Pavier accepted the proffered envelope, slit it open with a nail file, and extracted two letters. The topmost informed him that Inspector Bonaparte had been seconded to the New South Wales Police Department for fourteen days, and the other letter was a private epistle in which the writer explained that Queensland having loaned their ‘precious’ Bonaparte for fourteen days, would he, Pavier, see to it that Bonaparte was back with his own department at the expiration of that period, said Bonaparte being a notorious rebel. Dropping the communications to his desk, Superintendent Pavier said:

“Accept my assurance, Bonaparte, that we’ll be very, very glad to have you with us. In view of the time that has passed since the last of the poisonings, two weeks will not enable you to accomplish a great deal, but we shall be very grateful to you for what you will, I am sure, do for us.”

Bony completed the making of what looked something like a cigarette. The eyes were beaming, the teeth a white flash in a dark background.

“Actually, Super, I am expected to finalise the most stubborn homicide case in five minutes,” Bony explained. “To have granted me fourteen days is excessively generous of my Chief Commissioner. He and I have been associated for many years, and I haven’t noticed any mellowing going on in him. You’ve met him, of course. Forthright in his views-and his language. Tells me I’m not a policeman’s bootlace, but I happen to be the only true detective he has. You see, Super, the cross I have to bear.”

“Two weeks only,” Pavier said firmly.

“Be not perturbed,” Bony urged, lighting the awful cigarette. “I am a tortoise, and for twenty years my superiors have tried their hardest to turn me into a hare. Stupid, of course, because so many hares never finish the race. I always finish a race, always finalise the case I consent to take up.”