It is dark in the bush

New Zealand Listener, Volume 6, Issue 141, 6 March 1942, Page 24

It is dark in the bush

SYNOPSIS Three students discover the body of James Collins on a tree in backblocks bush. The inquest reveals that Collins died of luminal poisoning and the body was afterwards hanged. Graham is arrested, evidence against him being that as Charles Preston he suffered a heavy jail sentence in Australia for a crime for which his secretary, Peter Langley, alias Collins, was responsible, and that he is known to have bought luminal soon after reaching New Zealand. Mrs. Marsden confesses to Judith that she saw Prestan in the clearing on the afternoon of the murder (a piece of mate‘ial discovered near the track was torn from her frock). Preston tells his lawyer that a week before the murder Langley came to Murray’s house, Te Rata, with a letter for Murray, and, encountering Preston, taunted him and demanded money. Preston, fearful lest Langley should tell Ann of his past, goes up to the clearing with the money, enters the shanty aed finds Langley already dead. Panic" succeeds relief when he sees a bottle of luminal on the table and realises he will be suspected of the murder. Thinking to get rid of the body; he drags it far into the bush and strings it on a tree, hoping that even if the body is discovered it will look like suicide. David visits Preston in prison. Preston tells him that, hidden near the shanty are Langley’s papers giving the full history of the people he has blackmailed. Langley had hoasted to Preston that someone else at Te Rata was anxious to get hold of them. Preston begs David to remove them before the police discover their hiding-place. David immediately starts back for Te Rata. CHAPTER XIX. T was evening when David jumped off his motor-bicycle at the gate 5f the Te Rata Homestead. He paused, looking: up at the pleasant house with its broad verandas and oldfashioned french windows, its spreading lawns and winding gravel paths, its general air of having been happily and discreetly lived-in for many years. It was an ideal home, a home of generous hospitality and friendliness. Impossible to picture anything sinister in that house with its walls so pleasantly mellowed by summer suns and winter storms as to give it a general appearance of wise and genial age-an expression, David thought guiltily, very much akin to that worn by its owner. It was all nonsense, this talk of Stephen’s that had rooted itself in his own mind. George Murray was no murderer. In a fantastic business this was the most fantastic idea of all.

Should he go up to the house and tell Mr. Murray about those hidden papers, ask his help and start a discreet search with him as ally? That was the best way to atone for those foolish suspicions, the only return for the kindness he had received. But as he unlatched the gate a sudden cloud obscured the sunshine. For a moment the house lay dark and secret. The old trees cast a forbidding shadow across the lawns and the melancholy howl of a chained dog sounded a note of warning and foreboding in David’s heart; the howl of a dog. That was surely a sinister omen. With half a smile and half a shrug at his superstition, David mounted hisbicycle and rode up the drive. His mind was made up. He would keep Preston’s secret from all the world, even from Ann. It was hard to keep to that resolve as he sat at the dinner table, Ann close beside him,. John and Judith opposite, and answered a regular bombardment of questions about his time in town. Had he seen any good pictures? Had he met many friends? The whole atmosphere of

the gathering was as normal as Mrs, Marsden’s sensible face at the foot of the table. The one question no one dared to ask was whether he had any good news to tell them of the case. They teased Ann about her flagging spirits during his absence. "I did my best," protested their host. "David, I tried honestly to fill your place. I took the child for long walks and even longer rides. I forced my poor old feet into sports shoes and made a very hot and feeble fourth at tennis. No use. Your telegram announcing your return brought more colour into those cheeks than all my senile efforts." "Oh Mr. Murray," cried Ann, laughing but remorseful, "how ungrateful I sound! You’ve been so good to me and I could never have been half so happy anywhere else." As the old man answered her, David saw a curious expression flit across her face; was it only affection or was there mingling with it a touch of remorse, almost of shame at himself? David told himself that it was all nonsense; he needed* Stephen here, someone who would not slet his imagination rum away with himeAmndeyet his friends had always called him level-headed and unimaginative; it just showed what a fool a man became when he was really in love and tragedy threatened the loved one. , Mrs. Marsden was urging him to stay now that they had him back. "Surely this time you can remain with us, David?"

"J-I want to, but I suppose I ought to make a -start-ought to be getting on with my life, oughtn’t I?" " Getting on with your life," repeated George Murray with a whimsical smile. " What an ungallant way of putting it! We all thought your life was centred here, didn’t we, Judith?" "Indeed we did. But just look at me, David, and take heart. Here I am, content to drone away the weeks, when I ought to be doing sensational work on some newspaper." " Newspaper, indeed!" growled John, "We're not going to have her take any job, are we, uncle?" "Certainly not. She’s got her job for life here." "Oh, I don’t know," objected Judith in one last effort to be loyal to her feminist creed. " Lots ‘of engaged gi"l.and married women, too-carry on ‘with careers nowadays. Only, I don’t seem keen at present." "TI should hope not. Fancy you taking a job as reporter on some beastly paper, working hand and glove with a lot of rough, familiar chaps, cadging round for news, writing up all the unsavoury police court cases."

"Really, John," said Judith mildly, "Your ideas of a journalist’s life seem to have come straight from an American film. Anyway, there’s no need for us to worry; no editor seems to be breaking his heart for my services." " All the same," grumbled John, "I wouldn’t be surprised if you packed up and’ went off some fine morning. When you read the paper I always notice you have a sort of wistful look-a sort of ‘How much better I could have written that ’-1I6ok." When the laughter and teasing had subsided, Mrs. Marsden electrified them all by turning to Judith and asking calmly, " When are you going to be married, Judith? I was never a believer in long engagements." In any one else it would have been an impertinence and Judith would have known how to deal with it. But it was impossible to connect impertinence with Mrs. Marsden, even if John had not interposed with a hearty, "Good for you, Marsy, old dear. That’s what I keep asking the lass. Perhaps she’ll listen to you." "Not much chance of that, I’m afraid -particularly as I seem to have been doing what John calls ‘butting in’ I. spoke my thoughts, all the same. There seems so little point in waiting." "Just what I tell. her," cried John. "Why is she waiting?" "What exactly are you waiting for Judith?" asked Ann, and David’s heart ached at the wistfulness of her tone. How simple and straight lay Judith’s path ahead of her! George Murray chimed in heartily, "A very sensible question, my dear child. What are they waiting for?" Judith faced them all calmly, smiling but elusive. " What exactly am I waiting for? Why, for a trousseau, of course, and bridesmaids and a veil. How could I possibly be married decently without them?" "A lot of tom-foolery," cried John. "Tf that’s all you’re waiting for, we’ll be off to town to-morrow. I’ll swear there’: no trousseau on earth I couldn’t buy in eight hours. Meantime, we'll get a licence." . Judith laughed, but her eyes were tender. " What a sensation we’d makethe groom buying the bride’s trousseau!’ "There you go, laughing and backing out. That’s how you always behave. This is jolly mysterious. Come, out with itwhat are you waiting for?" There was a sudden hush; a veil of seriousness dropped upon the party and in that moment David saw Judith’s glance turn involuntarily to Mrs. Marsden. What message passed between those eyes, curiously alike in their steadiness, their darkness and their reserve? It was

gone in a moment and Judith was laughing lightly and saying, "Why, it’s my maidenly modesty, that’s the trouble, John. Curious no one seems to have thought of that. Meantime, Sally’s dying to clear the table and John pretended that he wanted to dance with me on the veranda. But that was before dinner, of course, and before all this drama." Presently the gramophone was beating out the latest hit from the drawing-room window; on the veranda John and Judith circled slowly; from the depths of his armchair in the shadow of the wistaria old George Murray watched them contentedly; on the arm of his chair Ann was perched, one bare arm resting on *his shoulder. You would have said they were father and daughter. The whole scene. radiated peace and friendliness, and yet some strange doubt still rankled in David’s heart as he sat watching them. For one moment at dinner he had been conscious of strange depths of fear and tragedy close at hand. What was this abyss that yawned beneath them all? With a feeling of hopeless inadequacy he turned and his eyes fell on the calm and untroubled face of the housekeeper. What was it Stephen had once called her? "The apotheosis of the commonplace." It was more apt than most labels. She sat now busily knitting, her whole attitude one of sedate pleasure, of sensible detachment from the stress of life. Her needles flickered rapidly but her eyes followed the movements of the graceful figures on the veranda, She looked entirely content, more actively happy than he had seen her before, satisfied with her lot and her life. Moderate in all things, she was a reassuring person at such a time. Obviously enough no imagination tormented her, no morbid fears disturbed her. Well she should be a lesson to him. He would waste no more time on fancies; he would begin to look for those papers to-morrow. CHAPTER XX. David had had no difficulty in obtaining permission to visit the cottage in the bush. He had had an interview with Morgan before he left and mentioned (Continued on next page)

IT IS DARK IN THE BUSH (Continued trom previous page) with careful casualness that he would like to prowl round a little for himself. Could Morgan obtain permission for him? "ll see about it, but there won’t be any bother. The guard has been removed. They did their job thoroughly enough and so did Missen, but the total result was that piece of green linen, and even that led us up a blind alley. Not a finger print anywhere. The man who committed that crime knew what he was about." "You're perfectly certain," said David hesitatingly, "that there was a murderer? I mean, you’ve quite given up the suicide theory?" Morgan shrugged. "It’s more than unlikely. Langley hadn’t been out of the district at all during the two years that he’d had the farm. He had no friend likely to purchase him luminal; if he’d sent for it, the police would certainly have got on the tracks of the seller by now. Then there’s the difficulty of the chained dog; from all accounts that dog was the only thing Langley really cared about. If he’d meant to go out, he'd never have left him to starve to death like that; he’d either have killed him first or have let him loose. Last of all, we've had positive proof that Langley

had written booking his passage for the Islands only a fortnight after the sale." "That’s news to me. I thought he was practically destitute." "So did we, but these chaps always take care to have a good nest-egg put away somewhere." "Then he was simply lying to Preston?" " Of course, just to make him pay up." "So, if Preston had called his bluff nothing would have happened." "T wouldn’t say that, not for a moment. I think Langley would have called at Te Rata on the way out and given Preston away to the Mutrays and also to his daughter. It would be just the sort of exit that would please him best... . But he certainly meant to leave the country, for, not only was his passage taken, but he had sent an order to a firm in town that specialises in tropical outfits." "Fi’m. . . . It certainly doesn’t look like suicide." "Scarcely. Certainly no jury is going to take that view with such an excellent case piling itself up against Preston. . » » Well, there’s a note to the authorities. I think you'll find that they'll let you go where you like, do what you like. No one will interfere with you. I’ve taken Missen off. No use piling up costs with

no result. But don’t be too sanguine. Remember that a dozen policemen were searching that bush for several days," "Oh, I’m not imagining I can beat the force, It’s only, really, for my own satisfaction and because I have the time to put in. I suppose I could camp in the place if I wanted to?" "Why not? If you’ve such a fancy for haunted huts. . . . But you’d better go along and see the police and explain thoroughly." David had done so and had been received with a kindly tolerance that bordered on amusement. "We've done with the show for the present. It’s an unattractive hole, but you can certainly picnic there if you want to." "In short I may play round and keep myself amused." David's grin was answered by another that almost degenerated into a wink; evidently the force was satisfied with its case and was not inclined to take a youthful amateur too seriously. At the end of three barren days, David was ready to agree with them. There was nothing to be found there. If the murdered man had really possessed such papers as Preston feared, if he had not been merely bluffing again, then the man who killed him had

made off with the incriminating document and had probably destroyed it. "I’m not going to give up yet," he soliloquised grimly on the third afternoon. "I’ve only made sure of the house and garden so far, and there are infinite possibilities in a place like this." The house, certainly, had yielded no results. He had combed the tiny place from iron roof to plank floor; he had crawled beneath it to be rewarded by the discovery of a dead rat and an old tin kettle; he had searched the walls inch by inch in the hopes of any opening, any hollow space into ~which a bundle of papers might have been thrust. He had even emerged black as a professional sweep, from a careful examination of the great iron chimney. The place was bare and empty as a shell; certainly the papers were not there. Nor did the tiny neglected garden offer any better results. It was roughly fenced as a protection against stock, but it showed signs of only the most erratic cultivation, There were a few drooping vegetables, now dry and neglected in the mid-summer heat. In any ground that had ever been cultivated, David poked and prodded laboriously, even turning the soil over methodically, spadeful by spadeful. There was no sign anywhere of any secret hiding-place. (To be continued next week)