a new start in New Zealand.

But fate seemed to have a grudge against Charles Preston. When not much of his sentence remained his wife was suddenly stricken with severe illness. When word of this reached the prisoner he became like a man possessed. He must see his wife again before she died. One night he escaped and reached her side. She died in his arms, but his guards were hot on his heels. There was a fight and Preston struck one of the warders a knock-out blow. He hit his head as he fell and died at once. When the escaped prisoner stood in the dock again it was to face a charge of murder. ste = *

‘THE Grand Jury threw out the bill and eventually a verdict of manslaughter was returned. In view of the tragic circumstances, the sentence was comparatively light, but the broken man returned to prison for another ten years. He had little expectation and no wish to out-live his sentence. Meantime in New Zealand little Ann Graham — for she had been given her mother’s maiden name-danced through life entirely unaware of the dark cloud that brooded over past and future. The unexpected and undesired happened, and when she was twenty her father was released from jail. "Ann, your father arrives from England next week by way of Australia," her aunt said, folding up the chaplain’s letter. The girl was excited and dismayed at the thought of seeing the father whom she had never met and who had never even troubled to write to her. She never forgot their meeting. Being familiar with photographs of her father in his happy and handsome youth, she was little prepared for the encounter which shattered for ever that idyll. As Ann stood gazing up at the hugely tall, dreadfully gaunt

man, a shadow of fear fell across her gay young path. It seemed that that shadow was never to leave it again. "JT simply hated the whole trip," she told David. "My father was not a good driver and didn’t understand the new kind of cars-of course I see why, now that 1 know his story. He was so silent all those long hours except when he would make violent efforts to talk or to get me to talk-to find out something of what I was like. But all the time he didn’t seem really to listen, really to know I was there. His thoughts seemed always to be on something else." "Ann dear," interposed David gently. "Don't say that to anyone else, You haven't, have you?" " Haven’t said what?" "That your father’s thoughts seemed to be on something-not on you. You see why, don’t you?" * se *

HE girl shook her head, her wide and inquiring eyes fixed on the young man with an innocence so untouched that he found himself very near to cursing fate. This child, to be bamboozled by the questions of a prosecuting counsel, subjected to a battery of eyes, to a row of mystery-mongering cameras, to an endless succession of bright young journalists. Well, he would be there; they should see that they had to deal not only with an unsophisticated girl. "You see, dear, they-the accuserswant to prove that your father landed in New Zealand with just one thought in his mind-to kill Collins, or Langley, as his name really was. If you're going to tell people that your father was abstracted, his mind dwelling on his own private thoughts, they’ll say that that points to a mind absorbed in the crime it had planned." "But they can’t say that," cried the girl indignantly. "Why, he didn’t even know the man was there."

"Why do you say that?" " Because it was just pure chance we came here. We just took any road we fancied." "Can you prove that?" "But I know it. We just fixed on a certain way whenever we came to a signpost; once I tossed up and my father laughed. He didn’t often laugh, you know, but this time he threw back his head and said ‘The toss of a coin! Free to go where I like, to do what I like. Oh, Mary, Mary!" "Mary was your mother’s name, wasn’t it?" "Yes, He often used to mutter her name like that. I was never quite sure whether he really meant me and had just got the names mixed up." "7 see." Should he tell her to suppress that too? He could see the headlines. "Symptoms of a deranged mind." It depended, of course, on which way the case went; they might be glad to fall back on that excuse yet. But the girl was still talking. "Tt’s all nonsense to say he came to look for that man; the whole thing was psc i but chance from beginning to en (Continued on next page)

IT IS DARK IN THE BUSH (Continued trom previous page) "Do you think you could prove that? Tell me, when the car broke down and you took it to the garage, what did the people there say?" " That it would take a week to get the missing part. My father was so annoyed." " Why?" " Because he was so restless. He wanted to be on the move all the time." "Did he tell the garage people that?" "Yes. He said the delay was most annoying and asked if they couldn’t hire him a car; but they hadn’t a spare one." "Then he showed clearly that he was in a hurry to get on?" "Yes; he said he had to get over.to the coast at once. I particularly remember because I was surprised; he’d always seemed so vague before." "And there was no doubt that he wanted to get right away?" "None. He ended by saying, ‘Then, damn it all, we'll walk. I won’t hang about here for a week.’"’ * am * DAVID groaned and the girl looked at him aghast. "Ts that bad, too? Oh David, I can see it is-it looks as if he was in a hurry to get to Langley." "You don’t know, Ann, why he was so determined to get right on down to the coast?" The girl shook her head despondently. "TI only know that he said he hated inland towns, that the sea was calling to him all the. time. He said, ‘ Fourteen years with never a sight of it, when always I’ve loved it so. Now I feel that I can never have enough.’ I gaped at him and said, ‘But you’re just off a long sea voyage,’ and he said, ‘ Long?’-then pulled himself up ‘short. You see, I thought he’d come all the way from England. He got a little cross then and said, ‘Don’t argue, child, don’t argue. Let’s pack our swags and go.’ " "And you left at once?" "Yes, that same morning. We bought a sleeping bag for me and camped out that night. Next day I was most awfully tired and we lost our way. Then we turned up at Te Rata and the very next day my father got influenza. You know the rest. He was in bed for a week and Mrs, Marsden looked after him just as if she was a proper nurse." "Yes, I know that part. But tell: me, Anh-was your father up and about long before the day when the-when the murder took place? He seemed recovered when we first saw him the next day." "Oh yes. He’d been up for about a fortnight and was talking about moving on. But he liked it here-and went about a lot with the men and helped on the farm. I remember the very day before the murder he’d been riding all morning with Mr. Murray, and when he came back he and John pressed a bale of odd wool that was in the shed. He must have been quite all right then, because I remember they said they’d never seen any man so powerful as my father." Again David sighed. Only a powerful man could have pulled that dead body up into the tree. Even now it was exercising the minds of the police whether one man could have done it alone or whether there was a confederate.

"Ann, how much can you remember of ‘that particular afternoon? Could you say where your father was?" "Oh David, I wish I could. I know how much depends on it. I know they were talking of the clearing sale at breakfast time and my father seemed interested and asked whether the man was going to leave the district at once. He said he wouldn’t bother to go up to it, though, but would spend the morning rolling the lawns instead. He was there all the morning, I know." ; "Yes, but the afternoon?" "That’s the trouble, Oh, if only I hadn’t gone out!" "You were away all afternoon?" "Yes. I was just longing for a ride. I'd meant to go out with Mr, Murray but he forgot and went off without me. John was in town and it seemed so quiet and dull at the house. Mrs. Marsden was resting in her room, she always does in the afternoons; and my father was asleep on the veranda. So I saddled Playboy and went for a ride. It was such a lovely day and I rode on and on." "Did you meet anyone?" "Not a soul. You often don’t if you take the by-roads here. Why do you ask that, David? They won’t -want to know where I was, will they?" * * * E shook his head with every appearance of reassurance. "Of course not. Still it would be simpler if you ail had nice watertight alibis. Instead of that, really John’s the only one who can bring witness to prove where he was that afternoon." " But it’s often like that here. We’re so isolated and the farm’s so big. There are only three men always employed on it and that day they happened to have all taken their lunches out and be fencing at the very back of the place. Who could have seen us?" "TIT know, my dear — but the jury won’t. They'll be a crowd of men from town who imagine that every man knows what his ‘neighbour’s up to all day long. However, what did you see when you got back?" "Mr. Murray and John were still out and Mrs. Marsden was getting tea."

"And your father?" "He was lying down. I went into his room and he said he was all right. only a little tired after the lawn rolling. I remember he said, "One seems apt to develop a heart after these attacks of flu, so I suppose I shouldn’t have taken any violent exertion. A bit of a nuisance, because we want to get away to-morrow or the next day." "Was that a surprise to you?" "Yes, it was. He’d seemed so contented before. But I thought it was just another of his restless fits, probably because he wasn’t feeling well. You know, lawn rolling is really hard work, David." Hard work! David' thought of the terrible strain of raising that dead body and shuddered. Was this child going to help to tighten the noose about her own father’s neck? * * * CHAPTER VIil. : ‘THE days between Preston’s arrest and the preliminary proceedings in the magistrate’s court passed like some strange nightmare to the

people at Te Rata. There was a constant coming and going of lawyers, detectives and police, and a thorough combing out of the district in search of clues by both ‘parties. Ann passed like some dark-eyed shadow of herself through the long hot days, always with David at her side to protect here from reporter or photographer, from inquisitive sightseer or over-zealous friend. Three days after her father’s arrest an immaculate car drew up at the door and the little maid announced with some awe the arrival of Mrs. Eliot Duncan. Ann was in the kitchen, trying to shell peas, and she raised startled eyes to Judith, "Aunt Margaret! She’s come to take me away. Oh, where’s David?" "He went up to Langley’s cottage this morning with that private detective of his. My dear, there’s no earthly reason why you should go away with your aunt if you don’t want to, but you must see her. Go into the drawing-room and I’ll find Mr. Murtay." George Murray was courteously hospitable. " You may be sure, Mrs, Duncan, that we will be only too happy to do anything in our power. Won’t you wait and interview Morgan, the lawyer who has been engaged for your brother-in-law? He is due out here this morning to take a report from Missen, the private detective he is employing. We will be very happy if you will remain with us as long as your care to do so." "Thank you, but now I can do no good. I am satisfied that it is best left in your hands. I came only to take Ann back." The silent entreaty in the girl’s eyes went to George Murray’s heart. "Cculd you not trust her to us until -until this unhappy affair has reached its next stage? In town she will have to see sO many people. Here she has a substantial bodyguard and we are fairly isolated, even under these circumstances."

N her heart Mrs. Duncan was immensely relieved. The publicity was going to be trying enough, even for a sister-in-law. It would increase immeasurably if the girl was with her, for there was something extraordinarily appealing about Ann. She was not the sort of girl whom it was possible to hide away; the complications would be endless, especially with the number of men that such an affair must inevitably bring about. The girl would be better and safer here — for as long as she could decently leave her. For herself, family pride would compel her to stay and see the business through; moreover she had been warned that her evidence might be necessary. But once it was over-and the hard, capable woman of the world winced at the thought of what the end might be-she would go for a long trip; the Islands, certainly; possibly England or America. By that time interest would have died down and she could decide whether to stay on in New Zealand or seek fresh fields. , She seemed to hesitate, for appearances must be kept up. » "Of course, the public interest is at white heat just now,’ she admitted. "There was always so much interest and sympathy for — for my brother-in-law, especially after his wife’s death. Now, it is all revived. It’s just the sort of romantic and sentimental story that the wretched public loves." If George Murray thought this a hard and unsympathetic way to refer to her niece’s tragedy, he was careful to give no sign. "The publicity is inevitable at this stage," he agreed. " Far better, then, to leave Ann with us, where she is safely hidden and among friends . . . and now, will you allow me to offer you lunch?" (To be continued next week)