The sergeant nodded. Bony’s clear blue eyes and dark face seemed to blaze into a flashing smile and the other man’s mind began simultaneously to work along two lines of thought: one that this famous detective could do him an extra good turn, and the other that only now was this half-caste revealing to him his personality. It was as though the smile was a lamp showing a man seen previously only in half-light. When Bony continued speaking, even his voice changed from the soft tones of his mother’s people to the fuller cadences of the white man used to authority. Already Sergeant Marshall was becoming aware of his own mental inferiority. Bony was saying:

“Men like you who have gained valuable administrative ability are often the forgotten men of our state’s police force. You see, I have so often worked pleasurably with men of your type. You rule over an area of thousands of square miles, efficiently and without fuss, and the chiefs are unconcerned because you do not give them concern. I have given my chief a great deal of concern-and I am an inspector. I will show you how to earn promotion and a move to a large town or city where Rose Marie will receive a better chance in life. You and I will co-operate. We understand each other and the bushlands. Redman was a child-here in our element.”

“That’s so.” he agreed.

“Well, then, if you can spare the time from your labours of collating statistics about sheep and fences and bores and income taxes and stinkweed and other stupid things not connected with the maintenance of law and order, I would like you to relate to me in chronological sequence the facts concerning this murder. Redman’s report is full enough, but I want to hear the story from a bushman.”

Marshall nodded. Bony was an entirely new experience, one that hewas liking more and more.