“Thelocal power. Owns one of the stores, two of the hotels, six of the luggers, and fifty per cent of the houses in Broome. Her father was a pearl dealer. Her husband was a store owner, shell dealer and lugger owner. She has more money than the King… and spends it faster than Rockefeller did.”

Bony was conducted from the office to a tastefully and sensibly furnished lounge, was left there a moment, and then was being presented to Mrs. Walters. She was slight and dark, and he liked her at first sight.

“So you’re Inspector Bonaparte,” she exclaimed. “Well, I am glad you have come up from Perth. I’ve a sister, you know, in Brisbane… married to Detective-Sergeant Knowles… and we’ve heard much about you from her. I’m so glad my husband suggested you stay with us.”

“It’s really delightful of you both.”

“Not a bit. Why, we’ve been terribly anxious about these murders. People are asking who will be murdered next. It’s been dreadful for everyone. And not a clue… not a single clue pointing to who committed them and why. Seems that he just killed for the pleasure of it. You will have a cup of tea?”

“That is a question I never answer in the negative,” replied Bony, and Walters offered cigarettes.

It was plain that these two people had been suffering strain, for their pleasure at his arrival was unmistakable. Walters was in the unenviable position of being the senior police officer in a small town where everyone knows everyone else, a frontier town where people must associate or mentally perish, a town in which the senior police officer is the most important personage and one whose power of protection against criminals is assumed to be unassailable. The success of a murderer in escaping detection was a slight both to their social and their official standing.

Mrs. Walters brought afternoon tea, and Bony said:

“I must make one small condition to accepting your hospitality, Mrs. Walters. I insist on being treated exactly as any member of your family… and I understand you have two children to look after in addition to your husband. You see, I know what guests mean, the extra housework, the extra washing up. D’youlike washing up, Walters?”