“I think he did nothing of the sort: it doesn’t sound reasonable. Yet what did he do during those fifty-five minutes? He wouldn’t require fifty-five minutes to walk back to his home, a distance of less than half a mile. But if the two were together at the time of the smash, if they fought and Wallace killed Loftus, there was time to hide the body and get back home at the time Mrs Wallace said he did.”
“You have not found a body?” interposed Bony.
“No.”
“Then until a body is discovered we must assume that Loftus is still living. Has Wallace a record?”
“Nothing against him.”
“You are sure that Loftus did not reach his home?”
“Quite. Mrs Loftus is frantic about him.”
“Is the car still wedged above the pipeline?”
“Yes.”
“Why not arrest Wallace on suspicion?”
“Not on your life. Greggs was enough,” John Muir said fervently. “In future I’m creeping that slow and sure that a turtle will be a racehorse against me.”
“Overcautiousness is as big a fault as impetuosity,” Bony said with sudden twinkling eyes. “Your Burracoppin case captures my interest.”
“Will you lend a hand?”
Bony sighed.
“Alas, mydear John! You will have to go to Queensland.”
“To Queensland! Why?”
“If you go to Myall Station, out from Winton,” Bony said slowly, “if you proceed circumspectly, you will there find your lost friend, Andrew Andrews, whom you let slip away because you were so sure of Greggs. As the delightful Americans say, ‘Go get him, John!’ ”
“But why didn’t you have him arrested or arrest him yourself?” demanded Muir, so much astonished that he swayed back in his chair.
“Not being an ordinary policeman, but a crime investigator, I seldom make an arrest, as you well know. Arresting people is your particular job, John. We will tell a tale to your commissioner. We will persuade him that getting Andrews is of greater importance than finding Loftus, who, after all, may be playing a game of his own. I have still three weeks of my leave remaining, and, while you are away in Queensland, I will look after your interests in Burracoppin.”