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argue it out with old Canute. He ll make the thief part up . . .
or else.
Anger charged the quiet air, and then Bony spoke:
I would like you to leave the matter to me, and to say
nothing of it in the hearing of Sarah and Meena, he said with
easy authority. Now just see what else has been taken . . .
books, from that dresser, anything?
Arnold examined the books, shook his head. He lifted the
curtain in front of the dresser, disclosing a dainty tea service, a
box containing coloured wools, and material. Again he shook
his massive head and dropped the curtain. Eric cried:
40
Wait on, Arnold! Them cups and things.
He sprang forward and lifted the curtain. Then he
straightened, paused to be supported on his discovery, finally
shouted quite unnecessarily:
There was six cups and saucers. Now there s only five.
Look! A cup and saucer has been pinched, too.
Men swore. Bony said:
Keep on looking. Be sure if anything else is missing.
Dolls to comfort a little girl. A china cup for her to drink
from instead of a tin mug, perhaps a jam tin. Handkerchiefs
and blue comb taken, but not a box of chocolates spoiled by
the heat.
Aboriginal children would not have ignored the chocolates,
although ruined by heat.
Her Kurdaitcha shoes, drawled Bill Harte. They don t
seem to be here, either.
The Kurdaitcha Man of legend, the fabulous being who
walks by night, his feet covered with emu feathers glued with
blood so that he leaves no tracks for aborigines to follow when
it is light. Harry Lawton withdrew from the search to tell
Bony that Charlie had fashioned imitation shoes for Linda.
Yes, those pretty pieces have gone, too, Arnold declared.
All decorated with feathers and pictures drawn on em with
hot wire. Old Murtee could have taken them for his collection
of magic things.
Eventually it was agreed that nothing else had been re-
moved. Eric again suggested arguing it out with Canute, and
it was Arnold who told him, That s out, because Inspector
Bonaparte said so. It was noticeable that their first reaction of
cautious familiarity towards Bony was replaced by firming
respect, for, as it had been with so many others in the past, his
eyes, his voice and speech caused them to forget his mixed
race. He was saying:
It is often wise to set aside the act in favour of the motive.
Just now when we found Sarah listening to us, the act might
be of smaller importance than the reason prompting her. So it
41
is with these missing articles belonging to Linda Bell. Who
took them is of lesser interest to me than why they were taken.
Assuming, of course, that they were not removed by the abo-
riginal children, or by someone intending to give them to the
children.
I think I see your point, Inspector, observed Wootton.
Someone could have taken them to Linda, wherever she is
with Ole Fren Yorky.
Proving that Linda is still alive, added Arnold with satis-
faction.
That Linda wanted them things to play with, hopefully
supplemented Eric. Could of been that Yorky came here him-
self to get em.
We d have seen his tracks, Arnold said.
Not if he came last Sat day, or yesterday week, objected
Bill Harte. Them two days it blew like hell, and blew all
night too, remember.
It could be more likely that one of the aborigines stole them
to take them to Yorky for Linda, contributed Wootton.
So we come back to the abos, crowed young Lawton.
Yair, the abos, Harry, agreed Eric. We ll get it out of
them. Who pinched the dolls and things, and what was done
with em. Now what-in- ell you smiling about, Inspector?
I m beginning to wonder who is the detective, Bony re-
plied. Inductive reasoning must keep to specified rules, and
often to indulge in such reasoning is unwise until all the avail-
able facts and probable assumptions are marshalled. There is
an assumption which has not yet occurred to you, an assump-
tion which we have authority to examine. We may assume
that the presents and the dolls were removed by someone with
the intention of putting into our minds the idea that Linda is
still alive. The motive for that is obscure, but still reasonable to
accept.
From Bony they looked at each other, bewilderment plainly
evident. To make confusion stick, he went on:
42
Recall what I said about the tracks you believed were left
by Yorky. Until proved, we may only assume he made them,
and we may assume someone else falsified them, knowing that
most people see what they want to see. So there is one assump-
tion we may add to another, and those two to yet a third, and
then we have a faint glimmer of a theory.
Crime investigators are trained minds. I have been trained
to think along lines of deduction and induction. These are two
separate processes of thinking, as doubtless you know. Or per-
haps you don t know. Which is why I require you not to ques-
tion the aborigines, or to mention this matter to the domestics
over the way. Is that understood?
Eric coughed and nodded. Young Harry nodded and looked
vacant. Arnold was thoughtful, and Bill Harte s bright dark
eyes were curious. Mr Wootton blinked and spoke for all.
I think we follow you, Inspector Bonaparte. You may de-
pend on us not to interfere.
I was sure I could depend on you, suavely returned Bony.
43
Chapter Seven
Savages and Byron
qÜÉ ÑáêÉ was like the red and flickering eye of Ganba, the
Great Snake. Tall white pillars encircled the fiery eye, and
between these pillars the sweet notes of Ganba s snoring
floated on to warn the aborigines in all Australia that he was
out from his chambers under the earth.
The fire burned redly amid the white gums surrounding the
waterhole. Ganba s snoring was coming from a length of hol-
low tree branch called a dijeridoo and played by an aborigine
whose hair and beard were white, whose naked chest and back
was cicatriced in fantastic designs and marks.
The audience of men stared into Ganba s red eye. Behind
them sat their women, the young girls and the children. All the
babies were either asleep or watching with large and rounded
eyes. Only occasionally did one move, and then slightly, so
engrossed were they by the voice of the dijeridoo.
The dijeridoo was as thick as a man s leg, and so long that
the end rested on a sheet of bark beyond Canute s outstretched
feet. The mouth end was but little smaller than the far open-
ing, and from it issued sounds, which, to ears accustomed to
white man s music, would be meaningless.
Canute was telling a story which was first told when Lake
Eyre was part of a great sea.
There was a woman who lived in a cave on a hill, a wise
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